by Yan Lianke
Uncle Yan stared in alarm.
As Uncle Yan stared, he released my hand. He looked down at my face, the way a fortune-teller might stare at a divination book. The night was murky, but the moon was bright. I saw Uncle Yan’s face, which was like an undecipherable divination book. I looked at him, and he looked back at me. Then, he pulled me over to sit down on that wall under the pagoda tree and proceeded to ask me some very peculiar questions—some very mysterious and abstruse questions, like a woman unable to bear children who goes to a bodhisattva to ask when she will be able to get pregnant.
“Niannian, tell Uncle Yan the truth, which of his books do you like the best?
“Tell Uncle Yan the truth, which of his books describes the events of our village and our town most accurately?
“Niannian, Uncle Yan is begging you to tell him about your family’s and your uncle’s affairs. Your father, your mother, and your uncle—the things they’ve done in their lives all concern momentous matters of life and death for us. I want to write a book about life and death in our village. Once I have finished, hopefully not only will you enjoy it, but furthermore the other people in the village and the town who can read will also enjoy it. Tell me, tell me—tell me about your father, your mother, and your uncle. If you do, then the next time I come, I’ll bring you more books. Your Uncle Yan may not have written any good books himself, but he can bring you many good ones.”
“What books?”
“I’ll bring you a copy of The Plum in the Golden Vase. It’s so good, it’s out of this world.”
In the end, I didn’t tell Uncle Yan about my family. Instead, I kept my lips sealed and refused to say a single word. I didn’t realize that what he said and asked while dreamwalking was completely without rhyme or reason, but I looked up at his face and saw that it really truly resembled a pile of books full of miswritten characters, or a divination book that no one can understand. However, I was not dreamwalking, nor was I stupid, as everyone thought I was. I certainly wouldn’t tell him my family’s matters simply for a copy of a “Golden” something or a “Plum” something. I didn’t tell him about my uncle and the crematorium, nor did I tell him that my father was a local informer who encouraged the higher-ups to cremate corpses that had been illegally buried, and who had also hidden barrel upon barrel of corpse oil in a cave under the embankment—right next to the courtyard Yan had rented for his studio. “What is there to tell about our family? We eat food, we put on our clothes, and when someone dies, we may sell a wreath and earn a bit of money. We then use this money to buy colored paper to make more wreaths, and gold foil with which to make funerary ornaments. With whatever remains, we buy some food to eat.”
I didn’t say anything else.
I didn’t know what to say. The moon and clouds were slowly passing overhead. We walked away—we left the pagoda tree and headed toward the embankment. We left without saying anything else. We were no longer as close as we had been. I didn’t tell him I felt a bit ashamed and conflicted when it came to what my family had done, as though I had stolen something from him, owed him something, or had somehow done him wrong. In order to regain the intimacy we had enjoyed beneath that pagoda tree, I took his hand and asked him piles of intimate questions.
“Uncle Yan, do you think people spend their lives telling other people stories, or do they spend their lives listening to the stories that others tell them?
“Uncle Yan, when I grow up, do you think I should leave Gaotian, as you did, or should I stay here with my parents?
“Uncle Yan, when a man gets married, do you think he should look for only one woman, or for two or more?”
In this way, we soon arrived at the embankment. Up on the embankment, I felt that we were closer to the sky. Closer to the moon and the clouds. I felt we were farther from the world of Gaotian, from the bustling life of the villagers who were fighting and dreamwalking, and from their eating, dressing, sowing, weeding, chatting, drinking, and sleeping. When we reached the entrance to the courtyard that Uncle Yan had rented on the embankment, I saw that the reservoir below was perfectly blue, as though all of the light from the moon had been stored there. It was as bright as a mirror, as ice, or as a dream. There was a breeze blowing, and some lonely voices drifted over. I saw an owl, which was standing in a nearby field with eyes like a pair of red lanterns. I saw the funeral parlor, and on the distant hill its lights resembled a couple of clouds that had descended from the sky. The two of us stood in his entranceway, and the prospect of parting hung like a frosted leaf over his face and over my heart. In the end, we had no choice but to part, since he had to go to sleep. If he had fallen down while dreamwalking, he probably would have fallen asleep, but instead he continued talking and writing as usual. Everything he thought and did was just like what he wrote about in his novels. Perhaps as soon as he went inside, he would sit down and begin writing a novel that would function as a warm stove in winter and a cool electric fan in summer. For the sake of this book, we had to separate—but as we were parting, he told me something my own parents had never told me.
“Niannian, you should continue to learn from your parents how to make funerary paper ornaments, so that when you grow up you can make a good living.
“Niannian, if a girl likes you, you should marry her. Heaven and God have decreed that each man should have only one woman.
“Niannian, you should leave. Uncle Yan wants to take advantage of his somnambulism to write a story. Uncle Yan wants to follow your suggestion, and write about a warm stove in winter and a cool fan in summer. A book that the villagers and townspeople will all want to read.”
He patted my head, and proceeded into his courtyard. After telling me to go home, he shut the courtyard gate.
I continued standing in the entranceway, as though I were slowly falling into a dream or into a well. I again thought about the somnambulism. I thought about the town and the village. I thought about my parents, but then felt a sudden chill. I shuddered, and wondered whether or not anyone would take advantage of the somnambulism to steal from my family. I wondered whether, in order to steal from us, someone would tie up my parents and beat them. With my mind feeling like a bolt of lightning just before a downpour, I left Uncle Yan, and left his house up on the embankment.
I rushed home.
BOOK EIGHT
Geng 5, Part Two: Some Are Living and Some Are Dead
1. (4:06–4:26)
When I reached the entrance to the funerary shop, I froze in my tracks.
I felt as though a brick had smashed into my head.
It was just as I had feared, and I felt as though I had already glimpsed what was happening in our funerary shop from the embankment two li away. I frantically pushed open the door and stood in the entranceway. My sudden arrival startled my parents and the two thieves. The light glowed, as lights do. Wreaths, spirit money, and paper ornaments were scattered around the room as though a strong gust of wind had just blown the flower blossoms and the green leaves to the ground. There were also broken stems and branches from the fruit trees, trampled twigs from the wreaths and bamboo baskets, and the wire and sticks used to make funerary figurines, together with painted busts of boys and girls—all scattered on the ground and piled against the garden wall. Inside the room, red and yellow items were fluttering around and hanging down, against a blue-green and violet-crimson background, like a flower pond shattered by hail. It was extremely cold, but also extremely hot. Mother and Father were tied to chairs positioned on opposite ends of the room, and the faces of the two men were obscured by their masks. The taller man was standing with his arms crossed, while the shorter one was holding a wooden pole that was as thick as his arm. Sweat was running down the thieves’ necks, chests, and backs, but they seemed to have no desire to remove their masks. Instead, they stood there, staring at my parents while waiting for something. Their eyes were visible through the holes in their masks, appearing both dark and bright, and not at all sleepy. They were wide awake, as a result of either having been
woken by my father or having drunk my mother’s tea. After waking up, they may have taken advantage of the general somnambulism to try to steal things. As for my parents, who were tied up and sitting on opposite sides of the room, their faces were a mixture of white, yellow, and yellowish-white, and were covered in sweat, as though they had gotten caught in a rainstorm. The thieves periodically stared ahead, then glanced at the stairs leading to the second floor, and into the inner room. They seemed to be waiting for something, but I didn’t know what. It also seemed that they were waiting for me to push open the door and walk in.
I stopped in the entranceway, and stood there staring straight ahead. It was precisely as I had imagined, like a screw fitting perfectly into a screw hole. I had assumed that if someone were going to rob our family’s store, he would be wearing a full-face mask or else would have a handkerchief over his face, and these men were, in fact, wearing masks. I had thought that if someone were going to rob us, it definitely wouldn’t be just one person, and, in fact, it turned out to be two people. And perhaps it wasn’t just two people, but rather three—because otherwise why would the thieves keep glancing upstairs? Also, I had assumed that if people came to rob us, they would definitely rip up those wreaths and paper ornaments and scatter them everywhere, and, in fact, the room looked as though a hurricane had swept through it.
Everything was exactly as I had imagined it.
It was like a screw fitting perfectly into a screw hole.
I entered the room and stood there staring in shock, astonished by the fact that everything was exactly as I had imagined it. I looked at Father, and at Mother. Then, when I looked again at the two thieves, the taller one lunged forward and brought his hand down on my shoulder. Grabbing my shoulder as though it were a gold brick, he pulled me inside, and I was standing directly in front of him. Just as I was thinking that my parents were going to say something, my father exclaimed, “He is still a child. Daming, why don’t you let him go?” My father struggled to come toward me, ripping the paper blossoms under his chair. “Don’t call me Daming! I already told you, I’m not Daming! Didn’t you hear me?” The tall thief went over and kicked Father’s chair. When Father didn’t respond, the thief kicked the chair again until his foot hurt, then he hopped around the room gasping in pain.
The shorter one, who was carrying the wooden pole, suddenly burst out laughing.
The taller one glared in annoyance, whereupon the shorter one immediately fell silent.
“Don’t grab him. Don’t frighten the boy!” Mother also leaned forward. Her voice was urgent and pleading, but also somewhat calm. “We are all fellow townspeople, and after tonight—after everyone wakes up—won’t we still see one another?” As she said this, Mother gazed at the two thieves, but they placed no stock whatsoever in what she said. “We aren’t from your Gaotian Town.” The shorter one waved his wooden pole at Mother. “If we were from the same town, do you think we’d come and steal from you, or from your funerary shop? If someone were going to steal from anywhere, who would steal from a fucking funerary shop? Given that your fellow townspeople have already robbed the town’s valuable stores, outsiders like us need to rob a shop like yours so that we won’t have to leave empty-handed.” He said this as though offering an explanation. At least it sounded like an explanation, but his voice was so loud and coarse it seemed as though it could shake the blossoms that blanketed the ground. At this point, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming from the inner room. The sound was somewhat familiar to me—like the way that, while eating, I would knock my chopsticks against the side of my bowl. When I turned to see who it was, I saw two fat men come down the steps. One of them was carrying a backpack, and the other was holding a bag. As they came forward, they put their masks back on while shaking their heads at the original two thieves, who were watching them.
They shook their heads with a look of disappointment.
It was also with great disappointment that the tall thief grabbed my shoulder and pulled me toward him. “Niannian, you returned at precisely the right time. Tell me where your family’s money is hidden! This is the season of death and everywhere—both in town and out of town—people are dropping like wheat being harvested. Therefore, business at your family’s funerary shop must be as good as this year’s wheat crop, but we’ve searched your house upstairs and downstairs, and have found only a few hundred yuan. Who do you think you’re fooling?” As he said this, he gently turned my body, such that I was facing Father, with my back against his belly and his thighs. He gripped my throat with his arm, as though trying to choke me, as though he were trying to squeeze money right out of my throat, and I felt as if I was being strangled. Sweat poured down my forehead like water streaming down a mirror that had just been pulled out of a pool, or like rain pouring from a house’s awning during a thunderstorm. I felt as though he were lifting both my feet off the ground. A button from his sleeve got jammed into my mouth and caught in my throat, and I wanted to cough, but the button was wedged in my throat such that I couldn’t cough it out, nor could I talk or even breathe.
“How do you expect him to say anything if you’re choking him? How do you expect him to say anything?” As Father struggled to speak, the shorter of the two thieves pushed him back, and he was once again sitting where he had been. But even as Father’s body returned to its original location, his voice continued to resonate throughout the room. “Let him speak . . . let him speak. . . . Wherever he says there is money, you can go look there.
“You can also have him go look on your behalf. But how is he going to be able to help you if you choke him? How is he going to be able to help you if you choke him?” As my father shouted, he stomped his feet. He was struggling to stand, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t get out of his seat.
The taller thief loosened his grip on my neck, and air rushed in like wind through an open door. I coughed repeatedly, and the hot sweat on my forehead and face quickly cooled. I knew that I would no longer feel sleepy, and therefore wouldn’t dreamwalk. I felt wide awake as though my brain were a block of ice or covered in icicles. “Don’t you just want some money?” I turned to look at the thief who had been choking me. His nose was poking through his mask, while the area in front of his mouth had a damp patch from his breath.
“If you want money, you shouldn’t choke me like this, because if you do, how am I supposed to get you money?
“I know where the money is.
“Listen to me, and I promise you’ll end up with a lot of money.
“Why steal from a funerary shop when you could rob the crematorium? How much do you think our family possibly earns from selling each wreath? And furthermore, we still need to buy food and clothing, and pay the rent. The crematorium, however, needs only a bit of oil and electricity to cremate each body. When people go to a hospital for treatment, they may try to bargain for a cheaper price, but after someone dies and is sent to be cremated, no family would dream of trying to bargain for a cheaper price, and instead the relatives simply pay however much the crematorium asks. So, rather than coming to steal from our funerary shop, you should go steal from the crematorium.”
No one spoke or even moved. Instead, everyone stayed frozen like a statue. It was very hot and stuffy in the room. The short, fat thief wanted to remove his mask to get some air, but when the tall, fat thief turned to stare at him, the man quickly pulled his mask back over his face. Some people were walking down the street, and looked in our direction. One was carrying something, and shouted, “Even the funerary shop is being robbed.” Then he walked away, laughing. Father looked at me, as did Mother. The thieves looked at me, then exchanged glances with one another through the eyeholes in their face masks. Their eyes appeared bright and happy, as though I had just helped them think of something—as though I had reminded them where the key to the front door of a bank or a safe-deposit vault was located. The tall, fat man suddenly tossed aside the bag he was carrying and laughed. “Fuck, why didn’t we think of that?”
The taller one stared at the bundle on the ground, a skeptical look hovering over his eyes like mist over a pond.
“It’s just a bedsheet, and not worth anything.” As the fat one said this, he glanced at the tall one. The two of them had a quick conversation with their eyes, during which the short and fat thief on the stairs tossed down the items they had with them. Then, the tall thief looked again at the short one, whereupon the short one threw his pole to the ground. Then, all four men removed their ski masks and proceeded to use them to wipe their sweaty faces. My parents and I saw that the tall thief was Sun Daming from Third Street. The fat one was Daming’s cousin—his mother’s nephew—from a neighboring village, but I didn’t know his name. The other two were also from neighboring villages—they were the children of Daming’s uncle. The four of them were all relatives who had come out to steal together. Although they were neither sleeping nor dreamwalking, they were taking advantage of this night of the great somnambulism to steal things. After removing their ski masks, they stood in the middle of the room, and Daming told the short thief to go untie my mother, and told the tall one to go untie my father. Then he stepped forward and stood in front of my father.
“Li Tianbao, tell me the truth. After my father died, was it you who informed the crematorium that he had been buried?”
My father shook his head, and rubbed the marks the rope had left on his wrist. “If it were up to me, I would have preferred to die tonight while dreamwalking, without realizing it.” Father looked around the room, then turned to Mother. “There’s still tea in the pot in the kitchen. If you drink some, you will no longer be sleepy, and will no longer do nonsensical things.” When the fat thief heard this, he laughed, then stepped up to my father. “It was precisely because we were confused that we didn’t come out sooner to take advantage of the somnambulism to steal things. That’s why we didn’t come out until now, after all of the town’s stores had already been robbed bare.” Then he looked at his cousin Sun Daming, and declared to my parents, “We’ll return all of your things to you. If you didn’t inform on my cousin, then we don’t have a score to settle with you. Now you just need to let Niannian accompany us for a while.”