Trees Without Wind

by Li Rui

  I said, Kugen’r, let’s change places.

  He said, No need. You feed the stalks better than I do.

  I said, Look at how you sweat, look at your hand.

  He said, Don’t worry. Humi, didn’t you say one cun of stalks takes three cuts, and even the thin ones will fatten up?

  I said, Even if it is fatter, it is still a beast. But are we human?

  He said, Don’t worry—two more bundles will be enough.

  I said, Then let’s take a rest.

  I removed the bundle from the hay cutter. He stood up and lifted his shirt to wipe away his sweat. His face was red and shiny in the light of the lantern. He pulled a handful of fried beans from his pocket and crunched on them noisily, savoring them like a horse. He looked at me, smiled, and said, I’m hungry. He took another handful from his pocket and, handing them to me, said, You want some?

  I said, Sure.

  I too crunched on them noisily, savoring them like a horse.

  Out of the dark came the sound of wood being sawed, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la. It was Uncle Chuandeng and Erniu sawing the boards for Uncle Gimpy’s coffin. Erhei was still there digging, dig, thud, dig, thud; and after enough digging, Erhei brayed, Eeaw, ee-aw. What’s Erhei doing? Does he have a human nature? Does he know that Uncle Gimpy hanged himself? Does he know that Uncle Gimpy is dead? The window is still open like a big black hole. Uncle Gimpy lies in the big black hole without uttering a sound. Uncle Gimpy is dead. Uncle Gimpy hanged himself. Uncle Gimpy can’t talk. Uncle Gimpy lies in that big black hole without moving or uttering a sound. He doesn’t feel cold or hungry, doesn’t know if it’s light or dark, or that Uncle Chuandeng is sawing wood for him, that Erhei is digging, thudding, or that Kugen’r and I are cutting millet stalks. Uncle Gimpy can’t see, knows nothing, can’t say anything—it’s all nothing. Uncle Gimpy, did you want to snatch something from the Old Man in Heaven? Why were you in such a hurry? You didn’t snatch anything—everything was arranged by the Old Man in Heaven. You don’t have anything, everything was for nothing, so what did you snatch? If it belongs to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t belong to you, even if you snatch it, it’s still not yours. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. Wrong is right? Right is wrong? Chi-la, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la. The sky was as black as the bottom of a pot; the earth was as black as the bottom of a pot. Uncle Chuandeng is sawing, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la, as if sawing through the pot from inside. Why didn’t you get here sooner, Uncle Chuandeng? If you had, you could have sawed the black bottom of the pot in half by now, sawed it apart, which would have saved Uncle Gimpy the trouble of hanging himself and me of cutting millet stalks, saved me the trouble of everything. The way the old folks tell it, back before everything, there was no sky, earth, mountains, forests, people, crops, or beasts; there wasn’t a damned thing. There were just two black pots stuck together. Later, a god by the name of Pan Gu woke up, took up an axe, and struck with all his might, separating Heaven and Earth. Starting then, there was sky, earth, mountains, forests, people, crops, and beasts, there was every damned thing. Pan Gu must have been a carpenter; otherwise, where did he get the axe? With one blow, Pan Gu started an unending stream of dynasties, an unending stream of right and wrong, an unending stream of birth and death; created Uncle Gimpy who hanged himself, created Humi and his Sack, created Kugen’r who’s working a hay cutter, created Tianzhu who swears every day at Humi, created Erhei who digs, thudding, on and on, never ever ending … chi-la, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la … Why didn’t you get here sooner, Uncle Chuandeng? If you and Erniu don’t have enough energy, I’ll help you and we could saw these two pots split apart by Pan Gu in half again, saw them apart! That would bring an end to that unending stream, and everything would be all right. Erhei brayed, Ee-aw, ee-aw, ee-aw. Don’t cry, Erhei. You can’t bring him back by braying. Uncle Gimpy hanged himself, Uncle Gimpy is dead. You cry, but he doesn’t know it. You cry, but he doesn’t hear it. Uncle Gimpy is dead, and dying means that everything is wrong … chi-la, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la … over and over again, never ever ending….

  He pressed me and said, Humi, let’s hurry up and cut this. Erhei is braying because he’s so hungry.

  The only thing he knows how to do is cut stalks. He doesn’t know a motherfucking thing!

  I said, Kugen’r, you’d better keep an eye on Erhei tonight. It seems there’s something not quite fucking right about him. It’s like he knows Uncle Gimpy hanged himself, that Uncle Gimpy is dead!

  He said, Humi, Erhei is a donkey. How could a donkey know these things? Don’t start in with that feudal superstition.

  The only thing he knows how to do is cut stalks. He doesn’t know a motherfucking thing.

  I said, Kugen’r, you left the city to come out and suffer here in Stunted Flats. What exactly was it you were thinking?

  He shook his head and said, If I told you, you wouldn’t understand; if I told you, you wouldn’t get it. None of you understands what I am trying to do. You’ll never understand what I’m trying to do. Let’s cut.

  The only thing he knows how to do is cut stalks. He doesn’t know a damned thing.

  The sky was so dark. Uncle Chuandeng was sawing, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la. Erhei was digging, thudding, digging, thudding.

  I sat down on the cattail mat again, held the bundle with my legs and arms, feeding it in little by little. He cut it with the hay cutter. Gecha-gecha-gecha. The finger-thick millet stalks are cut in lengths, in cracker-thin disks that fall outside the cutter. Each time he cut, he frowned; cut and frowned, cut and frowned. Drops of sweat dripped from his brow as he cut, cut and dripped, cut and dripped. Gecha-gecha-gecha, over and over again, never ending.

  She arrived while we were cutting. She walked toward us with her hand outstretched, going Wa-wa-wa-wa-wa. No one knew what she wanted to do or say.

  I said, What are you doing here? Damn it, you don’t need to feed the animals.

  She just went Wa-wa-wa-wa.

  Kugen’r said, Hurry home and eat, Tianzhu is probably worried about you. Go on.

  She just went Wa-wa-wa-wa.

  I said, What do you want?

  She just went Wa-wa-wa-wa.

  Erhei was digging, thud, digging, thud, digging, thud, digging, thud. Uncle Chuandeng and Erniu were still there sawing, chi-la, chi-la, chi-la. The two of us were still cutting, gecha-gecha-gecha. So wrapped up in our work that we didn’t know what the other was doing. Over and over again without end. If anyone knew, he would be the carpenter, he would be Pan Gu.

  44

  The red one the red one the red one the red one stands here the green one the green one the green one the green one is inside the green one doesn’t speak the green one pays no attention to me the green one doesn’t feed me the green one is inside the green one doesn’t feed me

  45

  Wa-wa-wa … wu-wa-wa-wa-wa … ya-wa-wa-wa-wa….

  46

  Erhei, Erhei, don’t dig. Aren’t you tired? Why don’t you behave and not worry folks? Didn’t I get up early and tell you, when you got back from work you wouldn’t see me? The one lying in there isn’t me. Why don’t you understand? Think about it: if that were me, could I ignore you? Wouldn’t I feed you? Who do I care for in the world more than you? Why don’t you understand? I hanged myself. Hanging is when you tie a rope so tight around yourself that you can’t breathe. You can’t breathe, so you die. When someone dies it means not being able to talk, to move, to pet you, to feed you, or to care for you. Dead is dead, it’s nothing. It means never being able to see, to pet, to get angry, be happy, be sad, be homesick, leave home, return home, love you, cry, laugh, eat, drink; you can’t do anything. Erhei, Erhei, why can’t you understand? Digging, braying, and crying are all of no use. I can’t open my mouth now, you can’t hear what I say, and I said what I had to say this morning. Just think about it: if I hadn’t said everything and told you how to behave, could I have left you? Erhei, don’t dig, bray, or cry. You can’t be angry with death, you can’t grieve over death, nor cry abo
ut death. If you get angry, grieve, or cry about death, it means you won’t be able to get by. Erhei, think about it: how could you let death speak to you, let death care for you, or let death feed you? Erhei, don’t keep digging and crying. Erhei, lift your head and look at the sky. What does the sky look like right now? What do you see, Erhei? Do you see anything but the black sky and black earth? Do you know how deep that blackness is? How vast? How far it extends? How long? Do you know where that blackness comes from? Where it goes? Do you know when it started? Do you know when it will no longer be? Erhei, don’t cry. If you must see me, lift your head and look at the black sky, the black earth. That blackness with no sides, no edge, no head, no tail, no inside, no outside, no top, and no bottom is me. It’s you who the lantern illuminates and it’s you who is alive. I am death. That lantern is really small. Small enough to make a person worry, feel distressed, and feel afraid. All your lantern has to do is go out in just a moment and life becomes death, becomes nothing, and you become me. Erhei, you’re a wick no larger than a pea, you’re just the blink of an eye. Before you understand, you have nothing, you are nothing. If you’re sad or angry again, if you don’t know how to care for yourself, you won’t even have this wick, this blink of an eye; nothing will remain. By then, regrets will be too late. You won’t be in time for regrets. If you want to be regretful, you won’t have a time or place to be so. Erhei, listen to me, don’t cry. Don’t be angry. Lift your head and look at the sky and look at the earth, and you’ll know where I am. Don’t think that black is nothing, the absence of everything. That’s what I used to think. I used to think that all you had to do was close your eyes for everything to be black and there was nothing, that it was nothing, equally dark inside and outside of you, equally empty. All you have to do is close your eyes; then all that remains is the black sky and the black earth, with no sides or edges, nothing, isn’t, and can’t; all that remains can’t be changed, filled up, got rid of; nothing, isn’t, and can’t. Now I know—now that I have stopped breathing and can’t move, now that I am really dead, now that I have become this heaven and earth of blackness—what it means to have, to be, and to do. Melting in the blackness, I can now clearly see that lamp with a pea-sized wick. I know how bright that lamp is, how warm, how precious, how loved. I love you dearly, I really do, I love you so dearly that I feel deep anxiety about you, that it rends heaven and earth, and that it is going to snatch me out of this blackness. Erhei! Erhei! Erhei! Erhei! You can’t hear me or see me, but you cannot but know that I dearly love you. Whether I am here or not, alive or not, whether I stand under the sun or in the dark, I dearly love you. You are my Erhei. Erhei, don’t be anxious, don’t be angry, don’t cry, don’t bray, don’t dig, because you won’t touch or see me. But you know that I dearly love you. You are the thing I love most under heaven. I love you so dearly that I feel such a deep anxiety for you that it rends heaven and earth, and it’s going to snatch me out of this blackness. Erhei, behave and don’t cry, be anxious, or dig. Don’t let death get you down, don’t get yourself down. You must learn to love yourself. You must learn to let that pea-sized wick in your lamp shine, burn, and give off warmth. As long as it is there, I know you are here, that I am here, and that the feeling in my heart is here. As long as it is there, I know I am here, that you are here, and the feeling in your heart is there. Erhei, lift your head. Erhei, look. Erhei, what do you see? Do you see the black sky and earth? You see that there is nothing, that nothing can be done, that nothing is, right? Erhei? When you see these, you see me, and you see the feeling in my heart. Erhei, look at me, look at the feeling in my heart; then you will see everything. You’ll see everything and have no need to look again. Erhei, close your eyes; don’t be anxious, don’t be angry, and don’t cry. Erhei, close your eyes and rest. Behave, Erhei. Close your eyes, Erhei. Are they closed? Close them. Erhei’s eyes are closed. Good Erhei. Erhei is a good boy. Erhei … Erhei … Erhei … Erhei … Erhei … Erhei … Erhei … Erhei … black sky black earth … black sky black earth … black sky black earth … black sky black earth … ErheiErheiErheiblackskyblackearthblackskyblackearthblackskyblackearthblackblackblackblackblackblackblackblackblackblackblackblackblackblack….

  47

  Sitting alone under the cold light of the lamp, Kugen’r thought, Death is just death, death is the end of life, and nothing else. I am a materialist, and I am not afraid. Kugen’r has had these thoughts many times. The cold, dim lamplight was like a magnifying class that coldly magnified his thoughts.

  That overpowering horsey smell had lost some of its bite. His lantern sat on the windowsill, a book rested on his knees—a book by Chairman Mao. An austere gloominess and the boundless darkness seeped in through the cracks in the window. The lantern flame flickered constantly because there was no lantern glass. In the light of the lantern, his shadow was cast huge and slanted. Whenever the lantern flickered, a massive dark slanted thing shook, surging toward him over the uneven wall. He couldn’t help but look up from his book and look at that approaching shadow. The door curtain had been lowered to separate the indoors from outdoors. But it kept swaying, moving each time the wind blew. He knew he wasn’t going out, so he finally decided it was best to keep it raised. No sooner was the door curtain lifted than Uncle Gimpy, who was lying there, exhibited half his ashen head and half of his bloated body. The light at dusk enlarged that half body. Kugen’r looked up at the shadow on the wall and then at the corpse on the kang. Kugen’r thought, I am a materialist and I am not afraid. But Kugen’r felt an inexplicable discomfort rising along his back. It too was coldly magnified by the lantern light. The donkeys beside him ate noisily with relish, crunch, crunch, crunch, filling the stable. Only Erhei stood blankly at the far side, without eating or moving. Kugen’r thought, Am I a little hungry? This thought was followed with the thought, No, I just ate. This in turn was followed by the thought, But why do I still feel a little hungry? Kugen’r reached unconsciously into his pocket for a handful of fried beans. When he put the beans in his mouth, he noticed from the corner of his eye that the huge shadow on the wall extended a hand and put something in its mouth. Watching that shadow, Kugen’r lowered his hand. Kugen’r thought, That’s a shadow; a shadow is just a shadow, a shadow is produced by lamplight. The shadow isn’t me, it can’t eat. As if to confirm his thoughts, as if to prove his thoughts, Kugen’r immediately put some beans in his mouth. At once, his ears were filled with a sound: crunch, crunch, crunch. The donkeys were chewing. He was chewing. The sound gave Kugen’r a great deal of comfort and support. Kugen’r thought, Only the living can eat and chew. The dead cannot eat or chew. Although shadows are not dead, they are only shadows made by light. The shadow isn’t me, so it cannot eat. With this thought, Kugen’r suddenly felt elated, suddenly experienced a spiritual satisfaction he had never before enjoyed. This was the first time that Kugen’r realized that fried beans, in addition to being filling, could also comfort a person and make them happy. The book by Chairman Mao still rested open on his knees. He turned his eyes to the book, to those words he had read thousands of times. The familiar words appeared before his eyes: “All men must die, but death can vary in its significance. The ancient Chinese writer Sima Qian said, ‘Though death befalls all men alike, it may be weightier than Mount Tai or lighter than a goose feather.” To die for the people is weightier than Mount Tai, but to work for the fascists and die for the exploiters and oppressors is lighter than a feather.”

  Comrade Zhang Side died for the people, so his death is weightier than Mount Tai. Although Old Gimpy Five didn’t work for the fascists, he didn’t die for the people. He committed suicide—he died for himself, so his death is more insignificant than a goose feather. Of course I will never die for the fascists, nor will I die for myself, but I will die for the people as Chairman Mao instructs. I want my death to be as weighty as Taishan. I’ll never put a rope around my neck and hang myself. My father was a revolutionary martyr; I am the son of a martyr; my life belongs to Chairman Mao, to the Party, to the revolut
ion, to the people, crunch, crunch, crunch…. I eat fried beans to sustain my life, crunch, crunch, but I sustain my life for the Party, for the revolution, for the people, crunch, crunch, for Chairman Mao, and not for myself, crunch, crunch, I am a son of the Party, crunch, crunch, I am my father, crunch, crunch, I am changing the world for my father, crunch, crunch, crunch. “If we have shortcomings, we are not afraid to have them pointed out and criticized, because we serve the people.” Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. “Anyone, no matter who,” crunch, crunch, crunch, “may point out our shortcomings.” Crunch, crunch. “If he is right, we will correct them.” Crunch, crunch, crunch, of course I will never die for the fascists, and there is no way I’ll die for myself; I want to die for the people as the Chairman instructs. I want my death to be as weighty as Mount Tai. There’s no way I’ll put a rope around my neck and hang myself; my life is not mine alone—it belongs to the Party, to the revolution, to Chairman Mao, my father, crunch, crunch, crunch. He doesn’t think I dare. This afternoon, the way he looked at me under the earthen precipice told me. He doesn’t think I dare. He’s entirely mistaken. He might be right if I were doing this for myself, but I’m doing it for the revolution! They don’t think I dare. Returning to the village from the embankment today, he gave me the same look—he thinks that I won’t do anything on account of Old Gimpy Five’s suicide. He’s wrong. He might be right if I were doing it for myself, but I’m doing it for the people, for my courage and strength are unlimited. I will do it so that everyone can see. The dead may not be able to do it. This shadow on the wall can’t do it, but I can! I’ll keep doing it! I’m a materialist. Chairman Mao says, “Thoroughgoing materialists are fearless.” I am a thoroughgoing materialist with nothing to fear! Crunch, crunch, crunch.

  The wind blew in and the shadow surged forward and just as suddenly collapsed. Then everything was shrouded in darkness. Kugen’r was covered with goose bumps. Kugen’r thought, I am a materialist, I have nothing to fear.