by Yan Lianke
The Elder stood by the road, staring in shock.
The Elder thought, Where could they all be going?
Perhaps this drought will continue indefinitely. The Elder thought, If the drought wasn’t going to last, why would the rats flee? Isn’t it true that the rats will always have vegetation to eat, and the only thing they fear is lack of water? Given that the rats are fleeing, it’s obvious that the drought is going to persist for a lot longer. But when the Elder turned to leave, he once again heard the sound of rain coming from the north. He knew, however, that this was not in fact rain, but rather another swarm of rats. He shuddered, then stood on an elevated point and gazed out into the distance. As he did, the blood suddenly froze in his veins. He saw that what was streaming down the mountain appeared to be a wall of water surging along the road, but in fact it was a flood-like mass of shrieking rats. The wave of rats rose and fell, and as they approached, their sound changed from that of a drizzle to a torrential downpour. Countless rats leaped up like fish jumping out of water, then fell back into the sea of rodents. The sky was already beginning to brighten, and the air was filled with a foul stench. The Elder’s palms became covered in sweat, and he knew that if this wave of rats were to turn around, then he, the blind dog, and the cornstalk would be doomed. The rats were crazed with hunger, and were capable of chewing a man’s face off. The Elder wanted to run back and tell the blind dog that it mustn’t move a muscle, but it was already too late. Like a dark cloud, the wave of rats surged forward. The Elder hid under the branches of a pagoda tree, though the tree was only as thick as his arm. Several rats at the front were enormous—as large as weasels or small cats—and were covered in shimmering gray fur. The Elder had never seen such large rats, and it occurred to him that these must be what people used to call rat kings. He saw that those rats had bright green eyes that sparkled with a bright blue light. They leaped forward like horses, and with each leap they could travel at least a foot and a half. The dust they kicked up covered their backs like gray felt. The Elder squeezed his throat to stifle a sneeze. The sky was growing light, and the cool dawn was approaching as usual. Snow-white clouds were drifting across the bright blue sky, but the sun was brighter than ever. If it weren’t, would these rats be fleeing like this? The Elder slipped out from behind the tree, but not a single rat was willing to look straight at him. They seemed to view him as no longer human, but rather an extension of the sky, the sun, or the searing drought. The Elder stood there motionless watching the rats rush past, and could hear them falling off the road, like ripe persimmons. What he couldn’t understand was how were the rats able to come together to form such an enormous pile? They seemed to be under orders to march south, but what was in the south? Was there grain and water and shade? To the east there was the golden sun, and the Elder suddenly noticed that the rats’ eyes had all turned bright red, and appeared to roll down the street like a wave of pearls. Hundreds and thousands of rats that had been pushed off the road began running through the fields on either side, only to disappear in the blink of an eye.
The sun came out, and strand after strand of fur fluttered in the sunlight, like willow catkins and poplar blossoms. The Elder stood on the ridge and sighed, then proceeded back down. His footsteps echoed softly in the morning air, sounding old and listless. When he reached the cornstalk, he saw that the blind dog was staring at the mountain ridge with its blind eyes, as sweat dripped from the tips of its ears.
The Elder asked, What are you afraid of?
The dog didn’t respond, and instead it simply lay down beside him.
The Elder asked, Are you afraid there will be a catastrophe?
The dog still didn’t answer, and instead it simply looked at the cornstalk.
The Elder stared in surprise, noticing that on the stalk’s leaves there were countless white dots, like sesame seeds. These were the sorts of dry patches that usually only appear during periods of prolonged drought. However, despite the current drought, this stalk had never lacked water. The Elder had dug an irrigation moat around the stalk, to which he had added water virtually every day. He squatted down and lifted the dirt in the moat, and found that under a finger-thick layer of dry soil there was another layer of dirt so wet you could virtually pick up water droplets with your fingers. The Elder grabbed a fistful of this wet soil and realized that those dry patches were a result not of the drought, but rather of the rat stench that pervaded the entire mountainside.
Of all manure, rat excrement is the strongest and the most pungent, the Elder thought. Given that this stench has surrounded the stalk all night, how could the stalk have possibly avoided developing dry patches? He pressed his ear to the leaves, and found he could hear the squeaking sound made by the dry patches as they expanded. When he turned to smell the air, he noticed a wave of dark, dry rat stench wafting over—flowing toward the cornstalk like a river.
That is to say, the stalk was about to die.
If the stalk hoped to survive, there would need to be a sudden downpour that would wash away this poisonous stench covering the entire mountainside, and wash away the poisonous air from the stalk itself.
The blind dog sensed the Elder’s alarm. The Elder said, Blindy, you should stand guard while I return to the village to fetch some water. Not waiting to see if the dog was going to respond, the Elder picked up the empty buckets and headed into the village.
By this point, the village was completely silent. There was a layer of rat excrement by the side of the road, and an unrelenting sun shone through the cracks in the front door of each house. The Elder headed straight for the well. As he was hauling up the quilt from the bottom of the well, he noticed that the rope was so light it seemed as though there was nothing there; and whereas in the past he would hear the sound of water dripping down, now there was nothing. The Elder peered inside, and turned white as a sheet.
After a long pause, the Elder finally hauled up the remainder of the rope. The quilt was no longer tied to the other end, and instead all that remained was a layer of damaged cloth covered with bloated rat carcasses.
The quilt had been devoured by starving rats that had fallen into the well.
The Elder went into someone’s house to look for another quilt or some sheets.
The Elder first went to the houses where he had previously searched for grain, but each time he arrived at a house he would merely pause in the doorway. The entire village had been swept clean by the rats. In every house, the chests, tables, cabinets, beds, and so forth—everything that had previously contained clothing or food—had been chewed up like a bowl of sunflower seeds. A delicate mix of wood odor and rat stench filled each room and drifted into the courtyard.
The Elder entered more than ten houses, but emerged from each empty-handed.
When he walked out through the village alleyway, the Elder was carrying three bamboo poles. He tied the poles together, then went to an outhouse in the rear courtyard of another house and fetched a wooden bowl used to scoop excrement—every family’s stove bellows, chopping boards, wooden bowls, and pottery bowls had been completely gnawed by the rats—and he tied it to the end of the bamboo poles. He then dipped the bowl three times into the well to get water, but all he brought up were more rats. Using the sunlight shining overhead, the Elder peered into the well, and he saw that there was in fact no water at the bottom. Instead, the bottom of the well was covered in a pile of rats, like a storage cellar full of rotten sweet potatoes. There were also some live rats running over the bodies of the dead ones. The live rats would climb a few feet up the sides of the well then fall down again, as their anguished squeals rose through the shaft.
The Elder carried the empty buckets back to Baliban Hill.
The mountain range stretched endlessly in all directions. Dozens of li away, where the mountains touched the horizon, it appeared as though there were fires burning brightly. When the Elder reached the hill, the blind dog ran over. The Elder reported that the well was completely dry, and full of rats. He asked the dog w
hether there were any rats here, but the dog shook its head. The Elder said, You and I will be killed by the rats, as will the cornstalk. We won’t survive more than a few days.
Disappointed, the dog stood in the shade of the shed, staring at the sky.
After putting down his bucket, the Elder went inside the enclosure to take a look, and found that each of the dry spots on the leaves was now as large as a fingernail. For what seemed like an eternity, the Elder stood silently in front of the stalk, staring as dry spots on the eleventh leaf expanded and merged together until the leaf came to resemble a dried-out bean pod. He blinked his sleepy eyes, and blue veins protruded from his neck like old roots sticking out of the ground. He left the enclosure, grabbed a whip from the shed, and aimed it at the center of the sun, then whipped the sun more than a dozen times—producing a multitude of shimmering shadows. Eventually, the veins in his neck receded, and he hung the whip back where he had found it, fetched the buckets, and proceeded silently up the ridge.
The dog faced the Elder, its melancholy black eyes full of tears. When the Elder’s footsteps faded away, the dog finally turned away, lying down in the sunlight under the cornstalk.
The Elder had gone to fetch water.
The Elder realized that the swarm of rats must be coming from a place where there was water, otherwise how could the rats have survived the drought for so long? The Elder thought, It must be a lack of food that is driving them to flee, because if there had been food, why would they have devoured all of the woodwork in the village? The Elder thought, This mass exodus must not be due to a lack of water. The sun’s rays were bright red, and as the Elder walked alone through the mountain ridge, he could count every ray as it streaked past. The pair of buckets dangling from his shoulder pole knocked plaintively against each other, as the soil under his feet seemed to be sighing. The Elder heard this knocking and sighing, and felt a sense of desolation that seemed vaster than all of the world’s drought-plagued land. He visited three villages in a row, and found that in each of them the dried-up wells were full of grass and straw, without even a hint of mold or rot. The Elder decided not to go into the villages to seek water—because if there had been water, then why would the villagers have fled in the first place? Instead, he proceeded from one gully to another, searching for any trace of moisture. Finally, he was walking through a narrow ridge when he noticed some thatch grass growing in the shade of the stone. He exclaimed, Fuck, how could there not be a way forward? Then he sat down on the stone to rest, and proceeded to pull up some grass, blade by blade. He sucked out the juice and swallowed the chewed-up remains. He said to himself, If this ravine doesn’t have any water either, I’m definitely going to bash my head in.
He proceeded toward the ravine, breathing heavily, as though winter had suddenly fallen in front of him. He wasn’t sure how far he had walked. When he was chewing the grass, the reddish-white sun was still hanging over the mountain ridge to the west, but now he noticed that the cracked earth under his feet had been replaced by white sand and the sun appeared blood red.
By the time the Elder found a tiny spring, it was already dusk. He first noticed that the white sand under his feet had turned light red from the humidity, and his feet, which were burning hot from walking all day, suddenly enjoyed a trace of coolness. Walking on the wet sand, the Elder proceeded into the ravine, and when it became so narrow that it felt as though it were pressed against his shoulders, the sound of dripping water streamed over him, like music. The Elder looked up, and saw a sheet of green heading toward him. The Elder stopped. He had not seen this much grass in more than five months, and had almost forgotten what it looked like. There was sedge grass and thatch grass, and also small white, red, and reddish-white flowers. Under the searing sun, a strong scent of fresh vegetation rolled noisily through the ravine. The Elder’s throat began to tighten, and an irresistible thirst arrived at his cracked lips. He saw that a few steps in front of him, under the cliff, there was a spring and a small pool. The pool was partially covering that small plot of grass, as if the grass were growing out from under a mirror.
Just as the Elder was about to drop his buckets and run over to drink from the pool, he paused. He repeatedly swallowed a mouthful of phlegm as he stood there without moving. He saw that behind the mound of grass there was a wolf—a yellow wolf as large as the blind dog. The wolf had bright green eyes and initially seemed surprised by the Elder’s appearance, but when it realized he was carrying a pair of buckets, its gaze became fierce and its forelegs stiffened as though it were ready to pounce.
The Elder stood there motionless, staring intently. He knew that this pool was the reason the wolf had not run away. The Elder discretely looked down, and saw that on the ground next to the bucket there was a mess of fur and feathers. Suddenly realizing that the wolf must have been hiding by the pool waiting for other creatures to come drink, the Elder shuddered with terror. Seeing how emaciated the wolf was, he figured it must have been waiting there for several days. The Elder saw that there was a blood stain on the sand a couple of paces away, as well as quite a few rat heads and other remains. It was only then that he noticed the sharp, fresh stench of rotting meat. The Elder’s palms became sweaty and his legs grew weak, as the wolf took a step toward him. At that instant, however, the Elder leaned over, placed the buckets on the ground, and swung his shoulder pole through the air, aiming for the wolf’s head.
The wolf took a step back, as the fury in its eyes seemed to overflow and tumble to the ground.
The Elder continued to stare at the wolf.
The wolf also stared at the Elder.
Their gazes collided. In the desolate gorge, the crackling sound of their bright gazes echoed back and forth, and the sound of dripping water resonated explosively around them. The sun was about to set behind the mountains, and time rushed past their interlocked gazes like a herd of horses. The blood-red glow on the cliff in front of them began to fade, as cool air began to descend down the mountain. At some point, the Elder’s forehead became covered in sweat, and a feeling of exhaustion rose up from his feet, gradually expanding as it progressed upward from his calves to his thighs. He knew he could not continue like this. He had been walking all day, while the wolf had simply been lying here waiting. He hadn’t had anything to drink all day, but the wolf could drink from the spring at any time. He furtively licked his dry lips, which felt as jagged as a bed of thorns. He thought, Can this wolf possibly drink all of this water? Then he said out loud, Hey, if you let me have some water, I’ll make you a bowl of corn paste soup. As the Elder was saying this, he gripped his pole tighter and tighter. The pole was aimed at the wolf’s head, and even the hooks tied to each end of the carrying pole remained frozen in place.
The wolf’s eyes gradually dimmed. The wolf closed its eyes, but immediately opened them again. The Elder saw that there was a hint of moisture in its hard gaze.
The Elder heard the sound of the setting sun drift over the mountains like a falling leaf. The Elder put down the pole he was holding, placing it on a clump of grass.
The Elder said, Tomorrow I will bring you a bowl of food.
The wolf pulled back its front paws, then turned and slowly circled around the edge of the pond, heading toward the opening of the gully. After taking several steps, the wolf stopped and looked back. The Elder watched until the wolf was several dozen paces away, before he finally released his grip and let the pole fall to the ground. He collapsed to a squatting position and shivered violently as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, and it was only then that he realized that even his underwear, which was the only thing he was wearing, was soaked in sweat.
After a long sigh, the Elder found that he lacked the strength to stand. He continued squatting there until finally he scooted forward to the side of the pool, where he lay down and drank from it like an ox. In the blink of an eye, the cool water entered through his mouth and permeated down to the soles of his feet. He drank until his belly was full, then washed his face. Seeing that the re
d sunlight at the top of the cliff was as thin as a sheet of paper, he picked up the bucket of water and placed it next to the pool, then removed his underwear.
The Elder bathed himself next to the pool.
While bathing, the Elder said, Wolf, ah wolf, today you let me have some water, but tomorrow where am I going to find you a bowl of corn? I’ll catch you a few rats, because I know you like to eat meat. The Elder thought, I’m old and weak, and therefore have no choice but to accede to you. However, if this were a decade ago, or even just a few years ago, not only would I not give you any rats to eat, it would be the ultimate act of compassion and mercy for me to simply permit you to pass under my carrying pole. As the Elder mumbled, he continued washing himself until the clear pool was completely muddy. Then he urinated next to the pool, as the thin layer of sunlight on the top of the cliff gradually dissipated.
After picking two clumps of grass and scattering them over the water in the buckets, the Elder began slowly walking toward the opening of the gully. The buckets tugged the ends of the carrying pole until it was bent like a bow. The pole shuddered every time he took a step, but the grass he had placed in the buckets kept the water from spilling out. The pole produced a moaning sound that echoed through the gully. The Elder thought, I really am old and should walk slowly. As long as I can make it up to the ridge before nightfall, I will have nothing to fear. The moonlight can escort me back to the hill, and after I pour the water on the cornstalk, the dry spots on its leaves will stop expanding.
What the Elder hadn’t anticipated was that a pack of wolves had already trapped him in the gully.
The original wolf was now in front, leading the way, and when the wolves saw the Elder emerging from the gully, they stopped for a moment. As the wolves were standing there, the lead wolf glanced back, then fearlessly led the others in the direction of the Elder.
