Dream of Ding Village (42 page)

In fact, my dad had already made up his mind about the banquet. He was planning to hold it in the city, rather than in Ding Village, because what was the point of treating a bunch of sick people and their families to a big, expensive meal? Instead, he had reserved three floors of the largest restaurant in the city, and invited all his closest friends, acquaintances and influential colleagues to join the feast. Lingzi’s dad, my new father-in-law, was the highest-ranking official in the county, so no one refused the invitation. Everyone who was anyone would be there, and they were all looking forward to rubbing elbows with the county governor
.

My dad searched the whole school and couldn’t find Grandpa anywhere. He went back to the gate and searched through the crowd, but Grandpa wasn’t there. At this point, my dad realized that he hadn’t seen Grandpa since they’d started digging up my grave. No one else had, either
.

My dad organized a search party
.

They found Grandpa sitting alone by the side of the road leading to the village. He was hunched beneath the branches of a small elm, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the village and the withered, yellowed plain. He seemed to be lost in thought. Maybe he was thinking about important things like grief and loss, death and dissolution. Feelings that were
miles wide and fathoms deep. Then again, maybe he was just tired and wanted a quiet place where he could sit down and rest. A place where he could be alone. He gazed at the dead crops and dried-up plain with a melancholy and worried expression. The little elm had more branches than leaves, and didn’t offer much in the way of shade. Grandpa might as well be sitting in the blazing sun. As my dad approached, he saw that the back of Grandpa’s white cotton shirt was stained with perspiration
.

‘Dad,’ he said cautiously. ‘What are you doing? It’s too hot to be sitting out here.’

Grandpa slowly turned around. ‘I suppose Qiang’s been moved from his grave?’

‘Uh-huh.’

My dad squatted down next to Grandpa. ‘What are you doing out here?’

Grandpa stared at my dad for a long time before asking the question that had been on his mind. ‘Exactly how much older is this Lingzi girl?’

My dad grinned. ‘You didn’t come out here to watch for Jia Genzhu, did you? Are you afraid he’ll show up at the grave and make a scene?’

Grandpa ignored the question. ‘I want to know, Hui. How much older is she?’

‘Qiang needs someone older to take care of him.’ My dad sat down on the ground. ‘And I wouldn’t worry about Genzhu, if I were you. I was actually hoping he’d show up today. I’d like to see him try to lay a finger on me.’

‘Is it true Lingzi had a crippled leg?’

Grandpa looked into his son’s eyes, but my dad averted his gaze
.

‘Yes, but it wasn’t obvious. They say you’d never notice unless you looked really close.’

Then, changing the subject: ‘If Genzhu does cause any trouble today, I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.’

Grandpa ignored the comment. He was more interested in me. ‘And her dad is the county governor?’

Dad just smiled
.

‘I also hear the girl had epilepsy.’

My dad stared at Grandpa, wide-eyed, wondering where he could have got this information
.

Grandpa knew from my dad’s reaction that the things he’d dreamed were true. With a deep sigh, he turned back to the road and continued watching Jia Genzhu’s house, which was visible in the distance. Although the wooden gates were unlocked, no one had come in or out of them in a long time. Just as Grandpa was beginning to think the house was empty, a man emerged from the gate carrying a strip of white cloth tied to a bamboo pole. After he had hung it from a tree, the man calmly went back inside. In Ding Village, this was the traditional way of signalling that someone had died. When Grandpa saw that strip of white cloth hanging outside Genzhu’s gate like a flag of surrender, he felt his heart skip a beat. He turned to my dad with a look of regret and relief
.

‘Hui, I’ve seen the way you put on airs, but really, did you have to marry off your son to a girl like that?’

‘How could I have possibly found a better match?’ My dad seemed puzzled. ‘Don’t you know her father is moving up in the world? They just promoted him to mayor of Kaifeng!’

Grandpa snorted derisively and gave my dad a look of disgust. Without a word, he stood up, wiped the sweat from his face and the dirt from the seat of his trousers, and turned to the crowd of people at the school gate. The red cloth that had been spread over my grave was now draped over my golden coffin. Grandpa knew that meant the exhumation was finished, and that my remains were inside the new coffin. My leg bones were wrapped in the pair of red trousers, my ribs and arms in the red tunic, and the bones of my feet in a pair of red cloth shoes. In transferring my remains to the golden casket, the exhumation had been made a celebration, and a sorrowful event into a joyous one. When Grandpa began walking back to the school, my dad followed him
.

‘Dad, you’re too old for this. Why don’t you come and live with me in the city?’

Grandpa glanced at his son and kept trudging towards the school
.

‘Life is good in the city, and there’s nothing left for you here. All your relatives are gone. Why not leave this place and never come back?’

This time, Grandpa didn’t even bother to turn around.

At the school gate, eight young pallbearers lifted my golden coffin on to their shoulders and prepared to carry me from the school. The master of ceremonies lit another long string of firecrackers, and amid much noise, the procession began. Because I had died so young, there were no sons or daughters dressed in mourning to walk beside my coffin. But because I was getting married, the head of my coffin was decorated with the red cloth, which had been twisted into the shape of a flower. This was how I would leave Ding Village
.

This was how they would carry me away
.

They were taking me away from my grandpa and my school and my home
.

They were taking me to a strange place where I’d be married to a crippled, epileptic girl who was six years too old for me
.

They were taking me away
.

There was the pop-popping of firecrackers and the babble of voices, fountains of sparks rising into the air and bits of burnt paper fluttering down. My father, walking behind my coffin, glanced around at the villagers who had come to join in this rare celebration
.

He instructed the pallbearers to stop for a moment, then stood atop a little sand dune and announced loudly:

‘People of Ding Village, brothers and sisters, friends and neighbours, thank you for coming out today. In the future, if you ever need help with anything, anything at all, you can find me in the city. But I was born right here, and as a native son of Ding Village, you know I’ll always be truthful with you. So I may as well tell you about my latest venture: the county governor and I are planning to buy nearly 1,000 acres of land on the banks of the Yellow River, halfway between Kaifeng and the county seat, and turn it into a funeral park. It will be
a burial site fit for an emperor, with the best location, steps away from the water, and feng shui to rival the imperial tombs of the Mang mountain range in Luoyang
.

‘I know you’ve all heard the saying,’ my father continued in a booming voice, ‘that it’s best to be born in Suzhou or Hangzhou, and best to be buried in the mountains of Mang. But how many people are lucky enough to be born in those cities, or buried in those mountains? I can’t do anything about where you were born, but now that I’m a county cadre, the least I can do is see that you’re buried in style. Fellow villagers, friends and neighbours, I give you my pledge: anyone from Ding Village who wants to be buried in my funeral park will receive the finest plot of land on the banks of the Yellow River, right next to my son Ding Qiang. I guarantee that you’ll be able to purchase one of these fine burial sites for the lowest possible price. You’ll be getting a final resting place with a river view and auspicious feng shui practically for free.’

When my father had finished his sales pitch, he looked up at the blazing sun, which was nearly overhead, and swept his eyes over the crowd. Then he stepped down from the sand dune and signalled to the pallbearers that it was time to continue the procession
.

The villagers trailed after my coffin, chattering excitedly about the planned funeral park. Grandpa stayed behind for a few last words with my father
.

‘It’s safe to leave the village now,’ said Grandpa. ‘Jia Genzhu is dead. He won’t be bothering you any more.’

My father laughed. ‘Dad, as long as you don’t plan on killing me, I’ll always be safe. There’s not a person in any village on this plain who would dare to mess with me now.’

My father rejoined the funeral procession into the village, leaving Grandpa standing at my empty grave, next to the space where my golden coffin had been. Grandpa’s face had turned pale, his features rigid. My father’s words seemed to have triggered something in him, brought back some long-forgotten memory. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, the perspiration oozing from his pores, the palms of his
hands growing slick with sweat. He shifted his gaze from my father’s retreating back to the crowd of villagers and the golden coffin, draped with red silk, being carried into the village like a bridal sedan chair. Like a flame being held aloft. The midday sun was dazzling, and a layer of haze hung over the plain like a luminous veil. The silence in all directions was absolute. Willow Hamlet, Two-Li Village and Yellow Creek lay hushed beneath the sunlight. Even the cattle and sheep grazing among the dunes nibbled their dry grass in silence. The only living sounds came from the cicadas, crying lustily from the branches of the few remaining trees. Their buzzing, and the distant explosions of fireworks, echoed in Grandpa’s ears. As he turned to look at my empty grave, the grave they had opened and not bothered to fill in, realization came crashing down upon him: they were taking me away. My father and the others were carrying me away, taking me away from him for ever. Grandpa was alone in the school, friendless in the village, and abandoned by his family. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed it before, but there wasn’t a single black hair left on Grandpa’s head. His silvery-white hair stuck up in tufts, making him look like a sacrificial lamb that had been hoisted into the air, waiting to be dashed upon the ground. The wrinkles on his weathered, ancient face were as numerous as cracks upon the arid plain, and the eyes that followed my funeral procession held no sorrow, or anger, or tears. All that was left was an indescribable hopelessness. His eyes were twin pools of despair, wells that had dried up long, long ago
.

They were carrying me away, farther and farther away. Grandpa was now just a blur in the distance. From inside my coffin, I began to scream
.

‘Grandpa! Don’t let them take me!’

My cries shook the heavens
.

‘I don’t want to leave here! Don’t let them take me!’

My screams ripped holes in the sky
.

‘Save me, Grandpa, save me …’

The idea struck Grandpa like a thunderclap, draining the colour from his face and making his hands shake. Trembling
,
he bent down and picked up a stick, a stout piece of chestnut that someone had left lying on the ground. He began walking towards the crowd, following the funeral procession. In a few quick strides, he caught up with my father, who was lagging at the edge of the crowd. Grandpa raised the stick over his head and brought it down on my father’s head, smashing in the back of his skull. The blow fell so quickly that my father didn’t have time to turn around, or to cry out. He swayed for a second, then fell with a soft thud, like a sack of flour
.

A puddle of blood bloomed on the ground, as red as a blossom in spring
.

After he killed my dad, Grandpa acted like he had done the village a tremendous service. Ignoring my dad’s body lying on the ground, he ran off to spread the good news in the village and to everyone he met along the way.

‘Did you hear? I killed Ding Hui.’

‘Hey, you there! Ding Hui’s dead. I bashed him over the head with a stick.’

‘Hi, just thought I’d let you know … you don’t have to worry about Ding Hui any more. I killed him.’

As Grandpa raced towards the village, he seemed sprightlier, as if he was suddenly ten years younger. Starting at the west end of the village, he went from house to house opening doors, walking into people’s courtyards and announcing his news.

‘Hi, have you heard?’ he called, pushing open the gate of the first house he came to. ‘I killed my son, Ding Hui. Smashed his head in.’

At the second house: ‘Are your parents home? Well, when they come back, tell them that Ding Hui is dead and that I killed him. I bashed him in the back of the head with a stick of chestnut, this long and this thick.’ Grandpa illustrated his words with a gesture. ‘Killed him with the first blow.’

At the third house: ‘So you’re back here, visiting? That’s just as well. You can burn offerings at your brother and parents’ graves and tell them that Ding Hui is finally dead. I killed him with one blow to the skull.’

At the seventh house he came to, Grandpa walked into the courtyard and saw that all the rooms were shuttered and locked. There were weathered funeral scrolls pasted to the
lintels of every door. He knelt in the middle of the courtyard, clasped his hands together and bowed three times. Then, although there was no one alive to hear his announcement, he said: ‘Brothers, you brothers and your wives, I came to give you some good news. My son Ding Hui is dead, and I killed him.’

When Grandpa arrived at Jia Genzhu’s house and saw the black coffin in the courtyard, he fell to his knees and touched his head to the ground. ‘Genzhu, you were always like a nephew to me. I wanted to tell you the good news in person, and I hope you’ll rest easier knowing that Ding Hui is dead. I killed him myself, bashed his head in with a stick.’