To Live (25 page)

Deep down I was so happy I said, “Oh, it’s much lighter.”

By then Kugen was five years old, and he had already become my good little helper. Wherever I went he’d follow and help me work; he could even cut the rice stalks. I had the town blacksmith make Kugen a little sickle, and when he got it Kugen was happy as could be. Normally when I brought him into town he’d go looking for his friends as soon as we passed the alley that led to Erxi’s old house. No matter how many times I called him he wouldn’t answer. But the day I told him we were going to get him a sickle, he grabbed hold of my clothes and wouldn’t let go, following me all the way to the blacksmith’s shop. When we got there, the two of us waited outside for a while. Someone walked past us to go into the shop, and Kugen couldn’t resist pointing to the sickle inside and telling the man, “That’s Kugen’s sickle.”

Now when his friends came to play with him, he just turned his head and said proudly, “I don’t have time to talk to you now.”

After the sickle was finished, Kugen insisted on sleeping with it. I wouldn’t let him, so he had to settle for
keeping it under his bed. The first thing he’d do every morning was reach under the bed to caress his sickle. I told him that he’d get quicker with it the more he used it, and that the harder he worked the stronger he’d get. Kugen blinked his eyes and stared at me for a long time before saying, “The quicker I get with the sickle the more stronger I’ll get.”

Kugen was still little, so naturally he was slower at cutting the rice than I was. He’d get upset as soon as he saw that I was quicker. Staring at me, he’d yell, “Fugui, slow down!”

All the people in the village called me Fugui, so Kugen also grew accustomed to calling me Fugui. He also called me Grandpa. I’d point to the pile of rice I had cut and say, “Look at all that Kugen cut.”

He’d be so happy he’d start to giggle. Then he’d point to the pile of rice he had cut and say, “Look at all the rice that Fugui cut.”

Kugen was little and got tired easily. He’d always be running up to the ridge to take naps. He’d say, “Fugui, the sickle’s slowing down.”

What he meant was that he was tired. After lying down on the ridge for a while he would get up and watch me cutting the rice shoots. From time to time he’d yell, “Fugui, don’t step on my rice shoots!”

Everyone around would laugh when they heard that—even the team leader. He was just as old as I was, and yet he was still the team leader. There were a lot of people in his family, so they got the five
mu
of land that were right next to mine. The team leader said, “Little bastard’s really got a mouth on him, doesn’t he?”

“It’s to make up for Fengxia’s inability to speak,” I said.

Those days may have been difficult and exhausting, but at least deep down I was happy. With Kugen around I had a new zest for life. Seeing Kugen getting bigger and bigger by the day, this grandpa of his could rest easier. At dusk the two of us would sit on the doorstep and watch the sun go down. We’d see the fields turn a deep glowing red and hear the sound of the other villagers calling in the distance. The pair of chickens we were raising would totter back and forth in front of us. Kugen and I were really close. When we were together we’d never run out of things to say. Seeing those two chickens made me think back to what my father had said just before he died. I would always repeat those words to Kugen. “When these chickens grow up they’ll become geese, and when the geese grow up they’ll become lambs. When the lambs grow up they’ll turn into oxen. And us, we’ll get richer and richer!”

Kugen couldn’t stop laughing at this. He remembered every word of what I said. Many times, when he came out of the chicken coop with the newly laid eggs, he would sing those lines to himself.

When there were enough eggs we’d take them into town to be sold. I told Kugen, “When we’ve saved up enough money we’ll buy an ox, and then you’ll be able to go off to play, riding on the ox’s back.”

As soon as Kugen heard this, his eyes lit up.

“And the chicken will really turn into an ox!” he exclaimed.

From then on, Kugen was constantly waiting for the day when we would be able to buy an ox. Every morning after he opened his eyes he’d ask me, “Fugui, are we going to buy the ox today?”

Sometimes when we’d go into town to sell the eggs I’d feel sorry for Kugen and want to buy some candy for him. Kugen would say, “Just one piece is enough. We still haven’t saved up enough for the ox.”

In the blink of an eye, Kugen was already seven. He had gotten much stronger, too. One day, just when it was almost time to harvest the cotton, the village radio broadcast announced heavy rains. What was I supposed to do? The one and a half
mu
of cotton I had planted was already ripe. If it rained, my whole crop would be ruined. Early that morning I pulled Kugen out to the cotton field and told him that we had to strip all the cotton that day. Kugen looked up at me and said, “Fugui, I feel dizzy.”

“Hurry up and start picking,” I prodded him. “After you finish you can go off to play.”

So Kugen started picking the cotton. After working for a while he went up to the ridge to lie down. I yelled at him, telling him to get up, but Kugen just repeated, “I feel dizzy.”

I figured I’d let him rest awhile longer, but once he lay down he didn’t get back up. I started to lose my temper a bit. “Kugen, if we don’t strip all the cotton today, we’re never going to buy that ox,” I warned him.

Only after hearing that did Kugen get up. He told me, “I’m really dizzy. My head hurts.”

I kept working right up until noon. Only when I saw that more than half the cotton was already stripped did I start to relax a bit. I went up the ridge to get Kugen so we could go home for lunch, but the second I grabbed his hand I
knew something was wrong. I quickly felt his forehead—he was burning up. Only then did I realize he was sick. I was really an idiot: there he was, sick, and I was forcing him to work. When we got home I had Kugen lie down. Everyone in the village used to say that ginger is a cure for all
kinds of illnesses, so I decided to cook him a bowl of ginger soup. The only problem was, I didn’t have any sugar in the house. I thought of just throwing in a little salt, but I couldn’t do that to Kugen. So I went to one of the villagers’ houses to borrow some sugar.

“I’ll repay you in a couple of days when I sell the cotton,” I promised.

“Don’t worry about it, Fugui,” he said.

In addition to the ginger soup, I also cooked Kugen a bowl of porridge. Only after I watched him finish did I eat. As soon as I finished I went right back out to the fields. On my way out I said to Kugen, “You’ll feel better after you get some sleep.”

But as I went out the door, I still couldn’t get Kugen out of my mind. I decided to pick half a pot of fresh beans for him. When I went back inside to cook them, I made sure to add some salt. I moved the stool over next to the bed, putting the half-filled pot of beans on top of the stool. I told Kugen to eat, and seeing that they were beans, he smiled. As I went back outside I heard him say, “How come you’re not having any?”

I didn’t go back into the house until dusk. By the time all the cotton was reaped I felt like all my joints were out of place. It was only a short walk from the field to my hut, but by the time I got to the door my legs were trembling. As I walked in I called out, “Kugen, Kugen.”

Kugen didn’t answer; I assumed he was asleep. As soon as I went over to the bed I saw his twisted body. His mouth was half-open, and I could see two unchewed beans inside. The second I saw his mouth like that I began to feel lightheaded, and my ears rang wildly—Kugen’s lips were blue. I shook him with all my might and screamed his name. His body swayed back and forth in my arms but he didn’t answer. I was flustered, so I sat down on the bed to figure out what to do. I wondered if Kugen could be dead—the second the thought crossed my mind I couldn’t
keep from crying. I shook him again, but still he had no reaction. I realized he might be dead. I went outside and saw one of the young guys from our village.

“I beg you, please come take a look at Kugen. I thik he might be dead,” I pleaded.

The young man stared at me for a while before picking up his feet and running over. He shook Kugen back and forth and pressed his ear up to Kugen’s chest. Only after listening for a long time did he finally say, “I can’t hear a heartbeat.”

A whole crowd of people from the village came. I begged them to look at Kugen. After shaking him and listening to his chest they told me, “He’s dead.”

Kugen had choked to death on the beans. It wasn’t that he was greedy and wanted to stuff himself, it was just that we were too poor. Every
kid in the village had it better than Kugen. Things were so bad for us that Kugen hardly ever had the chance to eat beans. And just like always I was my old muddleheaded self, giving Kugen too many beans at once, never stopping for a second to think about what might happen. In the end it was my clumsiness and stupidity that
killed Kugen.

From then on I had to get by alone. I thought I wouldn’t have many days left, either. Who could have
known that I’d make it this long? I’m still the same as before. My back’s sore and my vision is blurry, but my hearing is still
keen. When the villagers are talking, I can tell who’s speaking without even looking. Sometimes when I think back I feel sad, and sometimes I feel a
kind of peace. I took care of the funerals for everyone in my family. I buried them all with my own hands. When the day comes that my body goes stiff, there will be no one left to worry about. I’ve also made up my mind that when it’s my turn to die, I’ll go peacefully and quietly. There’s no need for me to worry about not having anyone to bury me—I’m sure the people in the village will take care of it. The moment my body starts to stink, I’m sure the smell will be unbearable and they’ll get rid of me in a hurry. I won’t let them bury me for nothing; there’s ten
yuan
under my pillow, and even if I have to starve to death there’s no way I’m touching that ten
yuan
. Everyone in the village
knows that money is for whoever buries me. They also know that after I die I want to be buried with Jiazhen and the others.

It seems this life of mine will be over soon. It’s been an ordinary life. My dad thought I would bring honor to our ancestors. He thought wrong. As for me, this is my fate. When I was young I used the money my ancestors left me to screw around for a while, but as time went on I became worse and worse off. In the end, though, things worked out for the best. Look at the people around me, like Long Er and Chunsheng. They each had their day in the sun, but in the end they lost their lives. It’s better to live an ordinary life. If you go on striving for this and that, you’ll end up paying with your life. Take me, for instance: The longer I’ve managed to squeeze by, the more useless I’ve become, but in the end I’ve lived a long time. One by one, everyone I
knew died, but I’m still living.

Two years after Kugen died, I had finally saved up enough money for an ox. Seeing that I still had a few years left in me, I decided I should go ahead and get one. An ox is like half a person. He can help me work, and when there’s free time he can
keep me company, and when I’m bored I can talk to him. Taking him by the reins is just like taking a child by the hand.

The day I went to buy the ox I tucked my money away in my shirt and headed out to Xinfeng, where there’s a big animal market. On the way there I passed through one of the neighboring villages and saw a crowd of people gathered around the drying field. When I went over to have a look I saw this here ox. He was lying on the ground with his head tilted to one side, and tears were streaming from his eyes. Next to him was a bare-chested guy squatting on the ground and sharpening a butcher’s
knife. The people crowding around were trying to determine the best spot to make the first incision. Seeing this ox weeping so intensely, I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. I thought it must be really terrible to be an ox. All their lives they’re driven to the point of exhaustion for the work of man, and as soon as they get old and their energy starts to go they get sent off to be slaughtered and eaten.

I couldn’t stand to watch this ox get slaughtered, so I quickly left the drying field and went on my way to Xinfeng. But after walking for a while I still couldn’t get him out of my mind. He
knew he was going to die. Under his head there had been a pool of tears.

The farther I walked the more agitated I became, and then I thought, why don’t I just buy him? I quickly turned around and headed back toward the drying field. When I got there they had already tied up the ox’s feet. I squeezed my way through the crowd and said to the guy sharpening the
knife, “Okay, that’s enough. What do you say you sell me this ox?”

The bare-chested man was testing the blade with his finger. He looked me over for a while before asking, “What did you say?”

“I want to buy this ox,” I repeated.

He cracked his lips and began to giggle. Everyone around was roaring with laughter. I
knew that they were laughing at me. I took my money out from under my shirt and put it in his hand, saying, “Go ahead and count it.” The bare-chested guy was stumped. He looked me over and scratched his head.

“Are you for real?” he asked.

I didn’t say a word. I just stooped down and undid the rope binding the ox’s legs. I patted him on the head and stood up. The ox was really smart;
knowing he wasn’t going to die, he immediately stopped crying and stood up. As I pulled the ox’s leash I told the guy again, “Go ahead and count it.”

He held the money in front of his eyes as if checking its thickness. “That’s okay, take him away,” he said, once he was sure there was enough money.

As I led the ox away, the crowd was laughing at me behind my back. I heard the guy who sold me the ox say, “I really made out today! Not bad at all.”

Oxen have feelings just like people do. As I pulled on this one’s leash to guide him home, he
knew that I had saved him. He rubbed his body up against me to show his affection. I said to him, “Look at you, what’s there to be so happy about? I’m taking you home to work, not to be pampered.”