The Dark Road

by Ma Jian

  ‘If they want to hide the quarry scar, why don’t they just plant some trees in front of it?’ Mother asks, pulling down the door curtain to block the draughts.

  ‘It would take too long. They need it to look presentable before the officials arrive.’

  ‘This island was clean after the flood. But now there’s so much shit about, it’s becoming infested with mosquitoes again. The Hygiene Department is bound to clamp down on us. I’m fed up with Bo and Juru shitting in the bushes. Why can’t they just dig a hole like everyone else? When the wind blows from the west, the smell is revolting. It’s time we left. I’ve asked around and found out that Heaven Township isn’t far from Foshan Mountain. Let’s pack up and sail south.’

  ‘You’re not talking about Heaven Township again, are you?’ says Father, scratching a bite on his neck. ‘I won’t leave this island until you get pregnant. We’ve been trying for six months and still nothing’s happened.’

  ‘Empress Yang Guifei didn’t have any children, did she? It must be something in the water.’

  ‘Mum, I bury the dead chick in the sand, so why it hasn’t wake up yet?’ Nannan asks. Backlit by the kerosene lamp, her face looks as dark as her hair.

  ‘It’s having a long sleep,’ says Mother, stroking Nannan’s bandaged foot.

  ‘Tell Daddy to pull it out,’ Nannan says, her eyes two pools of light in the darkness.

  ‘I can’t pull it out, Nannan,’ Father says, resting his head on his bent knees.

  ‘Mum, flowers don’t have eyes, so why do they die?’

  ‘Because flowers are too pretty for this world.’

  ‘Daddy said I’m pretty, so I’m going to die soon too?’

  Father frowns. ‘Stupid girl, you can’t even write your own name yet. What do you know about death?’

  ‘Huh! You’re a naughty daddy. I want a different daddy. I hit your neck. See, my dolly is very angry.’

  ‘Don’t lose your temper with her, Kongzi,’ Mother whispers. ‘Look, Nannan. Your toes are exactly the same shape as mine. Let me clip your nails.’

  ‘What does lose temper mean, Daddy?’

  ‘It means to get angry,’ Father says, his tone softening. ‘Yes, I can tell your doll’s angry – her black hair has turned yellow and her brown eyes have turned blue.’

  ‘Daddy, you trick me. The chick isn’t sleeping. You sold it to a man, and the man is going to eat it for supper. Tell me the truth.’

  ‘No, I didn’t sell it, Nannan. Perhaps your little chick woke up and flew into the sky.’ Father switches on his torch and opens a copy of Confucius and Neo-Confucianism.

  ‘The chick is not in the sky and not in the trees . . .’ Nannan says, holding back her sobs. ‘Mum, Daddy said I came out your bottom. So I must be very smelly.’

  ‘No, no, you aren’t smelly,’ Mother says. ‘After you came out, you drank my milk every day, so now you smell milky and sweet.’ Then, glancing back at Father, she says: ‘I can’t believe she’s four already. The years fly by so fast, we never get a moment to stop and enjoy ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, time has flashed by. If you fall pregnant now, Nannan will be five by the time you give birth, so the baby will be legal.’

  ‘After today’s accident, I just want to concentrate on Nannan. Tomorrow I’ll take her into town for a ride on the merry-go-round, then I’ll go to the market and see if I can rent another stall.’

  KEYWORDS: Yin forces, silkworm pupae, hunted animal, duck shit, bamboo mat, army tanks.

  IN THE DARK hour before dawn, Meili wakes with a start and feels as though she’s trapped inside a coffin. Last night, as she was falling asleep, Kongzi whispered into her ear, ‘“Autumn shadows linger. / The frost is delayed. / Lotus leaves withering on the pond / listen to the patter of rain,”’ then climbed on top of her. Rain is rattling on the shelter’s roof, sounding like dried beans dropping into a metal bowl. Gusts of wind sweep water from the trees and send it crashing onto the tarpaulin in heavy sheets. Meili closes her eyes and waits for the storm to reach its peak. As lightning flashes through the black sky and thunder shakes the ground, Kongzi rolls on top of her again. ‘Be kind . . . to me . . . Kongzi,’ she mumbles. ‘I don’t want to . . . fall pregnant . . .’ Her hands linked behind his neck, she holds onto him, tighter and tighter, until her body is so compressed and her lungs so empty, she feels she is drowning. She opens her mouth and gasps for air. The alcohol on Kongzi’s breath makes her stomach turn, but she can’t escape it. She senses herself sinking into the ground as his jolting body weighs down on her. ‘It’s pouring outside. I must . . . bring in those pickles . . . I left to dry on the hutch.’ Desperately she tries to push him off.

  To avoid having intercourse with him every night, Meili often goes to sleep on the boat with Nannan. She’s terrified of falling pregnant, of the government cutting out from her a piece of flesh as warm as her own, of having to conceal inside her body a contraband object which would grower larger and more visible by the day. She left Kong Village to find freedom, but if she falls pregnant again she knows she will become a hunted animal once more.

  After the rooster in the bamboo cage greets the dawn, smaller birds begin to sing in the willows and insects fly out from the reeds. Meili feels a stream of sperm leak out from between her thighs. Am I already done for? she wonders to herself. Her period is three weeks late, and she suspects that her IUD might have fallen out.

  She sits up and looks at the imprint of the bamboo mat on Kongzi’s forehead. He’s grown so familiar to her, he almost looks like a stranger. She wants to shout, ‘I’m pregnant! Are you happy now?’ but stops herself just in time. If she is pregnant, she wonders whether she could induce a miscarriage by lifting heavy objects or encouraging Kongzi to make love to her more aggressively than usual. She crawls outside and puts on a T-shirt. Her breasts feel heavy and tender and she can detect a sour taste in her mouth. Yes, I have all the symptoms. As her bare feet press into the sand, images from the past flit through her mind. She sees the winter morning she first set eyes on Kongzi, walking up to her wearing a yellow down jacket like a promise of a golden future. The first time he asked to meet her in the woods, her legs trembled with fear. She and Kongzi crouched in the dark shade of a tree beside a group of gravestones. He gave her some peanuts and said he’d invite her to a film in the county town and take her out for a meal. He told her a friend of his had opened a Sichuan restaurant on the ground floor of the County Cultural Centre which served beef poached in hot chilli oil and Chongqing hotpot. She remembers the photograph of Kongzi as a child, standing next to Teacher Zhou with a big smile on his face. She knows that Kongzi was Teacher Zhou’s favourite pupil, and that in 1989, when he went to stay with him in Beijing, they joined the democracy protests and, on 4 June, stood at a street corner arm in arm and watched the army tanks enter the capital. Now she is Kongzi’s wife. For his sake, she left the village designated on her residence permit and the comfort of their tiled-roofed house. She’d dreamed that if she worked hard, she could open a shop one day and buy a modern apartment in a county town with a flushing toilet and hot shower, like the one owned by Cao Niuniu, the son of Kongzi’s artist friend, Old Cao. She still believes that as long as she avoids another pregnancy, she’ll be able to live a good life one day, and stroll along supermarket aisles wearing nylon tights and high-heeled shoes.

  She peeps back into the shelter. Nannan sits up and says, ‘I want to cuddle Daddy.’

  ‘No, you’ll wake him up,’ Meili replies.

  ‘I want to tell him I not going wake him up, then!’ Nannan says, leaning over to hug Kongzi’s head. Meili puts a second jumper on Nannan, then shuts the door and goes down to the beach. Hugging herself against the cold, she watches the rising sun stain the horizon red and pour its soft light over the river, the banks and the distant bridge. Once more, she feels an urge to tell Kongzi that she’s pregnant, just to see the look of joy on his face. Then she considers keeping quiet about it, and getting rid of the fetus on the sly by swallowing s
ome castor oil. No – I will have this baby, she says to herself, digging her toes into the sand. Once it’s born, Kongzi will leave me alone, and I’ll never have to get pregnant again. Suddenly she sees a vision of herself as a girl, leaning over an enamel basin and splashing icy water onto her face before setting off for school. She remembers the coldness of the water seeping through to her cheekbones.

  Smells of fish and duck shit begin to rise from the ground. The ducks in the pen preen their feathers and ruffle their wings. Meili sniffs the stale sweat on her skin and longs for a shower or a bath. She knows that although the town’s public bathhouse doubles as a brothel, it has warm pools in which visitors can bathe for just six yuan if they bring their own soap and towel. She hasn’t dared go there yet, as she hates the thought of having to undress in front of strangers. The river has been too cold for bathing. But winter is over now. She grits her teeth and steps in up to her ankles. The cold refreshes and invigorates her; her feet transmit forgotten memories to her brain. She feels fully awake, conscious of the beating of her heart and the ticking of each passing second. She wades deeper into the river and feels the coldness dragging her further into her past. She is aware of being, at the same time, both a woman and child: her daughter’s mother and her mother’s daughter. She remembers the day twenty years ago, during the osmanthus-blossom season, when she accompanied her mother to the dentist to have her molar capped, and realises that she is now as old as her mother was then, and that in another twenty years she’ll be as old as her mother is now, and that all that will await her after that will be old age and decrepitude . . . As her thoughts begin to freeze, she glances over her shoulder and sees the ducks force their way out of the pen and wade into the shallow water.

  Kongzi rolls out of the shelter and rinses his mouth. Meili walks up to the stove, opens a bag of slops she bought from a restaurant yesterday and ladles some into the bucket of duck feed. A large container ship shrouded in diesel smoke chugs past, blasting its horn. The huge wake it leaves behind surges onto the beach, floods the shelter then recedes, taking Meili’s flip-flops with it. Meili goes into the shelter to brush her teeth, but discovers that her toothbrush has been washed away as well.

  As usual, during the few minutes before dusk, the wind drops and the river becomes calm. Kongzi is sitting at the bow of their boat, gazing at the ducks and the back of Meili’s neck as she stands knee-deep in the river, her skirt hitched up to her waist. In her rippling reflection, her skin is the same colour but her white skirt is slightly darker. Nannan lies in the cabin, gazing at her plastic doll in the red dress and singing a nonsense song she’s made up: ‘A-da-li-ya, wah wah! . . .’ A golden, late-spring haze spreads over the river, making the watery landscape resemble a blurred and muted colour photograph.

  By the time Kongzi walks down the beach with the bucket of shredded cabbage for the ducks’ last feed, the evening sun is so low in the sky that his silhouette is dragged halfway across the river. With sudden alarm he notices six or seven ducks being swept downstream. He wades into the river, scrambles onto the boat, and tries to shoo them back towards the beach with the long bamboo pole. In the commotion, the boat becomes untethered and it too starts to drift downstream. Kongzi turns on the engine and drives it back to its mooring, while Meili chases after the errant ducks and tosses pebbles at their heads to encourage them to swim back. The ducks shake their wings in a fluster, splashing water into the air.

  ‘Call them back, Kongzi!’ Meili shouts.

  ‘“What passes is just like this, never ceasing day or night . . .”’ Kongzi yells, quoting a line from the Analects as he gazes with excitement at the current. ‘Don’t worry, Meili, I’ll put some food on the beach. That’ll bring them back.’ He leaps off the boat, making it rock so violently that Nannan is knocked onto her side. Meili strides further into the water, positions herself in front of the ducks and with open arms shoos them back. At last, they turn round and swim to the beach, then they shake their feathers dry and wobble off towards Kongzi’s bucket.

  An hour later, the river sinks into darkness and the island becomes shrouded in a cold dank mist. The kerosene lamp shines on Kongzi’s and Chen’s weathered faces.

  ‘Beautifully recited, my friend,’ Kongzi says, then swigging some beer stares at Meili’s backside as she bends over the stove. ‘Now let’s hear another one.’

  Chen crashed his boat into a ship last week, and it will take a month to repair. After Nannan burnt her foot, he bought her a new pair of flip-flops. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘I’ll try “Feelings on a River in Early Winter”, by Meng Haoran. Here goes: “Trees shed their leaves, wild geese fly south. / Rivers shiver in the north wind. / My home is far away, at a bend of River Xiang / In the Land of Chu, high above the clouds. / A melancholy vagrant, whose tears have run dry, / I fix my gaze on a solitary boat at the edge of the sky. / Having drifted off course, I long to find my way home. / Before me stretch the flat sea and the endless night.” Ah, I remembered every line! You really are a fine tutor. Would you consider teaching my daughters as well?’ Chen has a gold tooth which at night always glints in the lamplight.

  ‘Yes, I could give them lessons every morning. They may be black children with no residence permits or legal status, but you must think of their futures. At the very least, they should learn to read and write.’

  ‘How lucky we are to be able to rub shoulders with a scholar of your calibre – a descendant of Confucius, no less! Come, a toast to you, my friend!’ Chen’s face crinkles into a broad smile. As he munches one of the deep-fried silkworm pupae he’s brought, a pungent yeasty smell fills the air around him.

  ‘Teachers are the least respected and most poorly paid members of society,’ Kongzi says. ‘Chairman Mao called us the “stinking Ninth category”. But teaching is my vocation. I don’t care about the money. As Confucius said, “A noble man should seek neither a full belly nor a comfortable home.”’

  ‘Why you not a doctor, Dad?’ asks Nannan, stroking her doll’s red dress.

  ‘Because I wanted to be a teacher, and I’m too old to change professions now.’

  ‘Wen’s cat died today. You must make it better. When I had big burn, you made my foot better.’

  ‘You’re right, Kongzi – our pockets may be empty but our will is strong,’ says Chen. ‘When our children grow up, they can find jobs in factories that provide free food and lodging. They won’t have to live like tramps any more.’ Since he crashed his boat, Chen has been going over to the town every day to look for work. Kongzi has been busy as well. This morning he hauled a cargo of asbestos to a Sino-Hong Kong flagstone factory three kilometres away.

  The island has suffered many disruptions this week. River police, municipal police and family planning officers have turned up repeatedly to check boat licences, residence permits and birth permits. Two days ago, Bo and Juru and Dai and Yiping packed their bags and left. Kongzi now uses their abandoned shelters as supplementary duck pens.

  Meili clears away the bowls and chopsticks and says to the men, ‘You stay here and chat. I’ll go and sleep in the cabin.’

  ‘The gods haven’t favoured us,’ Kongzi sighs, watching Meili hitch up her skirt and wade over to the boat, her bottom swaying from side to side. ‘I still haven’t managed to get her knocked up.’

  ‘I just hope our one will be a boy,’ Chen says. His wife Xixi is due to give birth to their third child any day now.

  ‘Meili was born in the birthplace of Goddess Nuwa,’ Kongzi says. ‘The Yin forces of the area are too strong. Every name has a female connotation: Dark Water River, Riverbrook Town, Pool of the Immortals Mountain. Women from such a place are clearly not meant to produce sons.’

  ‘Without a son, a man can never stand tall,’ Chen says. ‘The bloody family planning policies have ruined our lives! Back in the village we owned two hundred turtles – they were worth eight thousand yuan – but after our second daughter was born, the officers confiscated the lot.’

  Chewing angrily on a pupa, Kongz
i says, ‘Not even the most evil emperor in China’s history would have contemplated developing the economy by massacring unborn children and severing family lines! But today’s tyrants murder millions of babies a year without batting an eyelid, and if a baby slips through their net, they cripple its parents with fines and confiscate their property.’

  ‘I’m your baby, Daddy, so why you want another baby?’ Nannan says, perching on an old motor cylinder beside him.

  ‘Don’t interrupt when the grown-ups are talking,’ Kongzi says to her. ‘It’s time you went to sleep. Go and join Mum on the boat.’

  Nannan wraps her arms around Kongzi’s neck. ‘I eaten so much food, I’m a grown-up too, now. Daddy, why you got hair in your nose?’

  Kongzi pulls Nannan onto his lap and gently tugs her ear. ‘A grown-up, you say? Then how come you still wet your bed every night?’ Since Nannan burned her foot, he has become much more affectionate towards her.

  ‘When you’re here, I like you. When you’re not here, I like Mummy.’ The bottoms of Nannan’s long trousers are damp and her bare feet are stone cold.

  KEYWORDS: spouse’s return, hairy armpits, water burial, Dragon Mother, corpse fisher, dead fish.

  ON A SWELTERING day, while Kongzi is having a lunchtime nap in the cabin, Meili sees a man on the bank waving his bag and shouting out to them. ‘Wake up, Kongzi!’ she says. ‘I think someone wants to hire our boat.’ In the last month, she’s sold thirty ducks for two hundred yuan, and Kongzi has made three hundred yuan delivering cargos of watermelons injected with growth chemicals, and batches of last year’s mouldy rice which unscrupulous traders milled and waxed so that it could be sold as new.

  Meili steers towards the bank. Kongzi’s gold-rimmed spectacles fell into the river last week, so she’s been driving the boat since then. The man jumps aboard and says, ‘I need a ride to Yinluo.’ He is tall, with unkempt greying hair, a goatee and tortoiseshell glasses. His white shirt clings to his sweaty back.