Trees Without Wind

by Li Rui

  15

  That woman! She carried a bowl of water to me in those soft, slender hands of hers. She knew you wanted a drink, she knew you wanted a drink, she loves you. That woman!

  She put the bowl of water to my lips and said, Here, have some water.

  I smiled; I took the bowl of water. Only when she pressed her thigh against me as I sat on the kang did all the men in the room stare wide-eyed. That woman! You can’t guess what she’s going to do. As I was drinking, she said, I’ll get you more if you want it. I smiled again. This bastard place is so poor there’s nothing here … except Nuanyu. Political Commissar Wang of the county military regiment asked me, how old are you, little devil? I said, Thirteen. Political Commissar Wang said, Little devil, when the revolution is victorious, will you be willing to remain here and work? I said, Yes. Political Commissar Wang’s home is in the south; you came to this poor place for the revolution. I’m from here, so why wouldn’t I be willing? Political Commissar Wang smiled and praised me, Good, that’s a good way of putting it. Later, Political Commissar Wang died a martyr’s death. After he had sacrificed himself, we, the soldiers of the county regiment, stood around his grave, raised our fists, and vowed we would avenge him and would see the revolution through to the end. As I was swearing my oath with my fist raised, I never really thought I’d one day become the commune head here and spend my whole life in this valley, or that I would meet this woman by the name of Nuanyu. Ancestors, this leg of hers will be the death of me!

  Kugen’r is such a child. Reading the quotations of Chairman Mao to me. At the age of thirteen I served as Political Commissar Wang’s bodyguard; when I was fighting for the revolution, bullets were flying. And you want to talk to me about political stand? What political stand? In the Yellow Earth Valley Commune, the Party is me and I am the Party and wherever I stand, that is the revolutionary stand. You can’t even understand that fucking little point, and you want to talk to me about political stand? Fool! In another way of speaking, Liu Bei said to Guan Yu that brothers are like hands and feet and that a wife is like clothes; if you lose your hands and feet you’re finished, but if your clothes are ruined, you can replace them. You’re such a child—you’ve never known the pleasures of a wife, do you know how hard it is without a wife? What do you know of a thigh like that? I sleep with Nuanyu because I want to marry her. Do you understand that? The revolutionary committee has only been around for two years and you want to overthrow things, do you? By overthrowing everything, won’t that make Political Commissar Wang’s death meaningless? This is not the time for overthrowing things; now is the time for purification! Do you understand? PURIFICATION!

  The leg pressed against me is so soft. The only thing I have to figure out right now is who else Nuanyu has slept with. I’ve spent my whole life in the revolution, and I’d risk it all for the truth. Her legs are so long. After the meeting ends, I’m going to ask her again who she has slept with. Chairman Mao says, “What really counts in the world is conscientiousness, and the Communist Party is most particular about being conscientious.” Can this damned matter not be taken seriously? You’ll have to come clean and tell me who you’ve slept with. Who? If there weren’t so many people watching, I’d damn well pinch your leg. I’d climb a mountain of swords for that leg, or plunge into a sea of flames. No one had better think of trying to stop me.

  After drinking the water, I handed the bowl back to her and said, Nuanyu, pour a bowl of water for Kugen’r. He can read again after he has a drink of water.

  After taking the bowl, she threw me a smile. She didn’t give the bowl to Kugen’r, she carried it over to Uncle Gimpy, her eyes wide open. That woman fucking cares nothing for class stand. In ten thousand lifetimes you’ll never be able to guess what she is fucking going to do. Old Gimpy, Old Gimpy, you really understand nothing; you really have the guts of a leopard; if there is anything to that, you’re dead.

  Holding the bowl, he stood in front of me, nodding and bowing.

  I said, Cao Yongfu, how can I drink water you pour?

  Kugen’r and Nuayu heard what I said.

  I said, Cao Yongfu, how can I drink water you pour?

  Stand? Do you know what my stand was when Political Commissar Wang died the death of a martyr? When Political Commissar Wang fell, his chest was covered with blood. I held him and wept. I said, Political Commissar Wang, Political Commissar Wang, you can’t die…. Political Commissar Wang opened his eyes and looked at me, smiled, and said, Little devil … Political Commissar Wang is finished. I said, Political Commissar Wang, I’ll spend my life watching over you, I’ll stay right here. Can you find this stand by reading the quotations of Chairman Mao? I’ve spent half my life here working and never once said no to the Party. Can you find this stand by reading the quotations of Chairman Mao? There’s no need for you to smile—tonight I’m going to give that leg of yours a good pinching.

  16

  Kugen’r placed the coal oil lamp on the table in front of the window and turned up the flame. A brilliant golden light seemed to rise from his hands, shining on his thin, determined face. On the wall right next to the table was a portrait of Chairman Mao wearing a cap with a red star on it; it was Kugen’r’s favorite picture of Chairman Mao because he too had a thin, determined face, in which you could even detect a trace of sadness. Right next to the portrait were a map of China and a map of the world; on the wall across from the maps was a red poster with yellow letters, a quotation from Chairman Mao that read, “We Communists are like seeds and the people are like the soil. Wherever we go, we must unite with the people, take root and blossom among them.” All Kugen’r needed to do was look up and his eyes could take in China and the world, and from his narrow, dark little cave he could enlarge his ideals into a magnificent picture scroll. Kugun’r had intentionally chosen this cave, the highest in the whole village and the remotest, because he knew that whenever the lamp shone in his window, the people could look up at the highest spot and see light. There was a thin, determined face in the light, on which there was a trace of sadness born of ideals. For six years, this window had greeted the sun first every day and been the very last to see off the evening clouds. In six years, or two thousand one hundred days, Kugen’r’s ideals had been enriched on a daily basis. With increasing age and maturity, Kugen’r sometimes rejoiced in being the orphan of a martyr. An orphan is a person with no ties, a person with the fewest selfish ideas and personal considerations, a person who naturally exists wholeheartedly for his ideals. The twin joys of having chosen ideals and having been chosen by ideals often stirred up a sense of excitement and pride deep in Kugen’r’s heart, which was difficult to express. Kugen’r longed to be tested by all sorts of sufferings on account of this excitement and pride. Deep in the still of night, living alone in the seclusion of his earthen cave, Kugen’r often sank into a profound happiness. On the vast wasteland in the endless night appeared a window like a point of starlight, the light of Kugen’r’s spiritual happiness.

  He became a martyr’s orphan at the age of six. In the summer of his sixth year, he saw his mother, who worked as a cleaner in a long-distance bus terminal, cry. As she wept, she clutched a letter and said, Kugen’r, Kugen’r, your lot is a hard one. At the time he didn’t know what a hard lot was. All he knew was that his father, who had gone to Korea as a volunteer soldier, had himself been killed by the American devils, and he had become a child without a father. A year later, his mother bought him a new book bag. She said, You should go to school. Choose a study name and don’t call yourself Kugen’r; your father’s surname is Zhao, the first in the list of one hundred surnames. Call yourself Zhao Weiguo. Her tears welled up as she spoke, and then suddenly she was lost in thought. When this happened she heard no one and didn’t speak, she was so blank she resembled a wooden stool. Later, when he entered junior high school—it was also during the summer—his mom went to work and never came back. The adults told him that his mom had been run over by a bus. She had been sweeping the lot when suddenly she just sto
od there without moving and a bus came along and ran her down. The adults dressed him all in white and led him behind a coffin to the graveyard. They also told him to kneel at the new grave and kowtow several times. The adults said, Cry, cry, cry. He didn’t cry. The whole time, he felt his mind was in chaos. After everything was taken care of and the adults had all left, only then, as he lay in bed, did he realize that he was completely alone. Kugen’r was not accustomed to being alone. When he crouched to drink from the cistern, he saw his face. Like a bolt of lightning, something of great importance came to him. He thought, My mom didn’t die. They never opened the coffin or asked me to look inside. It was empty. My mom didn’t die, she never died. And they wanted me to cry. I didn’t cry. With such thoughts, the face of the thirteen-year-old boy reflected in the water was shattered and made hideous by his falling tears. Later the school principal and his teacher said, Zhao Weigou, it would be best if you went to an orphanage. He said, I’m not going. From his book bag he took out a bereaved family pension card and he said, I get twenty yuan every month. I have money; I’m not going to an orphanage—I’m a student. My mom taught me how to cook and wash clothes. Besides, no one opened the coffin to let me see if my mother was inside. As Kugen’r spoke, his expression was firm and harsh. His firmness and harshness left the principal and the teacher confused. The principal kept saying, Okay, okay, that’s fine. Kugen’r grew even firmer and harsher as he said, I don’t care if it’s okay or not, I’m not going to an orphanage—I’m a student. The principal said, That’s fine, then you can live on campus. The principal also said, Zhao Weiguo, you must keep in mind that it is the Party and the country that are raising you. In the future you must listen to the Party. Kugen’r said, Of course I will. My father was a martyr. My mom said my dad was in a car when the American devils in their planes dropped a bomb, killing him. My father was a martyr. My father died, so I’m now the son of the Party. Of course I will listen to the Party—the Party is my father. The principal and the teacher listened, their mouths hanging open. The principal and the teacher felt that having such a student would constitute a paramount glory.

  Over the years, his classmates retained the memory of the scene of his father charging bravely ahead, risking the enemy’s fire. After watching the movie Battle for Triangle Hill, he could more clearly and concretely hear the sound of enemy aircraft and the exploding bombs. The scream of shells slicing through the air kept him excited, and agitated. This agitation became the inspiration for a novel one summer afternoon. That hot afternoon, to the noisy cries of the cicadas, Kugen’r finished reading the novel Great Changes in a Mountain Village. Opening the book, he saw a photo of the author wearing black-framed glasses; inside, the book said it was the story of a demobilized soldier who returns to his poor hometown to change the world. Kugen’r closed the book amid the noisy chirr of the cicadas, deciding that he too wanted to write a novel. He wanted to bring his father to life; he decided he wanted to live with his father in this world. This irresistible idea took root in Kugen’r’s mind, blossomed, and flourished like a brilliant sunflower. Kugen’r thought, I am the son of the Party, I am my father.

  Kugen’r placed a thick pile of notebooks in front of him. He was amazed as he weighed his life and his father’s life—over two thousand days had been arrested in the thick notebooks, in small, tightly packed words. Even now, some of his early decisions still amazed him; from the very day he arrived in Stunted Flats, he had decided to make his novel and his diary one and the same. On the cover of each notebook, he had written the eye-catching title “A Record of the Stormy Situation in a Mountain Village.” The main character in these notebooks wasn’t Zhao Weiguo or his father, but a heroic demobilized volunteer soldier by the name of Zhao Yingjie. In six years there wasn’t a day that Kugen’r failed to write in his diary; he had his imaginary father pour out his feelings and experiences each day in his diary. Kugen’r would often pause as he wrote, when overcome by tears of emotion. Gradually, as Kugen’r read over what he had written, he was amazed to discover that he was linked in flesh and blood to a common fate with his father, and that they existed as one in the character with the resounding name of Zhao Yingjie.

  Kugen’r took his notebook and in it solemnly wrote:

  November 5, 1969

  Would he actually do it or not? In six years, it was the first time he had encountered such an intense and unavoidable test. He had to courageously decide in line with the position of the revolutionary cause. In the midst of this critical and complicated class struggle, at this critical moment, loyalty to the Party came above all else. Zhao Yingjie had to make his own decision. The highest directive was his beacon light….

  17

  I was standing in the shadow of the pediment, disinclined to move, listening to everyone as they dispersed, walking away, listening to people open and close their doors. Then nothing was heard and nothing was seen. Tell me, if they all went off to sleep and didn’t wake up and the sun didn’t rise, what sort of world would it be? Probably just like this one. Dark, utterly dark, so black you can’t see the outline of anything, really dark, the only thing in front of you is blackness that can’t be moved or dispersed.

  I didn’t take the lantern, I left it at home; I didn’t want to leave them in a dark house. I didn’t want them to wake up and be confronted by the utter darkness and have them feel afraid. Also, if they woke up with a start—they are not very brave—I didn’t want them to be frightened. I’m used to walking at night, feeling my way along in the dark; I’ve been walking in this little village for forty-five years and couldn’t get lost even with my eyes closed. Life is like walking at night, one step at a time—it’s all dark with your eyes open, and it’s all dark with your eyes closed. You can’t move it or disperse it; there’s nothing you can do—it’s all dark in front of you and all dark behind you. From the very first, in your mother’s belly, it’s dark; no sooner than you die and your eyes close than you’re buried in the ground, and it’s dark. They say your soul remains after you die, but who knows if souls come out at night or during the day? If they do come out at night, can they walk in the dark? It’s really dark, and it can’t be moved or dispersed.

  She scared me. She said, Uncle Gimpy.

  My heart pounded. I said, Who’s that?

  She said, Uncle Gimpy, I’ve been watching you. You’re not going home, you’re just standing there. What are you doing? What are you doing?

  I said, Oh, my good woman. Why don’t you hurry home? Are you trying to get me killed? If Commune Head Liu sees, I’ll be dead for sure.

  She said, He wouldn’t dare. I wasn’t sold to him. I can talk with whomever I want. If he wants to interfere, he can just stop coming to my place; he can go wherever he likes.

  I said, I have to go home and feed them their evening fodder. Get along. You best get going.

  I left.

  She said, Uncle Gimpy, is anything the matter? I’ve been watching you here for ages.

  I ignored her and kept walking. It was really dark—you couldn’t move it or disperse it. A high step, a low step, it was all dark. In the darkness that was as black as lacquer, she kept asking from behind, Is anything the matter? It was really dark—you couldn’t move or disperse it.

  Finally, I got home. Hearing the door open, Erhei’s ears twitched. The warm air hit me. I said, Erhei, I woke you. Erhei flicked his ears. I said, Erhei, it’s just as well that you’re awake—I’m here to give you a little nighttime fodder. On such a cold night you have to eat your fill; otherwise, how can you keep the cold away? They were all awake. They all squeezed together at the manger. I stirred the feed and they chewed noisily, savoring. It’s my good fortune to spend my life with them. See, they listen to me; they are enjoying their food.

  She nearly scared me to death. She called from outside my door, Uncle Gimpy, Uncle Gimpy, is anything the matter?

  I broke out in a cold sweat. I said, What’s the matter with you today? Do you have to let him see? What could be the matter? Hurry up,
you should leave.

  She said, Uncle Gimpy, what are you afraid of?

  I said, Hurry up and get along. I’m begging you, okay?

  Just as I was speaking, she lifted the door curtain and came in, took a bottle of liquor from her breast, and handed it to me. She said, Here. She said, I don’t like seeing you frightened this way. You are a man. Dropping the curtain, she left. Couldn’t move it or disperse it; it was so dark you couldn’t see a thing.

  I knew that bottle. There was still a little left in the bottom, not much to toss back. It was Wucheng, it burned all the way down. Don’t know how long she must have carried it; holding it close to her breast really warmed it up.

  I smiled. I said, Erhei, it’s a good day—there’s wine.

  Erhei, tell me, who am I afraid of? What am I afraid of? If you’re afraid of something in life, you still have to go on living; if you’re afraid of nothing, you still have to go on living. Fear or no fear, there’s only this one life. All you have to do is want to go on living and regardless of how much suffering and how much hardship, even if you’re a horse or ox, it’s still a blessing. If you don’t want to go on living, you could be the emperor and eat skillet cakes and fragrant oil every day, wear an emperor’s robe, ride in a sedan chair, and it would all be torture.

  Isn’t that so, Erhei?

  Erhei buried his head in the manger and chewed, ignoring me. He was so warm, even on such a cold night, he was so warm. It really was Wucheng, it burned all the way down, burned till your head spun. It was so dark; you couldn’t move it or disperse it.

  Who am I afraid of? I’m not afraid at all. Isn’t that so, Erhei? They say your soul remains after you die. Is that the case, Erhei? Yes or no? Tell me, Erhei.

  You … you … you’re so warm.

  18

  It was so dark you couldn’t see a thing. I heard her footsteps, so I stopped her. I said, Stop, I have something to say to you.