A Dictionary of Maqiao

by Han Shaogong

  "My back hurts."

  And so Benyi had no choice but to submit once more to his young wife, abandoning the forestry station to carry her down the mountain right in front of everyone. He knew that if he hadn't carried her off then, she might have announced her period had come, or something similar. She was someone who just wouldn't shut up, who'd publicize women's secrets at any opportunity, making her body a subject of general understanding and concern, a topic of conversation, the intellectual property of all men. Her periods were, in short, a great ceremonial event for the Maqiao collective. She wouldn't of course advertize them directly. But she'd say her back hurt, then remark meaningfully on how she hadn't been able to go near cold water for the last few days, then dispatch some man to the clinic to buy her some angelica, even yell at Benyi while they were in the fields to go back home and boil her some angelica or an egg- all this, of course, was quite sufficient to notify people of the phase her body was entering on, to underline her femininity, to excite male imaginations, to attract knowing smirks.

  Whether in terror or delight, she made an extraordinary number of exclamations. Even if she was only expressing surprise at a caterpillar, the dulcet tones of her "aiyas" led men to suspect there had to be another context or background to them, to daydream about her pose in that context or background-and all sorts of other things besides. She wasn't responsible for these fantasies, of course, she was responsible only for the caterpillar. But that caterpillar of hers could triumph over the other women's ginger-salted-bean pounded tea and all their other distractions, could wrest men away, have them trot over obediently to shower her with attention, to perform any physical task she demanded of them. Every time this happened, shoulders back and head held high, she'd walk beneath the gaze of other Maqiao women, glowing with the undisguisable joy of victory.

  I later heard Maqiao people whisper among themselves that this woman's dizzying, bewitching cries were really rude and got the better of at least three men.

  First of all was a director from the County Cultural Institute, who came once to check on cultural work in the village and who stayed in her house; a secretary he brought with him was palmed off on Fucha. From that time on, the Cultural Institute director took a particular interest in Maqiao, and his fleshy face, grinning from ear to ear, would often pop up-here and there, in her kitchen, as if it had set down roots and started to grow. People said he'd give out free agriculture manuals, as well as free fertilizer quotas and disaster relief funds; whatever Tiexiang wanted she got. Getting the institute director to do things was even easier than ordering a child around-the director (a commissioned official) even helped her haul the toilet bucket, lurching over to the vegetable garden to empty it onto the manure heap.

  Later on there was a handsome young lad, Tiexiang's nephew (allegedly) who worked in the photography institute in Pingjiang's county seat and who'd come down to the countryside to serve poor and lower-middle peasants. Tiexiang took him on a tour around nearby villages, explaining how good his photography was, getting people interested and fighting to have a look at the photographs the young lad was already clutching, which were, of course, a dozen or so photographs of Tiexiang in all kinds of different poses. This was the first time Maqiao people had seen a camera, so naturally they were curious. Something else they were curious about was an old watch belonging to the young lad, which for some months was fastened round Tiexiang's wrist. Some said that people cutting firewood on the mountain had spotted the two of them walking together hand-in-hand along the mountain road. Was this the sort of thing an aunt and a nephew did? What was going on between them?

  Finally, people even said that Tiexiang had seduced Precious Huang, that Precious Huang had lugged to her house a made-to-order stone feeding-trough and drunk five whole cups of cold water without stopping, knots of flesh all over his body rising and rolling. This had sent Tiexiang into raptures of lust and she'd insisted that Precious Huang help her cut her fingernails-it was really hard to cut her right hand, she said. Afterwards, she secretly made a pair of shoes and delivered them over to Precious Huang's. Unfortunately, Precious Huang was too precious to understand her feminine wiles: he returned the shoes to Benyi saying they were a little bit small, they pinched his feet; he reckoned they'd fit Benyi better. Benyi fell silent, his face darkening immediately, his neck twisting to one side.

  Not a shadow of Tiexiang was seen over the following few days. When she reappeared in public, she had a cut on her neck. When people asked about it, she said she'd been scratched by a cat.

  That wasn't the truth-her old man had beaten her.

  The Tiexiang with a cut at the base of her neck stopped horsing around with the men and quieted down. But then she suddenly got friendly with Three Ears.

  It would've been stretching a point to call Three Ears a man-in most women's eyes he had no significance as a man-so of course there was no harm in him and Tiexiang getting friendly. Three Ears was Zhaoqing's second child, but he'd run wild as a boy and had turned out so disobedient and unfilial that Zhaoqing chased him out of the house with a hoe; he then joined up with Ma Ming, Master Yin, and Hu Erce from the House of Immortals and became one of Maqiao's Four Daoist Immortals. The nickname "Three Ears" came from an extra piece of flesh shaped like an ear that had come up in his left armpit. People said he'd been too stubborn in his previous life and the King of the Underworld had given him an extra ear this time around to make him listen harder to what his elders and the government said. He kept this under wraps like some kind of treasure-he wouldn't exhibit his precious third ear to just anyone. Whoever wanted to have a look had to hand over a cigarette first. If you wanted to have a feel, then the price doubled. He could also turn his right hand over, bring it around past his backbone, and grab hold of his right ear; anyone wanting to see this miracle had at the very least to buy him a bowl of wine in the supply and marketing cooperative.

  He showed Tiexiang his third ear for free: seeing Tiexiang happy made him especially happy. He was very proud of his superfluous ear; in fact, he thought his nose, eyes, and mouth were pretty good, too. A few years earlier, he'd ascertained by looking in the mirror that he was not Zhaoqing's real son and had insisted his mother reveal the current where-abouts of his real father. He'd made such a fuss about this that his mother wept and wailed and he came to blows with his father (both of them drew blood). This, of course, further confirmed him in his conclusions: was this the behavior of a father? Chasing him out of the door with a rake? He wasn't awakened yesterday, Three Ears, he wasn't going to believe what this sonofabitch told him. He went looking for Benyi, politely offered him a cigarette, cleared his throat, set his expression, and made as if to discuss with the Party Secretary some matter of great import such as national family planning. "Uncle Benyi, as you know, the current revolutionary situation throughout the nation is indeed excellent, under the central leadership of the Party all cow demons and snake spirits have shown their true faces, those that are false are proved false, those that are real are proved real, the revolutionary truth is becoming clearer and clearer, the eyes of the revolutionary masses are brighter and brighter. Last month, our commune held a Party Representatives meeting and will next decide how to deal with the question of water conservation…"

  Benyi's patience was, as ever, low: "Stop beating around the bush, if you're gonna fart, then do it quickly."

  Three Ears stammered and meandered his way to the question of his natural father.

  "Don't you ever look at yourself when you're having a piss, you scrawny wimp, what sort of dad d'you think you should have? Shortie Zhao's already too good for you." Benyi ground his teeth.

  "Don't be like that, Uncle Benyi. I don't want to bother you or anything, I'd just like you to tell me something."

  "Tell you what?"

  "How was I really born?"

  "Ask your mother! How should I know?"

  "You're a Party cadre, I'm sure you know what really happened."

  "What're you talking about? It was your mother w
ho gave birth to you, you piece of trash, what would I know about it? I haven't even looked hard enough at her to see whether her eyebrows go straight across or straight up."

  "That's not what I mean, all I was saying…"

  "I've got work to do."

  "So that's your final answer-you won't tell me?"

  "Tell you what? What d'you want me to say? Hmm? Sticking a toad in a dragon's bed's easy enough to do, so what'll it be? D'you want a regiment commander or a director for a dad? Just say the word and I'll take you to find one. How about it?"

  Three Ears bit his lip and said no more. No matter how much Benyi swore at him, his expression remained determinedly calm and even vaguely supercilious, watching the Party Secretary perform, as if he had some well-planned strategy all thought out. He waited urbanely while the Secretary finished swearing, then turned his head and walked off with a melancholy air.

  He walked to the mouth of the village, quietly watched two kids playing with ants, then went back to where he lived. He'd work all his shifts as arranged-he wasn't about to be thrown off balance by Benyi.

  He went looking for Uncle Luo, Fucha, and Precious Huang too, he even went looking for the Commune Head. In the end, he actually ran all the way into the county seat to inquire where Long Stick Xi had been sent for labor reform, because he strongly suspected he was in fact the seed of Long Stick Xi and wanted to see for himself what Long Stick Xi looked like before he dragged him off for a blood test. If Long Stick Xi was his natural father but wouldn't recognize him as his son, he'd smash his own brains out in front of him. He'd asked for nothing all his life, just this, all he wanted was to unravel the riddle of his own birth, to pay his respects to his real father, never mind if it was only for a day-just one moment would be enough.

  Twice he went into the county seat, without managing to find Long Stick Xi either time. He didn't lose heart. He knew this wasn't a simple matter; perhaps it would be his life's destiny, but he was fully prepared in any case. He wasn't like the other Daoist Immortals, lying around all day sleeping, or wandering the mountains, or enjoying the waters. He was busy every day until late, busy searching and surveying, and-while he was at it-busy with all the interminable things in the world that make you busy. He was lazy by nature, but not outwardly: he often went off to the supply and marketing cooperative, the clinic, the granary, the forestry station, the school, as if he went to work there every day. He helped the quack pound the medicine, helped the butcher blow out the pig's bladder, helped the teacher carry water, helped the granary kitchen grind bean curd. He'd help out a friend on any important matter. Because his family's class status was too high, Maqiao's Yanwu was sent back home from school in Changle and refused entrance to the commune middle school. Determined to campaign on behalf of this victim of injustice, an indignant Three Ears dragged him, huffing and puffing, to the middle school, donated his entire collection of cigarettes to the headmaster, and asked the man to give him some face, to take in Yanwu.

  The headmaster said it wasn't that he didn't want to take him, the problem was he'd been expelled from the county middle school and- how should he put it-there were political… problems.

  Without a word, Three Ears rolled up a sleeve, took out a sickle, and drew it across his bare flesh; a stripe of blood immediately swelled out.

  The headmaster gaped.

  "Will you take him?"

  "You-you-you threatening me?"

  With another horizontal cut, another wound split open.

  Both Yanwu and the headmaster blanched and rushed at him to grab the knife. The three of them became one great wrestling mass, the clothes of each spattered with blood, even part of the headmaster's mosquito net was stained red. Three Ears held the knife aloft and rasped: "You decide, Headmaster Tang: d'you want to see me die?"

  "Calm, please calm down," the head-teacher begged him through his sobs. He ran out to find another two teachers, and following a brief discussion Yanwu was asked there and then to complete the formalities for entering the school.

  Three Ears' arms were covered all over in knife wounds, but he also had a lot of friends. One thing about him, though, was that he'd never return to work in Maqiao. He'd rather shed blood elsewhere than shed one drop of sweat back in Maqiao. He wore an old army uniform he'd gotten hold of from somewhere or other, to make him look a bit more dignified. He said he was busy selling his blood, and when he'd gotten enough money for his blood, he'd go to the county seat to buy some bits and pieces, some leather belts and electric wires, some screwdrivers and spanners, then he'd make a mountain drill and open a copper mine on Tianzi Peak. His copper mine would make the people of Maqiao rich, and afterwards they wouldn't have to work in the fields any more, they wouldn't plant grain, cotton, sweet potatoes any more, they'd just eat and enjoy themselves every day.

  No one expected that ugly little runt Three Ears would ever dare shit on Benyi's doorstep, would stir up all the trouble that was to come. That day, returning to Maqiao from the construction site at Bajingdong Reservoir, and wielding a Japanese-made 38-gauge rifle, Benyi forced Three Ears, tied up like a turkey, onto the grain-drying terrace. In his blinding rage, Benyi was making just about enough of a racket to frighten all the chickens and dogs out of the village: tired of living, was he, the smart-ass bastard? Must've been, to think of raping someone from the Party Secretary's family. If it hadn't been for Party policy on prisoners of war,. he'd have cut off his dragon by now, wham, bam, gone. He hadn't been afraid of American imperialism in the Korean War, so was a lazybones like Three Ears going to scare him?

  While he was saying his piece, people noticed that blood was coming out of Three Ears' nose, his clothes were torn to pieces, he had nothing but a pair of shorts on his lower body and his legs were black and blue. He'd lost the strength to keep his head up and it slumped weakly to one side; neither was he strong enough to talk and his eyes had shrunk to slits of greyish-white.

  "Has he had it?" People were terrified by the very sight of him.

  "Be good if he died, one less bastard for socialism to deal with!" Benyi said rather ungraciously.

  "How could he do something like that?"

  "He'd stab his own father with a rake, is there anything he'd stop at?"

  He yelled at Zhongqi to give him a hand hanging him up on a tree, then scooped up a great dipper of dung and held it up over his head. "D'you admit you're guilty? Speak up, d'you admit it?"

  Three Ears shot a glance across at Benyi, blew a blood bubble out of his nostril; remained silent.

  The dipperful of dung tipped over.

  Tiexiang was nowhere to be seen. Some said she'd fainted from fright some time ago, some said she was hiding inside the house crying, repeating over and over he shouldn't be let off the rape charge, how her thighs and waist had been almost broken, spelling everything out very clearly. The men on the terrace put their heads together and whispered, once more drawn into concern over her body. Given that she hadn't attracted attention like this for some time, then, you could say, Three Ears was now doing this job for her again. Was she anxious her body had faded from people's memories?

  It was already late at night by the time anyone released Three Ears down from the tree. He limped along, using walls or trees for support, and in the end it took him a full two hours, gasping and panting as he went, to walk a tiny stretch of road, stopping to rest all the time, his body aching from head to toe. Every step was an effort, as the most serious wound was between his legs; his "dragon bag" (scrotum) had been cut to pieces, one testicle had almost fallen off and it all hurt so much he could hardly see straight. But he didn't dare go to the clinic, afraid he'd be spotted there by people he knew, afraid it would feed the gossips, that people would kick up a huge fuss. Neither did he want to go back home: his mother would take him in, but he didn't want to go asking for more trouble from that damned Zhaoqing. He had no choice but to go back to the House of the Immortals, ask his housemate Ma Ming to help him find a needle and thread, and crouch round an oil lamp making a f
ew crude stitches in his dragon bag. By the last stitch, the space between his legs was smeared with blood and his own hand shook so much he couldn't hold the needle steady; his whole body bathed in sweat, he fainted before he could gather up the thread.

  All night long, the village dogs howled.

  When Ma Ming woke, there wasn't a trace of Three Ears in his grass nest.

  Nothing was seen of him for months on end.

  One day in early autumn, some of the women were turning creepers on the sweet-potato patch when one of them cried out; sensing there was something there, everyone turned to discover someone standing on the road, two great big eyes staring out from under a mane of long hair. Someone finally made out that it was Three Ears, his face livid with rage. No one knew where he'd sprung from, nor how long he'd been standing there, staring silently.

  The mane of hair walked over, a bag on his back, right up to Tiexiang.

  Tiexiang took several steps backwards.

  Thump-before anyone had seen what was happening, a wood knife was thrown at Tiexiang's feet and the mane knelt before her, neck stretched out as far as it could: "Kill me!"

  Tiexiang shouted at the other women, "Help, someone! Help!"

  "Are you going to kill me or not?"

  Tiexiang went ashen, turned, and ran.

  "Don't move!" Three Ears shouted at the top of his lungs; Tiexiang swayed briefly but didn't dare move any farther. He stood up, a thin, cold smile protruding sharply out of his face, "Lady, if you don't kill me, how're you going to have any peace? You poured a bowl of shit over my head, did you reckon I could swallow that?" Before Tiexiang could grasp what was going on, he suddenly pulled out a thick vine whip from his waist, and- crack-dealt Tiexiang a blow which left her staggering-another crack- she fell to the ground. She screeched and lifted her arms to ward off the blows, but when the women standing near saw how terrible the expression on Three Ears' face was, none dared intervene and all they could do was hurry back to the village to report as quick as they could.