Vertical Motion

by Can Xue

  Everything around me changed. I didn’t know if I was having trouble with my eyes or if the sky had really darkened; everything became indistinct. I smelled a bad odor, like rotting garbage in the kitchen. I struggled to sit up. My hand pushed against the slimy ground. I lifted my hand to my nose; it was smelly and disgusted me so much that I tried hard to stand up. Had they thrown me down next to the cesspit? After examining it carefully for a moment, I decided it wasn’t like a cesspit. It must still be the residential district. No lights were on in the houses, and it didn’t seem as if anyone was there. Needing a place to wash my hands, I walked into the nearest building. I made a sound that horrified me: “Elena?!” It didn’t occur to me that a small, scalding hand would reach out and take my hand. It was she!

  “Elena, I have to wash my hands. They’re stinky.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  She dragged me into a room and told me to squat down.

  “My brothers are next door. Don’t make a sound. I’m afraid they’ll laugh at me.”

  I squatted down and subconsciously touched the floor with my hands. Ah, it, too, was slippery and smelly.

  “Did someone spill dung in this room?” I asked.

  Elena didn’t answer. I sensed that she was trying hard to hold back a snicker. I was annoyed.

  From outside the door came the sound of heavy footsteps. After a while, they went past.

  “That was my parents. They love me very much. You were hurt; do you want to lie down? There’s no bed here. The damned peddlers have moved them all out. Do you want to lie down on the floor?”

  “No!”

  “Ah, you’re still not used to our place. Although the vendors are a little loathsome, their intentions are good. And, after all, didn’t you come here to experience my life? They’re helping you.”

  “This place is really disgusting.”

  “Shh. Don’t talk so loud! That’s because you aren’t used to it yet. I’ll get something for you to look at it. It will surprise you.”

  In a corner, she made a ka, ka, ka noise, as if she were cutting sandstone with a knife. Her small form was hopping around like a tiny squirrel. I thought, such a pretty girl actually lives in this kind of environment. But she seemed satisfied with it. When she went to my apartment, her whole body emitted a spicy scent. I jokingly called her “Aster.” What was this all about? Ah, she came over.

  She placed something in my hand. It was like a cobblestone—icy, round, and smooth, but something inside it was shaking slightly. I nervously pinched it and waited for something else to happen.

  Someone in the hallway called her, pronouncing her name very strangely. I couldn’t understand. Jumping up, she left at once. I guessed that it was her brothers who had called her. She had told me that she and her brothers had cut a hole in the craggy cliff. I got the impression that these brothers were very fierce.

  The round stone I was holding shook more and more violently. I couldn’t hold onto it, and it fell onto the muddy floor, where it wailed in pain like a baby. I picked it up at once. It became immobile; it had probably died. I had actually caused it to die. What would Elena think of me? I was really a good-for-nothing! I put the stone in my pocket and groped my way to the door.

  They were arguing outside. Those men wanted to drive me away, but Elena disagreed. Raising something like a whip, they thrashed her. As she was being lashed with the whip, she jumped around and screamed, the sound as tragic as the sound the stone had just made. In my anxiety, I threw the stone at them. The three of them were nonplussed, and an even stronger smell arose.

  “Him??” one of the men said.

  I didn’t have time to say a word before they all ran off. I heard Elena laughing.

  “Are they your brothers?”

  “Yes. You’re really brave!”

  Bending down, she picked up the stone and returned it to me. Alive again, the stone was shaking. We walked toward the room.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s something my brothers and I found in the lower grotto. There are many of them. We cut it with a machine and burnished it into several round stones.”

  “Since you gave it to me, does that mean I’m now one of you?”

  “You’re really smart.”

  “I’d like to see that grotto.”

  “No one knows where it is. We fell into it from a high place. No one wants to fall a second time. Hurry up and put this on!” She handed me a large bamboo hat.

  I had no sooner put the hat on than those damp things started falling from above. They became denser and denser, just like a downpour. I thought, this must be night-soil.

  “Above us is a place for raising ducks. All the ducks are raised hanging in the air. It’s time for them to defecate now.”

  “This layout of this building is really bizarre.”

  As I was dragging her along to hide in the hallway, I noticed that her clothes were dry. Although I was surrounded by a stinky smell, I smelled a faint scent of cinnamon coming from her.

  “You said earlier that it was clean here. You said it was like clouds floating in the sky. Why did you make this comparison? It’s nothing like that.”

  “Everything I said is true.”

  “If I come back, I won’t be able to find you. I don’t remember anything about how to get here,” I grumbled. “And I’m covered with shit. It’s so stinky; don’t you think I’m disgusting?”

  She snickered again. I heard her. She said she would take me to “the place where she hides.”

  “The place where she hides” wasn’t in her home, but in a large chicken coop outside the house. It had no door: she and I could both enter it by bending over. Probably several dozen mother hens were in there; illuminated by faint moonlight, the hens all looked seriously ill. Not at all surprised by our arrival, they quickly made room for us. Elena and I squatted on top of chicken shit; if it had been daytime, we would have looked very silly. In her fleece coat, she looked much like a little lamb. She told me, “They’ve arrived.” I asked her who; she said it was the clouds. I couldn’t get a good look at her, but I knew her eyes were closed. With her face upturned, she looked intoxicated with happiness. I tried to do exactly what she was doing, but to no avail. Just then, something happened: the stone in my pocket made a big commotion. When I took it out, it quivered violently.

  “You need to pinch it tightly,” Elena said gently.

  But after a while, it slipped out of my hand again. No sooner had it fallen down than the mother hens all went crazy and flew around in confusion. They even fiercely pecked my face a few times. My face was bleeding. If I hadn’t covered my eyes with my hands, they would have even pecked out my eyeballs. Annoyed, Elena dragged me out of the chicken coop, but she didn’t forget to pick up the stone. I heard her say: “You’re really mischievous. Stop for a moment, okay?” She put the stone—now calm again—back into my hand.

  “Once a stone is picked up by someone in that kind of place, the stone is doomed to have no peace.”

  She said that now there was no place we could stay. We could only take the desperate step of going to a place called “Stockaded Mountain Village.” We certainly couldn’t stay here: I heard her brothers in the dark room shouting her name with that strange pronunciation. They sounded like devils. She was holding my arm tightly, more or less dragging me between houses. The path was full of discarded wood and garbage cans. All of a sudden, she stopped in the middle of the road and said we had reached the stockaded mountain village. Next to us was a large heap of dark things: Elena said it was a bear. But that thing didn’t look at all like a bear: it was roughly as large as half a cabin.

  “I love to lean against it and think of that matter. When I lean against it, this place becomes so open. There are only some clouds. From a distance, my parents and brothers call to me and I call to them. You may shake hands with it.”

  Reluctantly, I extended my hand to the dark thing. Although I didn’t touch anything, when I pulled my hand back, I heard a light po
pping sound, as if there were suction there.

  “You touched it, didn’t you? What do you think of it? This is our stockaded mountain village—its and mine. My family members can’t find this place. If they hadn’t driven me out, I wouldn’t have brought you here, either.” Her voice was filled with furtive joy.

  Inspired by her words, I extended my hand to it time and again and listened repeatedly to the popping sound. I even walked into it, but there was nothing inside. Of course, there were some things, because I felt the buoyancy of the air, and indeed, my feet kept leaving the ground and falling to the ground again. Elena’s voice was now far away.

  “Two flowers, three flowers. Ha. I see too many . . .”

  I wasn’t very accustomed to the buoyancy of the air. I kept wanting to grab something to steady myself. There was a lamp post. I would hang onto it. My movement caused me to fall head over heels, and it was hard to turn around. When I looked again, I couldn’t see any street light; there was just a faint streak of light, that’s all. Elena’s voice still reached me now and then.

  “It’s high . . . Drop down . . . Go home!”

  Was she telling me to go home? But I didn’t want to go back. The air all around had become so clear and fresh and cool, and it was emitting the fragrance of narcissi. If I were just a little patient and didn’t get flustered, I wouldn’t fall. And even if I fell, I wouldn’t die from it. I still wanted to stay a while longer and see if anything had changed here. I began making slow breast strokes, but they weren’t nearly as smooth as in the water. Any slight overexertion would send me tumbling over and over again. It would be much better if it were too dark to see anything: that way, I could follow my own inclinations. This half-light, half-dark atmosphere meant that I needed to be particularly cautious, because obstacles lay everywhere. It was impossible to decide whether you had to deal with them seriously. Most of the obstacles were illusory, like that lamp post.

  After I entered Elena’s stockaded village, the stone in my pocket calmed down. When I brought it to my ear, I could still hear the buzzing sound; it was steady and joyful. For the moment, it seemed I had no way to leave her stockaded village. I tried to, but I just couldn’t. Anyhow, now I didn’t want to go, for this place was refreshing. Ah, if Elena were here, it would be wonderful! We could perform a moon-walking dance together, or we could embrace and kiss one another in the sweet-scented air current. I saw huge shadows edging toward me—three of them altogether. Maybe they were the cloud-like things she had talked of. They finally came over and wrapped me up in them. Actually it wasn’t frightening; it was just a little darker. This is what I thought at first. Later, when it grew darker and darker, and I heard the sound of grinding and sparks bursting forth all around me, I grew nervous.

  “Elena! Elena!” I shouted.

  “Go home . . . go home . . .”

  Her voice was splintered by the wind—a little here, a little there. I couldn’t distinguish what direction it was coming from. These three things were probably all grinding against each other, and I might become a sacrificial lamb. She told me to go home, but how could I break out of here? I closed my eyes and collected my thoughts and continued to swim in one direction. I warned myself to take it easy and not to be worried or rash. I remembered that in the beginning Elena hadn’t wanted me to intrude on her world: perhaps I was as curious about her as she was about me. Now I heard the sound of something detonating next to me: I was both excited and frightened. How long had I been swimming? Why hadn’t I already made my way out of the stockaded village? I’d better open my eyes.

  The mountain really did appear before me. The mountain was filled with the wandering beams of torches. I thought I would swim over to that side. I tried hard, and then harder, but it was useless: I was still in the same place. The wind made my raincoat puff up and my feet left the ground. Someone next to me was talking, his voice growing louder and louder.

  “We more or less understand the circumstances over there. You’ve seen it, too. This kind of mountain always collects energy . . . What does it rely upon? It’s nothing but mutual extrusion . . .”

  Ah, it was Lai. I had already walked to the end of the alley, and the rain was coming down hard. Lai winked at me and said: “You dunce—wandering around at night in this kind of weather!”

  I knew he was suggesting that I was sleepwalking. I wasn’t angry with him. I didn’t mind. I felt my pocket: the stone was still there. I stumbled a little, but I still took it out. The rain moistened it.

  “Put it away. I have one of these stones, too!”

  He began to run and reached our building before I did. He entered.

  When I went upstairs, it was suddenly light. The corridor was clean. Looking at myself again, I saw that I was clean, too. When I went into my room, I took off my raincoat and placed the stone on the table. Then, looking in the mirror, I combed my messy hair. While I was doing all these things, I kept one eye on the stone. It became an ordinary stone. I brought the stone to my ear. There was no sound at all. All of its life force had slipped away.

  Without knocking, Lai came in furtively.

  “Do you really have a stone like this?” I asked, a little disappointed.

  “Hunh. Whoever wants one can pick one up.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m not too sure, but anyhow, inside a grotto. Many people have fallen into it. In rainy weather like this, who wouldn’t want to get out? I understand you. I’ve come to talk with you about the mountain.”

  Lai was an idler in this old building. I had rarely heard him talk so earnestly. What he was saying startled me. He sat down comfortably on the recliner, but he didn’t talk with me about the mountain. Because he was in charge of collecting the water fees for this building, I went to get the money for him. I had taken only a few steps before I stopped in amazement: the grinding, as well as a slight sputtering, began to sound in the room. Both sounds were coming from Lai’s mouth. I recalled what Elena had said: “Like clouds floating in the air. Sometimes dense and sometimes sparse. They make pih-pah pih-pah sputtering sounds.” I raised my voice: “Where is the mountain? Is it raining on the mountain, too?”

  Lai jumped up, saying, “You fool, you fool,” and hurriedly left.

  It was broad daylight. I had nothing to do. I felt time hanging heavy on my hands. I wanted to revivify myself. I took a cold shower and did thirty push-ups. Then I rushed outside with my umbrella. I ran straight to the end of the street, turned onto another street, ran to the end of it, and then ran home. While I was running, heavy rain fell onto my umbrella like a chorus: “Elena! Elena!”

  MOONLIGHT

  DANCE

  =

  I belong to the moonlight; the lion belongs to the darkness. The strange thing is that the lion is always walking back and forth, bathing in the moonlight in the wasteland, and I am generally tilling the humus soil with the earthworms. I only till, never harvest. Sometimes, I work my way out of the ground to stand beside the shrubs and wait. When a bat stops to rest, I jump onto her back. Then, carrying me, she flies to the ancient cave. I don’t want to describe my experience in the dark cave: it’s a place eerier than hell. Even in the daylight, every now and then the tragic cry of slaughter comes from the cave. I wait in the cave until nightfall, when my friend carries me on her back and flies toward the forest. When she stops on a pine tree, I leap to its highest branch. From there, I look out: the wasteland undulates in my field of vision, and the lion is anxiously looking for food. His objective is the zebra on the opposite shore of the stream; my objective is the lion. But why does he never attack? Does he like the high he gets from being dominant?

  It’s dark, and my friend has flown off. The branch is swaying in the wind, and I am holding on to the branch, clinging to it with my belly. I imagine myself canoeing in the ocean. The moon has risen, and I see the lion at rest. The zebra is resting, too. Only a shallow stream separates them. How does the lion dispel his hunger pangs? This is his secret, and it is also my secret question. The mo
onlight dyes his long mane silver. His face is as ancient as the rock beside him. I’m enthralled by his face, but his face also troubles me day and night, because I can’t find the solution.

  The forest becomes noisy, as usual: in the moonlight, these fellows won’t be quiet. There are all kinds of sounds everywhere. Branches crack with a sound so vigorous that it’s as if they want to turn the entire forest into ruins. Luckily, there are fireflies here—so many that they stream like waves of stars before my eyes. Some—the wingless ones—pause on the withered leaves on the ground and shine silently. Their light can reflect only a little spot under their feet. These are blind insects. I once tried to lure these wingless fireflies to go with me into the earth. They ignored me; they’re too proud. It can also be said that they are complacent and self-sufficient. Their idea is that they till their own bodies. The lion has turned around; his back is to me now: what a sorrowful view it is. Now, even the zebras are in a stupor; trusting to luck, they’ve entered dreamland.

  On vast Mother Earth, silhouettes of some other lions have emerged. They aren’t real lions, but a trick of the moonlight. These illusions form a single line, extending to the horizon. Have you heard the lion weep? No, the lion’s weeping is inaudible. My vision is blurred, and I’m weary from standing on a high place. I have to go down. Once I’m mixed in with those noisy fellows in the night, I relax, body and soul.

  I know that my friend is working right now, so I’d better walk back. I walk a very long time before reaching the land I was tilling. In the moonlight, the large expanse of dark earth looks a little like a gloomy graveyard. A heap of wingless fireflies is assembled below the bosk. What is this all about? Is it some kind of ceremony? The heap of tiny fires was gleaming, and gradually grew dark! They burned up their inner fire beside the land I was tilling. These tiny insects had limited choices. I smelled the charred flesh: the odor left me in a bad mood. From the cave, I burrowed underground. I slept as I tilled. Sometime in the middle of the night, I encountered the earthworms. There were two of them—one above me and one below me, and they kept advancing along with me. It was always like this. I couldn’t see the earthworms, and yet they were always with me. As soon as they came toward me, I sensed them at once, for in the depth of the soil, the sensors were subtle. I could even sense their mood. The one above me was brimming with enthusiasm; the one below me was a little depressed. They were both time-tested believers. What did they believe in? They believed in everything, just like me. It was a faith born of the source. We were the moonlight school. The dark field was the place where we carried out our faith. I am going to fall into a dream: I knew I would dream of my grandfather. Neither an animal nor a plant, my grandfather was a little like the ocean’s coral. But he was born in a place deep in the earth. In his lifetime, he couldn’t move. He was always in the same place, thinking, thinking. After he died, it is said that his body fossilized in the place right under where I’m tilling—deep down, very, very deep. There will always be a day . . .