Dream of Ding Village (14 page)

‘I found this at the foot of his bed, beneath the covers,’ Uncle said, as he handed her the jacket.

Slowly, painfully, Zhao Dequan squatted on the ground and hung his head in shame. It was as though he had just witnessed the passing not of a jacket, but of his life’s honour. His face looked sallower than before: as if made of wax, with the eyes of a dead fish. He stared fixedly at the tips of his toes, shrinking in on himself like a whipped dog cowering in a corner.

‘Dequan,’ Grandpa said. ‘Did you really take the jacket?’

Zhao Dequan huddled on the ground and did not speak.

‘I’m asking … are you the one who took it?’

Zhao Dequan shrunk into himself and was silent.

‘If it wasn’t you, you’ve got to speak up.’

Zhao Dequan glanced at Grandpa from the corner of his eye, but stayed as silent as an empty well, his body withered like a dying leaf.

Uncle spoke up. ‘I’m the one who found the jacket under your covers. Are you claiming it is a false accusation?’ Zhao Dequan bowed his head even lower and remained silent.

Grandpa shot a stony look at Uncle. ‘Shut your mouth, boy. You’ve said enough.’

Uncle shut his mouth and glowered darkly.

By now, the sun had broken away from the horizon, and
having reached a certain height, was spilling its liquid gold into the schoolyard. The villagers looked from Grandpa to Zhao Dequan and back again, waiting to see how the drama would end.

‘Zhao Dequan, I’m disappointed in you,’ Grandpa said. ‘Your own son is getting married soon, and here you are, stealing a jacket that Lingling got as a wedding present.’

At these words, Zhao Dequan seemed to grow even more nervous. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead on to the ground.

The villagers were silent. In the midst of this silence, Zhao Xiuqin suddenly stood up and began walking towards the kitchen, still clutching her pillowcase filled with rice.

‘Where are you going?’ Grandpa asked.

‘I left the pot boiling on the stove,’ she answered. ‘If it burns, we’ll have nothing to eat for breakfast.’

Li Sanren sensed an opportunity. ‘Er, Xiuqin,’ he said casually. ‘You don’t happen to have the village seal, do you?’

‘No,’ she answered sullenly. ‘The way you act, you’d think it was made of gold.’

Li Sanren pondered this for a moment, then squatted down beside Zhao Dequan.

‘Dequan … my brother, my old friend,’ he said, in his sweetest, most reassuring voice. ‘We’re both men in our fifties. If you did take the seal from under my pillow, you know … well, just give it back.’

Slowly, solemnly, Zhao Dequan shook his head.

‘You’re sure you didn’t take it?’ Li Sanren tried one more time.

Zhao nodded.

Li Sanren stood up, a defeated man. A thin layer of nervous perspiration now coated his forehead, as if he had caught the sweats from Zhao Dequan. With a desperate, hopeful look, he turned to the crowd of villagers. ‘Whoever took the money can keep it,’ he announced loudly. ‘But I hope you will return the village seal. In ten years, I have never let that seal out of my sight. I used to keep it in a locked box at home and carry it on
my person whenever I went out. Last night, before I went to bed, I put the money and the seal under my pillow. When I woke up this morning, they were gone.

‘Like I said, I don’t care about the money.’ Li Sanren raised his voice even louder. ‘But you must give me back the seal!’

The incident blew over quietly. Nothing more was said of it.

The days passed quickly, one fading into the next, and soon the school was calm and quiet once more. One day, Lingling was making her way towards the women’s toilets. The men’s toilets were outdoors, just east of the schoolhouse. The women’s, also outdoors, were to the west. Walking briskly in her red silk jacket, Lingling appeared like a flaming miniature sun moving through the school, passing the residents who were out in the schoolyard enjoying the sunshine. A touch of warmth to ease the suffering and help them endure what little remained of their lives. As Lingling passed a row of villagers, relaxing and dozing lazily, Zhao Dequan followed her with his eyes. Then he stood up and began following her with his feet.

The toilets were a makeshift affair, just a row of outdoor squats surrounded by a high wall. When Lingling emerged, Zhao Dequan was waiting for her. For a few seconds, the two stared at each other. Then with a look of disdain, Lingling began to walk away, but Zhao Dequan stepped forward into her path.

‘Lingling, would you be willing to …’ His voice was no more than a whisper. ‘Do you think you could sell me your jacket?’

Zhao Dequan attempted a smile, but it was a sickly thing, a skeletal sort of smile. ‘I’m not embarrassed to ask, because I know I don’t have much time left. I doubt I’ll last the winter.’

His smile faded. ‘The thing is, when my wife and I got married, I promised her that one day I would buy her a red silk jacket, just like yours. Now my son is about to be married and I’m dying, but she has never forgotten my promise. Before I die, I want to do this one thing … to give my wife the jacket I promised her.’

Lingling stared at him for a moment, and then began to walk away.

‘I’ll give you fifty yuan for it!’ he shouted, as she brushed past him.

‘All right, eighty!’ Lingling kept walking.

‘How about a hundred?’

Lingling turned around. ‘Why don’t you go into the city and get your own?’

Yes, the incident blew over quietly. Nothing more was said. After all, not much had been stolen – a bit of rice, some pocket change, a jacket and the village seal – and the thieves responsible had been caught. Before he died, Zhao Dequan had simply wanted to give his wife the red silk jacket he had promised her as a wedding gift. Now that their son was grown and about to be married, the shadow of his promise weighed on him heavily. It is a terrible thing to be dying of the fever and know you still owe your wife the promise of a red silk bridal jacket. It was this thought that had made him do the deed. As for Zhao Xiuqin, her theft was justified. After slaving away in the kitchen night and day without pay, she had only taken what was rightfully hers.

In light of these events, Grandpa laid down some new regulations. One: as Zhao Dequan had returned the jacket to Lingling, he would not be punished. Two: if Zhao Xiuqin and her two assistants were willing to continue their cooking duties, they would be exempt from the required monthly contributions of rice, flour and cereal grains. Although they would not be paid for their work, they would eat for free. Three: from now on, any resident caught stealing would be banished from the school. Anyone greedy or dishonest, or simply light-fingered, could go home and die in their own bed.

Since everyone was living on borrowed time, it seemed pointless to quibble any further. Li Sanren, who still hadn’t
managed to locate the missing village seal, was finding it hard to let go of the matter, although he pretended otherwise. ‘I’m done searching,’ he’d say. ‘Besides, what’s the point? Ding Village doesn’t even have a village party committee any more.’ But as soon as the classrooms were empty, he would sneak inside to search the beds, peek under blankets and rifle through people’s belongings. He even conducted a search of the holes in the walls where rats lived, digging through their rank nests and among their droppings.

He never found the seal.

The loss tormented him. Sometimes when he was sitting alone, he would heave a long, deep sigh, as if his mind were a vast plain of regrets. Then came a day when Li Sanren could not be found in his usual haunts. He was not out in the schoolyard, enjoying the sunshine, nor was he searching the classrooms or sitting by some sunny upstairs window. He was huddled in his bed beneath the covers, where he had been all day. He had burrowed into his quilt the night before, and remained there at dawn and all through the morning. When he had still not emerged at lunchtime, Grandpa sent Uncle to fetch him.

Uncle stood at the door of the classroom, banging his chopsticks against his bowl and shouting. ‘Li Sanren, get up! It’s time for lunch!’

Receiving no reply, he tried a different tactic.

‘Mr Mayor, aren’t you hungry?’

When there was still no answer, Uncle went over to Li Sanren’s bed and gave him a little push. It was like trying to nudge a pillar of stone.

Still holding his bowl and chopsticks, Uncle frantically threw off the bedclothes and saw that Li Sanren’s face was green. A dark, putrid green. Li Sanren was dead.

He had been dead for some time. He might have passed away before midnight, or during the early hours of the morning. There was a small, dark pool beside his pillow, where he had coughed up blood. It was blackened and congealed, like mud. A puddle of congealed mud.

No one had expected Li Sanren to die so soon. Most thought that Zhao Dequan would be the first to go. Yet here was Li Sanren, cold in his bed, while Zhao Dequan was still alive. Despite the pool of blood, Li Sanren’s features were relaxed, indicating that he hadn’t suffered much before he died. Perhaps he’d simply spat up some blood and then passed quietly away. He might have died with regrets, though. His eyes were open and his mouth agape, like he’d been trying to say something, but had died before he could get the words out.

Uncle stood at Li Sanren’s bedside for what seemed a long time, his face drained of colour and his chopsticks frozen in mid-air. It wasn’t fear that left him pale, but the cold hard fact of knowing that someday soon he, too, would die. After a while, Uncle put down his bowl and chopsticks and bent forward to see if Li Sanren was breathing. When he placed his fingers gingerly under the man’s nose, Uncle could feel no breath, just a cold chill emanating from his nostrils. Straightening up, Uncle crossed the classroom, opened a window and leaned out. Down below, some of the residents were milling around on their way to lunch.

‘Hey!’ Uncle shouted. ‘Li Sanren is dead!’

Everyone looked up. ‘What did you say?’ someone shouted back.

‘Li Sanren is dead. His body is already cold.’

The villagers stared at one another in shock. No longer in a hurry to get to lunch, they climbed the stairs to the second-floor classroom to see if Li Sanren was really dead. Five or six of them took turns waving their hands in front of his nostrils to check if he was breathing.

Grandpa came into the classroom, looking very pale and upset. After checking to see if Li Sanren was breathing, he turned to the villagers.

‘Someone go and tell his family. They’ll need to get the coffin and the funeral clothes made.’

‘Why not wait until we’ve had lunch?’ someone suggested. ‘Otherwise, the food will get cold.’

After thinking about this for a moment, Grandpa pulled up the covers, covering Li Sanren’s face, then led everyone downstairs to eat. During lunch, no one spoke about Li Sanren. Everyone ate their lunch as usual, those that had heard the news and those who hadn’t.

It was a calm, windless day. The sun was shining brightly, the schoolyard warm and peaceful. Some of the residents sat on the ground, others stood as they ate their lunch of steamed bread, stew and a cracked-corn porridge that was Zhao Xiuqin’s special recipe. Some sat on benches they’d brought from the classrooms, while others simply took off their shoes and sat on those. Chewing on the bread and slurping their soup, they talked about things in the village and repeated the same jokes – some funny, others not – that they’d been telling for years. Some joined in the conversation; others did not. It was a typical lunch, the same as any other, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Lingling squatted next to Uncle as they ate. ‘Did old Mayor Li die or something?’ she asked.

‘What are you talking about?’ Uncle said, giving her a strange look. ‘He just said he wasn’t feeling well enough to come down for lunch.’

‘I wish whoever stole his seal would give it back. Then he wouldn’t be so sad all the time.’

‘You got your jacket back, that’s what matters. You shouldn’t worry so much about other people.’

Grandpa looked around at the villagers as they tucked into their lunches. Others, already finished, carried on animated conversations. When most of the residents had finished eating, he stood up and made an announcement.

‘Li Sanren has decided he doesn’t want to live at the school anymore,’ he said. Then, turning to the cook, he said, ‘Xiuqin. From now on, you’ll be preparing one less meal.’

There was a shocked silence as the villagers digested Grandpa’s words. They seemed to understand what he was saying, but at the same time, they weren’t quite sure. They gazed around at each other, no one daring to ask the question
that was on everyone’s minds. The schoolyard was deathly silent, quiet enough to hear people breathing. Or holding their breath.

A single feather, carried on a gust of wind, seemed to slice through the silence. At that moment, Ding Zuizui, sitting near the kitchen door, cleared his throat and announced that he wanted to tell everyone a joke.

‘Once upon a time,’ he began, ‘there was a clever county official who could handle any task that was put in front of him with the greatest of ease. One day, the county magistrate – hoping to test him – brought him to the outskirts of the capital city. Pointing to a pretty young girl walking down a path beside a vegetable patch, the magistrate said: “Go over and talk to that girl. If she lets you kiss her on the lips, I’ll hand over my official seal and let you do my job for three full days. If she doesn’t, I get to give you fifty lashes with a cane. Is it a deal?” After thinking it over, the clever county official walked over to the girl. After he had spoken no more than a few sentences, she raised her face to his, opened her mouth wide and allowed him to kiss her full on the lips. After that, the clever official was given the seal and got to be acting county magistrate for three days. Now, what do you suppose the clever official said to the girl?’ Ding Zuizui asked the villagers, who had stopped eating and were listening with great interest.

He took a few sips of his soup, letting the suspense build for a while before answering.

‘After he pulled her aside, he said, “Why were you stealing leeks from my family’s vegetable patch?” “I wasn’t stealing leeks,” she said, “I just happened to be walking by. Are you calling me a thief?” “But I saw you picking leeks and eating them,” the clever official said. “Can you prove you weren’t stealing?” “I was not. If you don’t believe me, just look in my mouth,” said the girl, opening her mouth. “Can you see any leeks in there?” “Of course I can’t,” answered the official, “because you swallowed them.” The girl got angry. “What am I supposed to do, cut open my belly and show you?” “That
won’t be necessary,” the official told her. “Leeks have a strong scent. Just let me smell your breath, and I’ll be able to tell right away.” So the girl opened her mouth and raised her head to let him sniff her breath, and of course, that’s when he kissed her. Naturally, the county magistrate had no choice but to turn over the great seal of state to the clever official. Within three days, the official had used the power of his office to relocate all of his friends and family from the countryside to the city, where he gave them high-ranking positions in county government or business. And they all got rich and lived happily ever after.’