The Past and the Punishments

by Yu Hua

  Although their cheeks shone with tears, they insisted on using only a corner of the silk, letting the rest of the fabric dangle down over their chests. The landlord shook his head.

  From their jagged, wailing sobs, one would think that they were already mourning his death. His wife said:

  “Old master, you have to do something!”

  His daughter-in-law immediately began to cry even

  louder to express her agreement. The landlord creased his brows and remained silent. His wife continued:

  “What the hell is he doing, bringing them over to

  Orphan Hill? And having them tear down the bridge, too.

  How’s he going to get back when the Japanese find out?”

  The older lady clearly had very little grasp of the gravity of her son’s predicament, and her distress was not without its blind spots. Her daughter-in-law found her stepfather’s silence unbearable:

  “Papa, you have to do something!”

  The landlord sighed and said, “That’s not the issue. It doesn’t matter whether we can save him or whether the Jap-222 yu hua

  DEATH Page 223 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  anese decide to kill him or let him live. What matters is that he’s looking to die.”

  The landlord paused for a moment, then burst out in a curse:

  “The little bastard.”

  The two women immediately began to wail even louder, and their cries were so piercing that the landlord felt as if he were being thrashed by the sound. He closed his eyes, thinking: Just let them cry. It’s awful to be with women at a time like this. He blocked out the noise as best he could.

  After a few minutes, the landlord felt a hand cover his face, a muddy hand. He opened his eyes to see his granddaughter staring back at him, her body caked with mud. It was clear that, flustered and upset by the two women’s lamentations, the girl had come to her grandfather because of his relatively tranquil air. When the landlord opened his eyes, his granddaughter burst into giggles:

  “I thought you were dead.”

  His granddaughter’s shining face made the landlord smile.

  She gazed over toward the crying women and asked:

  “What are they doing?”

  The landlord said, “They’re crying.”

  A palanquin carried by four porters entered the Wang family courtyard. The landlord’s old friend, Old Master Ma, who owned a silk factory in town, stepped down from the carriage, bowed slightly at the door, and said:

  “When I heard about your young master, I hurried right over.”

  The landlord smiled in greeting and urged his friend to come in.

  When they heard the guest arrive, the two women immediately stopped sobbing and, with red and swollen eyes, smiled toward Old Master Ma. As soon as Ma had taken his seat, he leaned over toward the landlord and asked, “What’s happened to the young master?”

  “Uhh . . .” the landlord shook his head, “the Japanese The Death of a Landlord 223

  DEATH Page 224 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  wanted him to guide them to Songhuang, but he brought them to Orphan Hill instead, and then he ordered people to tear down the bridge behind them.”

  Old Master Ma, astonished, exclaimed:

  “That’s stupid, very stupid. Or doesn’t he want to go on living?”

  With this, the two women burst once again into tears.

  The landlord’s wife weepingly entreated:

  “What can we do?”

  Old Master Ma sat awkwardly, rubbing his hands together and gazing at Wang Ziqing. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the landlord said, “It’s nothing. Doesn’t matter. It’s not important.”

  Then the landlord sighed and went on:

  “If you want trouble for a day, invite someone over to visit. If you want enough trouble for a year, build a house.”

  He continued, “And if you want troubles that’ll last you a lifetime, get married and have kids.”

  8

  Bamboo Grove was a promontory surrounded on

  three sides by water. There were two long wood-plank bridges to either side of the promontory that continued across the water from where the land road dead-ended by the shore. The bridge to the east went to Songhuang, and the bridge to the south crossed over to Orphan Hill. Just as the weather had begun to improve, Wang Xianghuo led the Japanese troops into Bamboo Grove.

  He was accompanied along the way by the stench of his hands. In the sunlight, it was clear that his sleeves had grown increasingly greasy. His rain-soaked robes had now begun to smell of mildew. His legs felt as if they were stuffed with cotton, and he walked forward with halting steps. But he had finally caught sight of the wide waters of 224 yu hua

  DEATH Page 225 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  the lake. Its dark blue waves were a sparkling expanse of shade underneath the hot sun. He inhaled deeply – the transparent water was as clean and spotless as the interior of a temple. The tops of the bamboo fishing fences sticking above the water resembled water fowl sitting and observing the motion of the waves.

  The landlord’s son slowly lifted his arms, grasped onto his robe with his teeth, and slid back the slick edges of his sleeves. He saw his maimed hands. The coiled wire seemed to have grown much thicker, and it was coated with white pus. His swollen palms looked like soy-pickled pig’s trotters, not hands. Wang Xianghuo let out a soft moan and lifted his head in an effort to escape the stench. That was when he noticed that he had already arrived at Bamboo Grove.

  The translator yelled from behind:

  “Will you fucking stop!”

  Wang Xianghuo wheeled around, discovering at the

  same time that the Japanese troops had fallen out of formation. Except for a pair of rifle-bearing sentries, the soldiers had all taken off their coats and begun to wring them out in the water. The officer, accompanied by the translator, approached a group of men standing by an earthen wall.

  Perhaps the people of Bamboo Grove hadn’t had time to flee. The town appeared to Wang Xianghuo to be as densely populated as ever. He caught sight of several children’s heads popping up one by one above another earthen wall to peek at the Japanese troops. An old man also appeared in the distance, moving hesitantly toward him. He continued to watch the officer move toward the group of men, all of whom lowered their heads and bent their waists in a bow.

  The Japanese officer responded by tapping their shoulders with his crop in a gesture of goodwill and then began to speak with them through the translator.

  The hesitant man walked slowly up to Wang Xianghuo

  and timidly called out to him:

  The Death of a Landlord 225

  DEATH Page 226 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  “Young master.”

  Wang Xianghuo carefully looked him over. This was

  Zhang Qi, a man who had worked as a hired hand for his family until the year before, when he had been dismissed.

  Wang Xianghuo smiled and asked:

  “You’re still in good health, I hope?”

  “Fine, fine,” the old man said, “except all my teeth are gone.”

  Wang Xianghuo continued, “Where are you working

  nowadays?”

  The old man smiled sheepishly and replied in an embarrassed tone:

  “Nowhere. Who would hire someone like me anymore?”

  Wang Xianghuo smiled again.

  When the old man saw that Wang Xianghuo’s hands

  were bound with wire, his eyes clouded over, and he asked with a flutter in his voice:

  “What crime did you commit in one of your past lives to deserve this, young master?”

  Wang Xianghuo glanced at the Japanese troops in the distance and replied:

  “They want me to take them to Songhuang.”

  As the old man rubbed away his tears, Wang Xianghuo said:

  “Listen, Zhang Qi, it’s been a few days since I took a crap.

  Can you undo my pants for me?”

&
nbsp; The old man immediately took two steps forward, lifted up Wang Xianghuo’s robe, unbuckled his belt, and pulled his pants down around his thighs:

  “There you go.”

  Wang Xianghuo squatted with his back to the earthen wall. The old man joyfully remarked:

  “Young master, this is just like old times. I never thought that I would have the chance to be of service to you again.”

  The old man began to sob. Wang Xianghuo shut his eyes, 226 yu hua

  DEATH Page 227 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  grunted, exhaled, and grunted again. Finally, he opened his eyes, telling the old man:

  “I’m done.”

  He lifted his buttocks up, and Zhang Qi used a discarded piece of tile to scrape away any remaining shit before helping him with his pants. Wang Xianghuo stood and saw that two women had been brought before the Japanese officer.

  Seven or eight soldiers milled around them, looking on.

  Wang Xianghuo told the old man:

  “I’m not taking them to Songhuang. I’m taking them to Orphan Hill instead. Zhang Qi, listen. Go tell the people along the way that they’re to tear down the bridge as soon as I pass by.”

  The old man nodded, “Yes, young master. I understand.”

  The translator was yelling and cursing for him in the distance. He glanced at Zhang Qi and began to walk back toward the troops. Zhang Qi called after him, “Young master, when you get home, remember me to the old

  master.”

  Wang Xianghuo smiled bitterly, thinking, “I’ll never see my dad again.” He turned and nodded, adding, “Don’t forget about the bridges.”

  Zhang Qi bowed and replied, “I’ll remember, young

  master.”

  9

  Sun Xi arrived in Bamboo Grove the day after the

  Japanese troops had come through town. The sun was lovely and bright, and it was clear that the winter wind had also lost some of its bite. A few people were gathered in front of a small grocery shop, lingering in the sun to chat. The proprietor of the shop, a man in his forties, stood behind the counter. There was a tattered corpse lying across the street.

  The Death of a Landlord 227

  DEATH Page 228 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  From the look of the body, it appeared to have been an old man. The proprietor said:

  “He died right before the Japanese came.”

  Another man added:

  “That’s right. He was already dead before they got here. I saw it myself. One of the Japanese soldiers went over and kicked the body. He didn’t even flinch.”

  Sun Xi walked toward the group, glanced at each one of them, and squatted down next to the wall. The proprietor gestured toward the lake and said:

  “Those fishermen are always pretty free with their money when they’re just getting started in the business.”

  Then he pointed at the dead old man, continuing:

  “When he was a young man, he’d always come here to

  buy his liquor. My dad was still alive then. He’d just reach into his pocket, take out a big handful of coins, and slam them on the table. He had style . . .”

  Sun Xi saw a little boat on the lake. There were three men on deck. One man stood at the stern rowing, and another stood forward, probing the water with a bamboo pole. With the coming of winter, the fish had concealed themselves in the deep pools pitting the bottom of the lake.

  The man bearing the pole had clearly just come on such a pool, so he motioned to the oarsman to stop the boat. A naked man in the middle of the deck rose, drank a few swallows of white grain spirits, and dove into the water. Someone said:

  “This season the price of fish is going almost as high as ginseng.”

  “But that kind of fishing will do you in after a while, brother,” the proprietor replied.

  Someone else added, “When you’re young and strong, it’s just fine. But once you start putting on years, you’re sunk.”

  Now the barber who was giving the proprietor’s wife a trim off to one side of the shop also spoke up:

  “Being young is no guarantee. Sometimes people dive 228 yu hua

  DEATH Page 229 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  into those pools and never come back out again. The deeper it gets, the more giant clams you run into. You feel around for fish, but sometimes your hand’ll end up inside a shell.

  And if it shuts, you’re a goner.”

  The proprietor nodded sadly. Everybody gazed back over at the fishermen, wondering if they would get caught by a clam. The boat bobbed on the water, and the man with the submerged bamboo pole seemed to be looking back toward them. The other man had to keep the oars in constant motion just to hold the boat in place. The diver finally resurfaced and threw a handful of fish onto the deck, their white, scaly bellies sparkling in the sun. Then he grabbed hold of the deck rail and pulled himself back on board.

  The group gathered around the shop shifted their attention back to the dead fisherman. The old man was lying beneath a wall, face up, right leg splayed open so that his crotch looked unnaturally wide. He had been wearing only a single cotton jacket, and even that was in tatters.

  “Must have frozen to death,” someone commented.

  Having finished washing the proprietor’s wife’s hair, the barber tossed a basinful of water onto the ground:

  “Whatever you do, you have to do it with skill. If you’re planting crops, do it with skill. If you cut hair, do it with skill. Having a skill is like having a full rice bowl. Even when you get old, you’ll never go hungry.”

  He took a comb out of his front pocket and began to brush out his customer’s hair vigorously with one hand, while at the same time squeezing drops of water from the ends of her hair and onto the ground with the other. His hands worked quickly, the one moving in perfect coordina-tion with the other. At the same time, he still managed to gesture toward the dead old man and say:

  “The reason he came to this is that he didn’t have any skill.”

  The proprietor seemed slightly displeased by this remark.

  He looked up and slowly began to present his own view: The Death of a Landlord 229

  DEATH Page 230 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  “Now that’s not necessarily so. Seems to me that the only people who make really good money are the ones who don’t have any skills at all. Look at factory owners, government officials, people like that. They’re the ones making big money.”

  The barber put the comb back in his pocket, exchanging it for a long silver earwax scoop. He replied:

  “You need skills to be a big boss too. Like you have to know when to order materials, how much to buy, how much to produce. Knowing the market is a real skill.”

  The proprietor smiled and nodded:

  “You’re right there.”

  Sun Xi fixed his gaze on the proprietor’s wife, who sat lazily ensconced in a comfortable chair, her eyes shut as the sunlight played across her body and her high, prominent breasts. The barber was cleaning her ears with the silver spoon with one hand and stroking her face with the other.

  She seemed to be asleep. Someone said, “Well, she sure as hell doesn’t have any special skill.”

  Sun Xi saw a woman emerge from a little house across the way. Her face was smeared with makeup, and her hips swayed as she walked toward a barren tree, leaned against the trunk, and glanced over at the shop. The loiterers began to giggle, and someone said:

  “What do you mean she doesn’t have a skill? Her skill is inside her panties!”

  The barber, turning to look, chuckled:

  “Her skill is knowing how to please a man, and it isn’t easy. It all depends on whether they know how to lie there.

  If they just lie flat, it’s no fun. They have to know how to bend, how to curve their body around you.”

  The boat bumped against the embankment, and the diver leaped ashore, running toward the shop clad only in a dripping pair of shorts, dark legs twitching with the motion.
>
  His face and chest were the color of old bronze. Having 230 yu hua

  DEATH Page 231 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  reached the shop, he extracted a handful of coins from his pocket and slammed them down on the counter:

  “A bottle of white grain spirits.”

  The proprietor got the bottle for him and grabbed four coins from the pile of change. The rest of the money rapidly found its way back into the diver’s pocket. The diver sprinted back toward the lake and jumped onto the boat. It swayed with the impact. The diver found his footing as the boat began to steady. With the aid of the bamboo pole, the boat pushed away from the shore. As it slowly drifted into the lake, the diver once again stood on the deck gulping spirits from the bottle.

  When the boat had disappeared into the distance, the group began once again to discuss the dead fisherman. The proprietor went on:

  “When he was young, he was one of the best in the business. But after he got a bit older, it was all over for him.

  Now there’s no one left who’s willing to take care of the body.”

  “No one’ll even touch his clothes,” someone added.

  The barber was still cleaning the woman’s ears, and Sun Xi watched as he periodically reached over to surreptitiously fondle her breasts. The woman, feigning sleep, looked as if she wanted to smile. The sight made the blood rush to Sun Xi’s head, and what with the added stimulus of the enticing woman standing across the way, Sun Xi could hardly sit still. He stroked the string of cash the old master had given him as a reward, stood, and crossed the road. The woman glanced at him from the corner of her eye, sizing him up:

  “And what do you think you’re doing?”

  Sun Xi chuckled:

  “The northwest wind is blowing so hard that I’m shivering. Do me a favor and help me warm up, will you?”

  The woman cast him another sidelong glance:

  “Got any money?”

  The Death of a Landlord 231

  DEATH Page 232 Thursday, January 24, 2002 2:48 PM

  Sun Xi shook his pocket so that the coins chimed. Grinning, Sun Xi asked:

  “Did you hear that?”

  The woman replied impatiently, “That’s just bronze

  stuff.” She patted her thigh. “If you want service, you’ll have to pay me in silver dollars.”