by Yan Lianke
After five days, the barrel was only one-third full, but the Elder had already consumed five rats. The remaining four would be his food for the next four days. In the sunlight, the stalk turned dark green, but after the tassel began to turn red, the stalk paused to rest. The new ear was as long and thick as a daikon, but the silk still refused to turn black, and the tassel also refused to have even a trace of yellow. With the tassel not turning yellow and the silk not turning black, it seemed as though the corn had a long way to go before it was ripe. At dusk, when the mountains appeared bathed in blood, the Elder would stroke the corn’s green ear. Its softness would give him a chill, as he wondered when it would ever ripen. Based on the stalk’s growth rate, it would need at least another twenty or thirty days. He calculated that it had already been at least four months since the other villagers departed. Corn normally needed about four and a half months to ripen, but the repeated delays in this stalk’s ripening filled the Elder’s forehead with furrows of anxiety. He led the blind dog out to the pits he had dug, but they didn’t find a single rodent inside. Facing the mountain ridge, the Elder lay down on the side of the road. The ground beneath him was burning hot, and the heat passed through his back and circulated through his body. The blind dog lay down beside him—so emaciated that it didn’t seem to have the energy to get up again. There was a rat squeaking from hunger, and when the faint sound made its way to them from the pit, it aroused a seismic hunger in the Elder and the blind dog.
The blind dog stared in the direction of the rat’s cries.
The Elder gazed up at the sky, as silent as the ages.
Later, the Elder rolled over and began making a loud movement. The blind dog assumed the Elder was finally going to say something, and quickly turned in his direction. The Elder, however, merely stood up and walked away without saying a word. He felt the corn ear’s firmness, mumbled something incoherent, and then, in the light of the moon, grabbed the buckets and headed north.
That night, the Elder brought back another load of water. This time he didn’t drink a single drop, and instead returned with two full buckets. He poured one and a half buckets into the barrel. From the remaining half bucket, he used several bowls to irrigate the cornstalk, and poured another several bowls into a basin, so that the blind dog could drink from it whenever it was thirsty. Afterward, he cooked several rats, collected his buckets, and headed off again.
Over the next three days, the Elder brought back a full load of water every night and half a load of water every day—until the barrel was full.
The Elder decided that since he retained a bit of strength and there was still a rat in one of the pits, he would go down to the spring to fetch water one last time. This final load of water would be enough to last him and the blind dog for several more days. He wasn’t holding out hope that it would rain, but he did hope that he and the blind dog could survive until the corn ripened, and would finally be able to break open this ear of corn. The ear appeared to have about thirty-five seeds in each row, and at least twenty-three rows. That meant that one ear would contain several hundred seeds. Four and a half months had passed, and the harvest season was inexorably drawing nearer. At midday the Elder could already smell the sticky yellow scent of the corn ripening, and by midnight this scent had become as pure as sesame oil.
That night, while the moon was overhead, the Elder set out to fetch the final load of water. By the time he returned, it was already afternoon of the following day. On the road, he stopped to rest forty-one times, and drank an entire bucket of water. He took the remaining bucket to the top of the mountain ridge, where he rested until dusk. He was convinced he didn’t have the strength to carry this bucket down to the shed, so instead he decided to cook and eat the remaining rat. That was the largest of the original nine rats—it was one palm long, and its eyes were bright red. But when the Elder reached the pit where the rat had been trapped, he discovered it was full of dog paw prints, rat fur, and blood stains.
The Elder squatted next to that pit until the sky was dark.
When the moon appeared overhead, the Elder finally laughed and, like a sheet of slowly cracking ice, began to speak. He stood up and, gazing out at the smoky shadows moving under the moonlight, remarked, It’s fine for you to eat it, because now that you’ve done so I can tell you that eventually either you will eat me and then live with the cornstalk, or otherwise I’ll eat you. The Elder thought, I can finally say this to Blindy. For days, I’ve been waiting for this opportunity. The Elder returned to the ridge to fetch the buckets of water he had left there. Although his legs were weak, he was able to slowly proceed forward and collect the water, then carry it down to the shed.
The blind dog was lying under the shed, but it immediately got up when it heard the Elder’s footsteps. It seemed to want to walk over to the Elder, but instead retreated a few paces and lay down in the opening to the enclosure. The moon was bright and appeared to be covered with hot gas. The Elder placed the buckets next to the barrel, and removed the mat on top to check the water level. He took off his shoes and shook out the dirt and sand; then, after staring at the whip hanging from one of the shed’s support posts, he coughed and said softly, Blindy, come here.
This was the first time in days that the blind dog had heard the Elder’s voice. The dog struggled to get up and hesitantly took a step forward, then stood still, facing in the direction where the Elder was sitting, its sparse fur making a shivering sound. The Elder looked off into the distance, then said, Blindy, there’s no need to be afraid. If you ate it, that’s fine. That was going to be our last bite of food, and I don’t mind if you took my portion. Then the Elder added, There’s one more thing I need to tell you, Blindy. There isn’t a single rat or corn seed left in this entire mountain range. Within three days, you and I will be so famished that we won’t even have the energy to utter a word. At that point, if you want to survive, you’ll need to consume me piece by piece. Then you must guard this cornstalk, so that when the other villagers return, you can lead them over and let them pick the ear of corn. Otherwise, if you appreciate what I have done to support you these past four or five months and want to help me stay alive, you must permit me to consume you, so that I may survive until the corn ripens. The Elder added, Blindy, you must decide. If you want to live, then tonight you must leave and hide somewhere. In a few days, I will starve to death. Upon saying this, the Elder wiped his face, as two rows of tears wet his palm.
The blind dog stood there motionless, waiting for the Elder to finish speaking before taking a few steps toward him. When the dog reached the Elder’s knees, it slowly bent its front legs while keeping its rear legs straight. It lifted its skinny head and stared silently at the Elder with eyes that resembled empty wells.
The Elder knew the dog was kneeling before him.
After kneeling down, the dog got back up and slowly walked toward the stove, where it used its mouth to open the pot and retrieve something from inside. Then it returned to the Elder.
The dog brought over the object it had taken out of the pot, and placed it at the Elder’s feet. It was a skinned rat, which was soaking wet and appeared purple in the moonlight. The Elder knew at a glance that this rat was still full of blood, unlike the ones the Elder had killed, which bled out when he disemboweled them. The Elder picked up the piece of purple meat and examined it, and found that it was riddled with bite marks. He sighed, and said to the dog, Why didn’t you eat the rat yourself? When I said you could have it, I meant it. There was no need to save it for me. The Elder suddenly regretted that he had raised the possibility that one of them might have to die in order for the other to survive. He examined the meat in the moonlight, and remarked, The abdomen is completely purple. The meat probably won’t taste as good as it would have had the rat been killed with a knife.
The blind dog lay down next to the Elder and rested its head on his leg.
The Elder cooked the rat meat the next day, and gave the blind dog half. He said, Eat it. You need to survive for as lo
ng as you can. The blind dog refused, so the Elder forced the animal’s mouth open and stuffed in the rat’s head and three of its legs. The Elder then took the remainder and stood in front of the cornstalk, chewing carefully. He knew that after he finished these final two bites, their food supply would truly be exhausted, and he would have no alternative but to starve to death. If he had to die, then so be it. He was seventy-two years old, which was considered elderly in this mountain region. Despite the drought, during which time all the remaining food was consumed, he not only managed to survive another half a year, he even managed to grow this cornstalk that was already three heads taller than he, with long and wide leaves, and an ear as large as a daikon. As the Elder stared intently at the ear’s silk, he swallowed the rat meat in a few bites, then put his finger in his mouth and sucked on it noisily. At that moment, something began fluttering down onto his face like snow. The Elder looked up, his finger still in his mouth, and saw that the top of the cornstalk, which had previously been yellowish-white, had turned reddish-black overnight, and tiny chaff-like flakes were now flying everywhere. That is to say, the cornstalk was starting to pollinate and would soon begin producing seeds, meaning that harvest time had almost arrived. The Elder looked at the sky, and saw ray after ray of blindingly white sunshine bumping into one another. It would be better if there were some wind, the Elder thought. At this time of year, it is better if there’s some wind. If there were wind, the pollen would be distributed quickly and evenly, and the sprouts would grow evenly and sturdily. The Elder removed his finger from his mouth and wiped it on his pants. Then, he began carefully pinching the corn ear. Through the thick peel, the Elder could feel that inside the soft ear there was a layer of firm objects. The Elder’s heart skipped a beat, as though a door had suddenly slammed shut. His hand remained poised over the ear and he continued to stare into the sky, his mouth tightly closed. A moment later, after confirming that the kernels were firm, it was as if a door had reopened, and a surge of excitement coursed through his body. An excited expression fell across his face, and it appeared as though there were a river flowing beneath his dark, wrinkled skin. His hands began to itch uncontrollably. He blew on them, then walked out of the enclosure, took the hoe that was hanging from the pagoda tree, and began digging around the cornstalk. Dirt rained down, as fine as wheat or millet, and carried a golden scent of autumn harvest. He continued digging around the cornstalk until he reached the reed mats, by which point he was so exhausted that his gasps sounded like a severed rope. He dismantled the enclosure and tossed the mats under the tree. The blind dog followed him, not knowing what else to do. Without a word, the Elder dug past the enclosure’s support posts, then turned and dug a perimeter around the barrel. He continued until he accidentally struck the barrel, producing a sharp, moist sound. The Elder stopped and stood there, a bright smile on his face. He said, Blindy, it’s harvest time. The cornstalk has finally produced seeds!
The blind dog licked its lips.
The Elder lay on the ground and said to the heavens, The moment I’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. It’s finally harvest time!
The blind dog licked the Elder’s fingers.
While being licked by the blind dog’s ticklish tongue, the Elder fell asleep.
After he awoke, the Elder went to see that ear of corn, and the look of excitement immediately vanished from his face. He discovered that the stalk’s leaves were not as green as before, and instead a layer of yellow was now showing through. This yellow layer was visible not only on the stalk’s lowermost leaves, but also in the leaves that had just sprouted from the top. The Elder had been farming for his entire life, and recognized that this was a sign that the stalk lacked fertilizer. This was the period when the stalk was ready to ripen, but only with sufficient nutrition would it be able to produce all of its seeds. The best fertilizer was human night soil. In the past, the Elder always fertilized his fields with night soil, and consequently his crops—including wheat, beans, and sorghum—had always been the best in the village. Indeed, he was, without a doubt, the best farmer in the entire region. Standing in front of his cornstalk, his lips had become as dry as the drought-stricken ground along the mountain ridge, but he didn’t go over to drink water, nor did he ladle out any for the blind dog to drink. He didn’t know where he should go to find some night soil. The village’s outhouses were all so dry they were enveloped in clouds of dust, and any excrement that remained had become so desiccated that it had less value as fertilizer than firewood. The Elder and the blind dog had both gone several days without needing to relieve themselves, since their intestines had absorbed most of the rat meat and bone residue they had managed to eat. The Elder remembered the rat pelts he had eaten, and he went to look for more, but couldn’t find a single one. He suspected that the blind dog must have eaten them while he was out fetching water. Panting heavily, he climbed up from the base of the hill. He originally wanted to ask the blind dog about this, but in the end he merely went to the pot that had had the rat and drank a bowl of oily broth. He didn’t cover the pot when he was finished, and instead turned and said to the dog, Whenever you are hungry or thirsty, you should go drink. Then the Elder took his grain sack and went to the village to look for fertilizer.
When the Elder returned from the village with an empty bag, he was leaning on a bamboo stick, and every three steps he had to stop and rest. Exhausted, he dropped the empty bag to the ground, then went to see the blind dog, who was still lying under the shed. The water in the pot was still as he had left it, and the same eleven drops of oil were still floating on top. He asked the dog, You didn’t drink any? The dog moved weakly, and the Elder used a spoon to drink half a bowl of water, including five of the eleven drops of oil. Then he said to the blind dog, The remainder is for you. He went back to the cornstalk, and when he looked at the leaves he saw that the thin layer of yellow appeared to have grown darker, and the green now appeared to be submerged beneath the yellow. The Elder thought, Why didn’t you prepare some fertilizer earlier? Aren’t you the village’s Elder? Fuck your ancestors—why didn’t it occur to me that the cornstalk would need extra fertilizer when it started to produce seeds?!
That night, the Elder slept under the cornstalk, and when he woke the next morning he noticed that the green color of several of the leaves had completely faded, and instead the leaves were now covered with a paperlike sheet of yellow.
The following night, the Elder once again slept under the cornstalk, and when he woke the next morning he discovered that not only were two of the leaves completely yellow, but the silk on the ear of corn had prematurely dried out. He pinched the ear, and found it to be as soft as mud. Like the bones in his body, the semihard objects inside the ear had also disappeared.
The third night, the Elder yet again went to the cornstalk, but this time he didn’t sleep and instead used the hoe to dig a trench. The resulting trench was half a foot wide, three feet deep, and five feet long—just the right size for someone to lie down, and more than large enough for a dog.
This was a grave.
Given that the grave was positioned right next to the cornstalk, several of the stalk’s roots were exposed to it. Once the Elder finished digging, he lay down to rest, then went to the stove to see whether the remaining half-bowl of meat broth—with the six drops of oil—was still in the pot. He wanted to drink some, so he picked up the spoon but immediately put it down again, saying to himself, This last half-bowl was for the blind dog, but now three days have passed. He said to the dog, Blindy, three days have passed. Why haven’t you drunk it yet?
The blind dog was in the shed. It had been lying there motionless for three days, as the cool night air poured over its body. The dog lifted its head and stared, with its blind eyes, in the direction of the Elder’s voice. The dog didn’t follow the Elder’s instructions, and instead merely rested its head on its front legs. By this point, a hazy light had begun to appear in the sky, and the darkness covering the mountain ridge was being replaced with the l
ight of day. The Elder leaned over the barrel and took several sips of water, then took out a pair of scissors and used them to punch a hole in the base of the barrel.
After the Elder punched the hole in the base of the barrel and water started flowing out, he took some dirt and caked it over the opening. Having nothing else to do, he hung his hoe on the tree branch and lay his shovel next to the grave. He placed a mat over the top of the barrel, then folded his quilt inside the shed, gathered up his bowl, chopsticks, and spoon, and placed them under the shed post. Finally, he went to the stalk and examined the light yellow color that was gradually spreading over the leaves. He pinched the ear, which resembled a water bag. He turned around as the sun burst out from between two mountain peaks in the east, making the mountains appear as though they were drenched in blood. The Elder stood between the cornstalk and the shed, and gazed at the mountain ridge. It was as if there were thousands upon thousands of cattle running in all directions. He was so exhausted he couldn’t even see straight. He rubbed his eyes, glanced up at the sky, and saw an array of scalelike clouds with silver linings hopping around in front of the sun, like countless fish swimming around in a pond. The Elder thought to himself, Today the sunlight must weigh at least 1.4 liang. He turned and glanced at the scale hanging from the shed post, then edged over to the blind dog. He lifted the dog and placed it in the grave, rubbing its body against the four sides of the grave. Then he removed the dog, and said, Blindy, either you or I will die, and whichever of us survives must bury the other in this grave. The Elder stroked the dog’s back and wiped the tears from its eyes. He took a coin out of his pocket and placed it heads-up, then rubbed the dog’s right paw over it. He said, Fate will determine whether we live or die. I’ll toss this coin, and if it lands heads-up, you must bury me in this grave so that my body may serve as fertilizer; and if it lands heads-down, then I must bury you.
