Spider Eaters: A Memoir

by R Yang

  Zhang Heihei! Where are you?

  I don't even know your real name! I never tried to find it out. Instead, I forgot you for six long years! Not again. Never again. As long as I live, I will pray that you recover from the illness and the trauma we inflicted on you. If you wish, take revenge on me. Thrash me with that bloody belt for three days and three nights until there is no skin on my body left whole and no breath in my throat. I won't beg you to stop. If you tell me to cut off my right band, I'll do it. Just stick it into that fodder grinder as Li did the other day, it'll be gone in a few seconds. Stop such morbid fantasies! They don't help. Nothing can take the blood stains from off my conscience. What's done cannot be undone! Henceforth remorse will be mine for as long as I live. When I die, I will drop to the eighteenth level of hell. I deserve all the punishments!

  2I

  Friends and Others

  By the time I remembered Zhang Heihei and then sank into despair, about ten educated youths from Cold Spring had left the Great Northern Wilderness for good. Without exception, these were the sons and daughters of high-ranking cadres from Beijing. After the "seven big flies" left, for a while Wen had the dormitory room all to himself. He took advantage of this privacy and studied fortune-telling. Though I wondered how serious he was about such stuff, as time went by his reputation grew. People sought him out during the day and in the evenings. Later some even came from other villages. This left him with little time to read his beloved books or to rest. Yet while he complained about the inconveniences, he seemed to really enjoy telling people their fortunes.

  Those who came to see him were almost all educated youths who had no prospect of going to college or joining the army. The big question on everybody's mind was, Will I ever be able to return to my home city? If yes, when and how? But this question could not be uttered. Wen knew it anyway, because he too was an educated youth who was unable to go away.

  I heard that he had a number of ingenious ways to tell a person's fortune. Sometimes he used the traditional diagrams from I-Ching. Sometimes he simply asked the person to draw a spontaneous picture with certain objects in it: a river, a snake, a toad, a tree, a bird ... He also had a bunch of weird questions.

  "Do you like the autumn moon or the winter sun?"

  "Would you prefer a brick wall, a wooden fence, or nothing around your home?"

  "Which would you like to have: a gold lock, a silver lock, or an iron lock?"

  His questions varied from person to person. I was curious what questions he might put to me. When I came, however, he asked me no questions. No diagrams and picture drawing either. He only looked at me intently for a while, yet I felt that he was not looking at me. He was using his wisdom eye to detect some secret messages from the depth of my brain. Then he opened his renowned iron mouth (meaning the person always speaks bluntly) and spoke solemnly.

  "You are destined to work hard throughout your life. The man you love, you will not marry. The man you marry, you don't really love. But he is not a bad man. Intelligent. Honest as well. You will have a son with him. Then a divorce. In this life, you can't depend on anyone. You have to depend on yourself. Eventually you will go back to Beijing. Then travel to faraway places. You'll see the world. Adventures, fulfillment, loneliness, anxieties, these are all in store for you. On the whole, your fate is not bad. In your old age, you'll have good health."

  I smiled, so as to be polite to him. In my heart, I was talking back. What is this? This nonsense about a husband, a son, seeing the world, and old age. Make my belly ache for a wild laugh in his face. Wen, you know nothing about my fate. I know it myself! I will not have good luck, because I don't deserve it. A person like me, foolish and complacent, cowardly and vain, morbid and grotesque, is good for nothing! This life is useless for me. It might be harmful for others. So I will end it, soon! Wait and see. You'll be aghast. I promise you this.

  In fact, on that day I was not interested in having Wen tell me my fortune. My friend Fang wanted to hear about hers. But she did not know Wen well enough. So she dragged me along, knowing that Wen and I had been schoolmates.

  Fang was a girl of my age who came from Shanghai. Like me, she had studied in a top middle school before the Cultural Revolution. Her parents, however, were not cadres. They were ordinary office workers who had no power, no guanxi. Fang began working on the pig farm in 1969. At first, she was so quiet that she escaped everybody's attention. Besides, at the time Yuan and I were together a lot. After Yuan left, I began to realize that Fang was not only intelligent but also warmhearted and trustworthy. So we became close. Now it was her turn to be examined by Wen.

  Wen told her to shuffle a set of cards. "Do it with a sincere heart. Otherwise the results won't be accurate. Shuffle them until you feel you're really satisfied. Then let me see them."

  Fang shuffled the cards for a long time. I could tell she was nervous. When finally she was done, Wen laid the cards out and made his interpretations. First he talked about Fang's parents and family. Then her childhood and personality. As for her future, although I don't remem ber the exact words he used, what he said did not seem promising: She would have to work hard throughout her life too. Everybody seems to get that. He can't go wrong there! Her job was going to be hard and tedious. Yet she had no other options. At the age of twenty-five, she would marry a man who was very jealous. Though she couldn't love this man, she would continue to be his wife for the sake of their son. Loneliness was in store for her. Someday she would lose her best friend. Now there he's got a point! But as the saying goes, "A blind cat ran into a dead mouse"-he hits it by chance. After that, she would have no one to talk to. Although eventually she would be able to return to Shanghai, more frustration would await her there ... Wen's iron mouth went on and on. I wished he would shut up!

  "Don't you listen to him, Fang. His fortune-telling is humbug! What he said about me is completely wrong." As soon as we got out, I felt the need to reassure Fang.

  Fang said nothing in reply. Later she avoided the topic. Yet she looked preoccupied not just for days but for weeks. Because of this, I suspected that she took what Wen said rather seriously. In this regard, she was not alone though. Many in the village believed Wen's words as if he were a guru of some sort. The fortune-telling eventually got him into trouble. A demerit was recorded against him, a stain on his history, and his punishment was publicized in the whole corps as a warning to others.

  Old B, an educated youth from Harbin, was the one who got Wen into trouble. Once Wen said to him that he would not be able to get married until he was thirty-five. Moreover, the woman he would marry was not a virgin but a widow. When we heard this, we took it as a joke and burst out laughing. But Old B took it to heart. Afterwards others heard him murmur to himself: "What am I to do? Marry a widow at the age of thirty-five?" This behavior made him into a laughingstock in the village. People nicknamed him Old Thirty-Five. Later, Old Thirty-Five went back to Harbin for a home visit. His family took him to a doctor and the doctor suggested that he might have some mental problems. But this did not get him a "sick return" as his family had hoped. It only got Wen into trouble.

  That should teach him a lesson! Sometimes he's so carried away by his fortune-telling he forgets other people's feelings. Yet in my opinion, the punishment isn't fair for Wen. After all, he didn't offer to tell people their fortunes. They came to him and begged him to do so. Unable to turn them down, he obliged. For this, he never received anything in return.

  Besides, was it his fault that suddenly all educated youths in this region turned superstitious in one way or another? Wen was fascinated by fortune-telling. Others believed in what he said. I believe in Nainai's story. I also believe in the existence of heaven and its retribution. Perhaps we are indeed reformed by the peasants? But why are the peasants in China so superstitious?

  In the past I thought it was because they were ignorant and the ruling class had deceived them. Now I know better. They are superstitious because they're so powerless. Constantly at the mercy of disast
ers, natural and manmade, they still cherish hopes. For themselves. For their posterity. The harder their lives, the more fervent their hopes. They believe in heaven, yinguo, and reincarnation, because in this life there is almost no chance for them to make it. Anyone who is put into such a position is likely to become superstitious after a while, no matter how intelligent or well educated. I'd never have understood this, if I hadn't become a peasant myself.

  The educated youths were now peasants because we had rural hukou and no way to return to the cities. But we were not real peasants yet, because many of us would not resign ourselves to such a fate. One night, Fang and I worked together on the pig farm, delivering piglets. While we waited, we chatted. Suddenly Fang looked me in the eye.

  "Rae, do you know what I want? I'll tell you the truth. I want the Sino-Russian war to break out! I want it to escalate into the third world war! Atom bombs. Hydrogen bombs. Let them fall. We might as well all die. I don't care if I am blown to pieces. But if I survive the war, maybe I'll be able to return to Shanghai. Maybe I'll return as a hero."

  "I understand," I said, nodding my head. Yet I was surprised, for Fang had impressed me as a gentle and very prudent young woman. A lot of self-restraint and common sense. I never expected that such a vehement confession would pour out of her mouth. Meanwhile I was touched, for she had to trust me a great deal to tell me this. As for looking forward to the third world war-Second Uncle was labeled an active counterrevolutionary because of such a charge. Fang could get herself into a lot of trouble if she said this to the wrong person.

  This short conversation started a lifelong friendship between the two of us. When people did not dare speak their minds, a few words could carry a lot of meaning. Immediately I saw that Fang and I were kindred spirits: we had come to the Great Northern Wilderness for a dream. Now the dream was shattered, but we were forced to stay. In this village, all we could do now was to work, eat, and sleep. Year after year, we grew crops; we raised pigs. The surplus value we created (if any) was to be consumed by "those who govern the people." This kind of life was meaningless and hateful. Thus Fang looked forward to the third world war and I could not drive the idea of suicide out of my mind.

  Suicide, it shouldn't be too hard. I am sure I can do it. Wish I had that short sword in Nainai's story: Drink Green. I'd pierce my heart and see my blood spray out like a scarlet fan. I'd love to die like that! But the sword is at the bottom of a well somewhere. What I'd hate most is to jump into a well. An educated youth in a nearby village did that. Another was blown to pieces right here last winter. Nobody knew exactly how. He went to ignite the explosive at daybreak so others could dig the drainage canal later. Something went wrong. It was a crazy idea to dig a canal in the dead of the winter here anyway. The earth was frozen solid like a rock.

  What other options do I have? Drink poison? I've got the only key to the medicine cabinet on the pig farm. DDT, dipteryx, DDVP ... A generous dose of any of these would send me out of this world. Or a more traditional way: I can hang myself. The main building of the pig farm is custom-made for the purpose. So many log beams. Each one long and sturdy. One, two, three, four, five ... Forty-eight of them from one end to the other. Choose one I like. Find a thin rope. Nobody will come during the night. Plenty of time to die.

  When I heard the wolves howl on the plain, I went out to meet them, but they ran away. The rats here carried a mysterious disease called Hulin fever. A few educated youths in our regiment had died of it. When I saw the rats, three black lines on their backs, I didn't bother to get out of their way. Yet somehow the disease did not want to claim me.

  Some educated youths in other regiments died while they tried to put out forest fires. They ran against the wind. The wind spread the fire. When they were engulfed by a roaring mountain of flame, they cried "Long Live Chairman Mao!" and protected the Mao buttons on their chests. This way they became revolutionary martyrs.

  I was no longer interested in becoming a revolutionary martyr. On the contrary, I gave much thought to becoming a traitor. Cold Spring was not far from Wusuli River, the borderline. Just a few hours' walk, I would be there.

  Jump into the water in the middle of the night. Swim quietly toward the other shore. Maybe today is my lucky day? Farewell, homeland! "Workers have no homeland. " Who said that? Marx or Lenin? Hurry up! The frontier guards may come at any moment. The dogs bark. Suddenly a beam of light cuts the darkness open. A shower of bullets. I'm hit! "Come back! Come back!" "No! Never!" Whatever I did, I will pay for it. Can't implicate others in my family. Thus I continue to swim, carrying the pain on my back, until I kiss the bottom of the river.. .

  At this point I remembered that the other shore was only the Soviet Union. My daydream burst like a bubble. Out of the frying pan into the fire. Even though my life was dirt cheap, I did not want to throw it away like that.

  When I contemplated suicide, I remembered the heart-piercing remorse I felt when I listened to Nainai's story. So I put it off. In that situation, I had no choice. The city had fallen. I had to kill myself to avoid capture, humiliation, and death at my enemies' hands. But now, what's the hurry? I can carry out the suicide any night, any way. In this life, I am nobody. Whether I am alive or dead-that doesn't matter. So why should I die today? Why not tomorrow? In the past because I was rash and reckless I made terrible mistakes. What's done cannot be undone. I do not want to make another fatal mistake.

  Going to the Great Northern Wilderness was a fatal mistake. If I could cut off a hand and then be allowed to go back to Beijing to start all over again, I would want the deal. That was how I felt at the time, and so did my three bosom friends, Fang, Liya, and Old Song.

  Liya became my friend because of Fang. The two of them had been close ever since they were middle school students in Shanghai. Unlike Fang, Liya was from a capitalist family, which had been wealthy before 1949. Although Liya never mentioned her parents, I guess they were proud, like Liya herself. Among all my friends, Liya was the most talented. She could play the piano, draw, and write poems. Moreover, she was remarkably good-looking. Bright eyes in the shape of half-moons. Deep dimples on rosy cheeks. She liked to smile in front of people. Other feelings she kept to herself. I was like that too: hearty laughter. Loud voice. Never let others see the tears . . .

  Thus Liya and I did not need to talk about feelings. We understood each other. I could see through her facade and read the ambition, the pride, as well as the complex of inferiority and remorse in her heart, as if I were reading them in my own. Between us, words were awkward and needless. So when Liya and I met, we talked about trivial things only. Yet sometimes I wondered how others could fail to perceive what Liya hid behind her sunny smiles. The story of her coming to the Great Northern Wilderness was no secret. Everybody in the village knew it.

  In the fall of 1968, for the first time, Shanghai was sending educated youths to the Great Northern Wilderness. The life on the northern border excited Liya and Fang's imagination. They both volunteered to come. A few days later Fang received notice of acceptance, but Liya was rejected. Because her parents were capitalists, she was not considered politically reliable enough to work in this region.

  Hearing this, Liya moved out of her parents' home and wrote them letters, declaring that henceforth she would have nothing to do with them. But this was not enough. Later she wrote a dazibao and denounced her family publicly. But even after that she was not accepted. Then came the day when Fang and others were leaving Shanghai for the northeast, Liya came to the train station to see them off. She sneaked into the train and locked herself in a toilet for four days and three nights. Finally when the train arrived at Hulin, she came out with a letter written in her own blood, vowing that she was determined to take roots in the Great Northern Wilderness. The leaders were moved. They let her stay.

  Four years down the road, Liya's prospect looked bleak. Unlike others who knew their parents loved them and would try their best to get them back, Liya had severed her relation with her family. What she did before
she left Shanghai made her parents lose face. Now how could she go back on her words and ask them for help? Besides, even if her parents were willing to forgive her, they were not in a position to help.

  As a result, Liya stayed at Cold Spring for more than ten years. She returned to Shanghai in 1979 with the last group of educated youths. At the time, she suffered a chronic backache without knowing that she had cancer. She died in 1993 after several operations and a lot of pain. Thus going to the Great Northern Wilderness was indeed a fatal mistake for her.

  My other friend Old Song had a different problem. At the age of twenty-six, she was the oldest of all the educated youths in our village, four years older than Fang, Liya, and me. The villagers were already calling her an old maid behind her back. Her parents in Beijing were worried to death about her chances for a "lifelong big affair." As for Old Song herself, she told us she'd never get married in the Great Northern Wilderness. Old maid or whatever, she did not care.

  In fact, Fang, Liya, Old Song, and I, the four of us vowed together that we would all remain single as long as we were here. I remember vividly the day that we gave our pledge. It was in August. A sunny afternoon. Earlier a heavy shower had washed the whole world crystalclear. The four of us walked out of the village hand in hand. Wild flowers lined the road. The wheat fields that had been harvested looked like a boundless green meadow. A southern wind was on the rise. Warm and moist. It blew against our faces. It lifted our short hair. We were heading toward Little Southern Hill.

  On the way we discussed our future. We decided that we would remain single and the four of us would always be best friends. That way we would continue to enjoy our twenty-four-day home visit every two years. The rest of the time, we would simply try to save up money, make plans, and look forward to the next trip. We would do this year after year until we were too old to travel, then we would die together.