Lenin's Kisses (12 page)

The crippled woman who worked as the village pharmacist took a portable coal burner to the field, and used it to prepare a pot of dark tea-eggs, the fragrance of which quickly spread everwhere.

A deaf man was roasting peanuts by the side of the field.

Someone selling sunflower seeds set up a stand right next to his.

A woman from the neighboring village cooked tofu strips on the slope. The tofu strips were dipped in hot oil, then strung up on a skewer and dunked in a pot of boiling water. Although the pot contained only water and no oil, and was seasoned with only salt, pepper, anise, and MSG, those tofu strips were so fragrant they could be smelled from miles away. A balloon seller arrived, as did a whistle peddler. People selling candied apples and poached pears also arrived. Someone selling clay Buddha and fat boy figurines set up a water basin on a tall bench, and after the figurines were dunked in water, they turned bright red. Because the water was hot, when the peddler pulled out the fat boy figurine, its little pecker stuck straight out and a thin stream of liquid flowed from it, as if it were a real boy peeing into the air. Everyone laughed at this, and someone even forked over money to buy it and the Buddha figurine that was still sitting in the water. The field was raucous, with more and more people arriving at every moment. It was like a temple ceremony in the mountains. Even incense and paper money sellers arrived.

The livening ceremonies that Grandma Mao Zhi typically hosted were also intended to celebrate the year’s harvest. After working hard all year, the villagers were permitted to relax, to gather together for three days to eat and drink. But this year the ceremony was hosted by the county chief, and for this reason people came surging in like the tide. They not only filled the one-armed man’s field on the slope but also lined the sides of the field.

The sun rose another pole-length in the sky.

The percussion troupe and musicians were all set up on the eastern side of the stage.

Jumei and Mao Zhi didn’t come to watch this livening festival, but Jumei’s daughters were dispersed throughout the field. The sun was searingly hot. A man standing in one of the sunlit areas had taken off his shirt and gown, and his sweat-covered head and back shone in the sunlight. Someone demanded impatiently, “Why haven’t things started yet?” Someone else replied, “The county chief and his secretary have not arrived yet. How could we start without them?” Half-crazed under the blazing heat of the sun, even the goats grazing on the distant mountains were startled by the tumult, as they stared down in surprise at the crowd.

In the cobalt blue sky, there were a few traces of white clouds. The clouds were as white as cotton, while the sky was as blue as a deep pool of water. The entire world was a boundless reservoir of calm, and only the field at the entrance of the village was bustling. It was very hectic, but at the same time very solitary. It was like a pot of boiling water in the middle of a field of calm. The children who had climbed the trees along the side of the road were waiting, and began shaking the tree branches, causing the twigs and leaves that had been damaged by the hot snow to fall to the ground. Someone shouted out sharply,

“The county chief and his secretary have arrived! . . . The county chief and his secretary have arrived!”

The crowd spontaneously parted to open a path for them. The cripples and the people who were missing an arm or leg all crowded up at the very front of the stage. The deaf and mute people sat down behind the cripples. The blind people, meanwhile, could hear but couldn’t see, and therefore they didn’t compete with anyone for space and instead just tried to find a secluded spot from which they could listen to the Balou tunes. Of course, the ones who really crowded up to the stage were the half-deaf old-timers. Given that they were only partially deaf and could hear loud voices quite clearly, the villagers pushed them right up to the edge of the stage. In Liven, there was always a strict set of rules dictating who at any meeting, performance, or livening festival should be in front, and who should be in back.

A blind man crowded forward, and some people said, “Given that you can’t see, why do you need to crowd your way forward?” The blind man laughed and walked instead to the back of the field.

Most of the mutes were also deaf. A deaf-mute crowded up to the edge of the stage, but someone asked, “Given that you can’t hear, why do you need such a good seat?” The deaf-mute therefore yielded his seat to someone else.

For the deaf-mutes who could still hear a little, some people would shout out, “Third Uncle, if you sit here you’ll be able to hear”; “Fourth Auntie, if you sit here you will be near the musicians.”

In this way, the seats were distributed. Of course, the wholers all sat up in front, and if they arrived early they would claim a good seat, or they would send one of their children to save them a seat. Once the seat was secured there would be nothing anyone could say. Among those from the same village, everyone treated everyone else’s relatives as their own, and so naturally no one was going to complain. But when people came from other villages, they understood that this was Liven’s festival and not theirs, and therefore they naturally should sit or stand along the outermost rings.

Actually, you could also see and hear from there, but the problem was that those spectators were closer to the peddlers, and therefore everything was very smoky. Children would run around amid the peddlers’ stands and between their legs, making it difficult for the spectators to concentrate on the villagers’ special-skills performances.
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If people were watching from the ninth ring or beyond, the performers’ heads looked like black beans in an autumn wheat field. On the other hand, everyone had come for the excitement, so they were generally content to stand back.

Chief Liu and his secretary arrived. By this point the sun had already risen to who knows how many pole-lengths in the sky. When Chief Liu and Secretary Shi arrived, they were smiling broadly, and they entered the field accompanied by One-Legged Monkey. The crowd parted to open a path for them. The musicians put down their reed pipes, bamboo flutes, drums, and three-stringed fiddles. The county chief and his secretary were given the best seats in the house: two red chairs that were only a few inches tall. They were woven from bamboo and painted red, but the yellow matrimonial “double happiness” character underneath remained visible. Needless to say, these chairs had been part of the dowry that some young woman’s parents had given her when she married a man from Liven, but were now gloriously being used by the county chief and his secretary as their special stools.

Chief Liu had removed his army coat several days earlier, and underneath was wearing a round-collared white sweatshirt, which was tucked into his underwear. He had a red face, a flattop, and a slightly protruding belly, and his hair was speckled with gray, such that when he got older he would look just like a bona fide county chief, and not at all like the other peasants from the Balou mountain region. At the same time, however, he also didn’t resemble those important personages from Jiudu or the provincial seat who frequented fancy restaurants. Instead, he appeared a bit rustic, though compared with the other Balou peasants he actually seemed rather Westernized. But even his Westernized appearance, if compared with that of other outsiders, was rather rustic.

Of course, the important thing was not how provincial or cosmopolitan he was, but rather the fact that his secretary was tall, thin, and fair-skinned, with a snow-white shirt tucked into his pants and shiny black hair that was carefully parted, as though he were an important personage. To be accompanied by a secretary who could pass for a celebrity added immeasurably to the county chief’s own prestige. Therefore, Chief Liu walked empty-handed in front, while his secretary followed behind with his water glass. The glass was originally a jar filled with pickled vegetables, but Chief Liu was one of the only people at the livening festival who had his own glass, and therefore he walked with his head raised high while his secretary looked around at eye level. The people of Liven and visitors who had come to attend the festival had no choice but to gaze up to the county chief and his secretary. Everyone watched as they walked past, and the shouts of the peddlers selling tea-eggs, tofu strips, and candied fruit all suddenly grew silent, and even the children stopped running around. The field grew so still that the only sound that could be heard was the musicians resting their mallets on the ground.

The livening festival was about to begin.

First, someone had to speak. In the past, it had always been Grandma Mao Zhi who would say a few words. For instance, she might say, “Last night a blind dog came to our house. Both of its eyes had been gouged out, the poor thing, and pus was oozing from its eye sockets. I have to go back and take care of it, but meanwhile you can all sing and watch the performances. No one is permitted to work for the next three days. No one is permitted to cook, either, and if relatives come to visit, they can eat at the livening festival as well.”

Or she might say, “I won’t speak today. What do you think, do you want to sing Balou or Xiangfu tune?”
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Someone might shout that they should sing a Balou tune, and they would proceed to do just that. If, instead, someone stood up and cried out, “I want to hear some Xiangfu tunes,” then they would first sing some of those.

Or, alternatively, she might not get up on stage at all, but rather would stand in front and simply say, “Let’s begin!” With this, the musicians would start playing their fiddles and the performers would start singing. As for Liven’s trademark performances, those would come after the main event.

This time, however, Grandma Mao Zhi didn’t show up. Instead, One-Legged Monkey walked up to the front, following the path that had already been opened up for Chief Liu. When he arrived at the front of the field, he went to the edge of the meter-high stage, threw his crutches to the ground, and hopped up onto the stage, shouting, “Please welcome the county chief to say a few words!” Then he hopped down again.

Once One-Legged Monkey was back on the ground, he patted the shoulder of a deaf man watching the stage, then pulled away the stool that the man was sitting on in order to use it as a stage-step.
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Chief Liu used this stage-step to climb onto the stage and then, standing on a raised area at the center of the platform, he gazed out at the crowd of Balou peasants who had come to watch the festival. The bright yellow sun shone on people’s heads, making them look as though they were glowing. The people standing on the slope all leaned forward as they peered at the stage. Chief Liu was about to start speaking, but after opening his mouth he immediately closed it again, having suddenly realized that the hundred-odd people in the audience had not yet applauded him. So, instead of speaking, he simply waited.

Perhaps it was because the people of Liven don’t attend meetings as often as people elsewhere, or perhaps it was because this was the first time they had seen the county chief host a livening festival, but whatever the reason, they didn’t realize that no matter where the county chief was, before he started speaking they were always expected to break out into applause, just as you must bring food to the table before starting to eat. Perhaps they hesitated because they couldn’t understand why Grandma Mao Zhi hadn’t accompanied Chief Liu and his slender secretary to say a few words. All of this, after all, was something she typically would be responsible for, but this time for some reason it seemed to be the completely insignificant One-Legged Monkey who was taking responsibility for things. As a result, Chief Liu and the villagers found themselves at a stalemate, as Chief Liu waited for the villagers to applaud, while the villagers waited for him to begin speaking. As for Secretary Shi, he was paralyzed with confusion as he watched the county chief up on stage and the crowd below.

A sparrow fluttered over the field, and the sound of its wings echoed over the crowd.

Chief Liu became increasingly anxious, and cleared his throat to remind the crowd of what was expected of them.

The crowd heard him clear his throat and assumed that he was about to speak, and therefore they became even quieter than before. They became so quiet, in fact, that from one side of the field you could hear the tea-egg water boiling all the way over on the other side. As Chief Liu waited up on stage and the crowds remained frozen down below, it seemed as if time itself had come to a standstill. Secretary Shi wasn’t sure what the problem was, so he made his way to the front of the stage, where he raised his glass and whispered, “Chief Liu, do you want some water?” Chief Liu didn’t answer, but his face turned slightly green. At that point, One-Legged Monkey suddenly hopped onto the stage and, without saying a word, started to applaud. With this, Secretary Shi suddenly realized what was wrong, and therefore he too jumped onto the stage and frantically started clapping, saying, “Everyone, please give the county chief a hand!”

Just as rain follows lightning, the crowd immediately came to their senses and began applauding enthusiastically. From soft to loud, and from sparse to dense, the applause quickly became a solid mass of sound. As long as Secretary Shi didn’t stop applauding, the crowd naturally wouldn’t stop either. Secretary Shi kept clapping until his palms were red, as did One-Legged Monkey, and the crowd also clapped until their hands were in agony. The sparrows in the trees next to the field were startled and flew away, and the village pigs and chickens were so frightened that they all scurried home. It was only then that Chief Liu’s face began to regain its normal color. He raised both hands and gestured for everyone to stop applauding, whereupon Secretary Shi stopped.