Chairman Mao Would Not Be Amused - Fiction From Today`s China [редактор Говард Голдблатт]

Li Xiao – Grass on the Rooftop

This story was ignited by being cooked up over a fire. Perhaps you think this is an exaggeration bordering on sensationalism: after all, how can a fire cook up a story? Now if we were talking about cooking a bowl of soup noodles or something… But in our little village of thirty or forty households, where a story about somebody's chicken dying is front-page news, a fire is really a major event. So you can imagine the stir that was created by the unusual fire that hit the house of the pensioner Old Mr. Chen. The old-timers of the village, who say that everything in this world has a cause and an effect, concluded that the fire was a result of the ancestors' spirits having somehow been offended, maybe because the house wasn't situated just right or because of some evil deed carried out by an earlier generation or because of an act of defiance initiated by the younger generation. But the fact is that even if Mr. Chen, a childless old man, had committed any terrible offenses, he'd certainly have owned up to them by now, and he'd never provoked anyone. So how could a huge fire strike him? That's why we've all maintained there was something fishy in the way this incident occurred.

Of course, not everyone agrees with this interpretation. Our friend Xie doesn't. He insists he saw flames coming out of a crack in Old Chen's chimney a long time ago, and not just once, either. It was as if the lower part of the chimney had a piece of crimson cloth fastened to it that flapped in the wind. The team leader was a little miffed over this and asked him why he hadn't spoken up about it at the time, but Xie (whom we called the Crabman) countered, "How vvas I supposed to know it could burn through to the roof? If you look up at my chimney, you'll notice a few fingers of fire leaking from it, too."

The truth of the matter is if there were a blacklist of firetraps, there's little doubt that the house occupied by those young high school graduates from Shanghai would have been on it. If you don't believe me, you can go stand at the entrance to the village and look up at the roof of each household. There'll be no need to ask who's poor, who's well-off, and who's really able to manage his resources-your eyes won't deceive you. The roofs of the poor people are smoothed out and covered with rice straw and wheat stalks; those of the well-off families are covered with a reddish grass brought all the way from Dahong Mountain; and those who are even a little richer have smooth, gray tiles attached to the eaves. The rooftops of those who can really manage their resources are fashioned from wheat stalks and shiny green tiles. But regardless of whether the people are rich or poor, the straw for the eaves has been clipped off, all nice and tidy, and the top is as smooth as a mirror. Not only is it attractive, but the rainwater drains well and isn't always backing up. Now take another look at the house of the students from Shanghai -who knows how many dynasties it has endured? The wheat stalks have been washed white by the rains, the eaves are so soaked they've started to turn black, and the tip of the roof is so full of bumps and hollows it looks like a small pasture where sheep graze. The wind has blown some grass seed up to the rooftop, so a patch of new grass is growing there. Then there's that chimney, all crooked and slanting, as if it were about to topple to the ground; even if it doesn't fall, you never know when it might spray sparks onto the ground.

There's another factor that must be taken into account. It was a scorcher on the day of the fire, so hot that sweat gushed off the workers. Out in the countryside, there aren't any thermometers, so I can't tell you the exact temperature, but I heard someone say that if you stood facing the sun for half a second, you'd be gasping for air, and the sweat would wash out of your pores and evaporate in the air without leaving a speck of salt on your body. The physics textbook we used in middle school said there are two factors needed for combustion to occur: oxygen and high temperature. Since both these factors were at optimal conditions, a fire was inevitable What's odd is that our book mentioned nothing about cause and effect. But as we said before, this was a middle school textbook, something for kids to read; seldom do such books touch upon matters involving adults or elderly people.

Since it was so hot, they went to work extra late that afternoon. Some of the guys who lived under that grassy roof were just returning from dreamland. The one called Four Eyes by his friends was tossing about on his bed. He turned and faced south, trying to determine by the patch of sunlight on the door across from him what time it was. His friend, who was nicknamed the Professor, was holding a book to his heart, chanting poetry with his eyes closed. The Crabman was reading a letter. Abe Lincoln (so named because of his idealistic belief in truth and justice) had already got up. Of course at the time, none of them imagined there was a fire; all they were thinking about was how to get through the rest of the day. The team leader, who was in his own backyard and separated from these fellows by two mud walls, stretched and gave an earth-shattering yawn, signifying that he was ready to pick up his hoe and sling it over his shoulder. He stuck his whistle into his mouth, but instead of blowing it to send the men back to work, he savored that last remaining second of leisure.

When the sound of his whistle did finally pierce the silence, the Crabman and the Professor were both talking, but what they were saying didn't necessarily have any direct bearing on the fire. The Professor was reading a poem that went something like this:

What the Crabman was saying went something like this: "Nowadays what's really great is for a guy who's stuck here like us to have a girlfriend in Shanghai, whether she's got a job or not!"

Both Four Eyes and Abe Lincoln sneered contemptuously. All three of them responded to the Crabman's little speech by looking at one another in blank dismay, as if they couldn't make heads or tails of what he meant. When the team leader walked past the door carrying his hoe, the four of them reluctantly straggled out of the room. If there's any truth to what the old-time villagers say about how hot it was that day, the students should already have been able to taste the scorched, charred flavor of the sun's rays.

They started hoeing corn. When they'd finished about half of that field, the team leader ordered half of the men to hoe the sorghum up on the ridge. Four Eyes and the Crabman held on to their hoes and didn't budge, so the Professor and Abe Lincoln went. Actually, the two of them didn't have to go; Four Eyes and the Crabman certainly could have gone, but Fate stepped in at this point, dictating that those two go up the hill and the other two stay behind. And that is how the task of being the main character of our story fell to the Crabman. As Abe Lincoln and the Professor walked farther and farther away from the house that was destined to burn down (of course, they were oblivious of this), they discussed the Crabman's puzzling comment.

"What do you think the Crabman meant? I believe I've heard him say it before," said the Professor.

"I don't know," said Abe Lincoln, "but have you noticed that the Crabman only goes on like that after he's got a letter from Shanghai?"

If conditions had allowed them to continue probing into this matter, no doubt they'd have soon figured it out. After all, we know that once the waves settle, the truth surfaces. And had that been the case, our story would have ended here. The two of them were racking their brains when suddenly they heard shouts from below the ridge. As they looked toward the village, they could see a hazy, nearly transparent speck of red flickering intermittently atop Old Chen's house. At that second, those with the quickest reactions sped down the hill. Abe Lincoln and the Professor ran after them.

Anyone who had the good fortune to see the huge fire at the Cultural Square in Shanghai or the disastrous department store blaze in Beijing or the even more impressive fire in Changsha will doubtless be deeply disappointed by our story. Old Chen's single-room house was off in a corner by itself, in the western part of the village. Even had it been possible for the mud walls to catch fire, I rather doubt that the building could have gone up in a really big blaze. But of course, the small scale of the fire should not detract from the courage of those brave and daring villagers who quelled the flames, not in the least. Any fire is life threatening, whether it's a major conflagration or a lesser blaze.

So when the Crabman charged into Old Chen's house, he unquestionably put his life on the line for at least a few seconds. What happened then was stated accurately in the article that ran in the Eastern Anhui News:

It was a raging inferno, the thick, suffocating smoke from which threatened the life of Mr. Chen, a poor farmer. In this life-and-death crisis, the Crabman recalled the heroic efforts of Huang Jiguang and Qiu Shaoyun during the Korean War, and he remembered those modern revolutionary figures Ouyang Hai and Lei Feng, who sacrificed their lives for the good of the country. It was as if the flames directed him to act-he scrambled in front of his fellow villagers and, like a powerful, intrepid eagle, rushed toward the raging fire…

Here there's a slight problem: who actually was the first to jump in at the scene of the fire? By the time the Professor and Abe Lincoln raced over, that particular act of our little drama was already concluded. It's true that Four Eyes stood outside the house, immobilized, like a piece of wood nailed to the wall, but it's difficult to say why he did so. The villagers were divided over the issue of who entered the house first: some said it was the Crabman, some said it was the team leader. However, that's relatively unimportant.

In any case, it was the Crabman and the team leader who helped Old Chen out of the house, one on either side-that much was obvious to everyone.

After he helped Old Chen out, the Crabman charged back into the sea of flames and succeeded in rescuing an old quilt. At the same time, the villagers managed to take out of the house anything of the slightest value. (Frankly speaking, there was nothing of any real value. If there had been, how could Old Chen have qualified for a government pension for all these years?) According to the newspaper, as soon as the Crabman's foot was out the door, a burning beam crashed and knocked a millstone-sized hole in the floor. Of course, the hole was no larger than the size of a teacup, and the beam hadn't caught his leg, as the report implied. The rescue work was completed by the time the people on the ridge came racing down. They watched the fire burn for about six or seven minutes before they heard the crash of the burning beam as it fell to the floor. But no one questioned this point. After all, when writing a story, how can you keep from spicing things up a bit? Everyone understands that. Don't forget that even though most of the villagers aren't literate, they still possess a fair amount of common sense.

The fire was extinguished. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, except for the pensioner himself, who was sitting on the ground and bellowing cries of anguish. Things could have been worse: at least no one died. And anyway, what's one house? At most, it came to a mere two thousand catties of straw, and since the beam wasn't made of solid pine or fir, it could certainly be replaced easily enough by any odd-shaped piece of lumber.

Because of all this, the team leader was feeling quite good. He was pleased that they'd now be able to take the rest of the day off, and it appeared that for all intents and purposes, the incident was over and done with.

After he returned home, our hero, the Crabman, changed into his swimming trunks and went for a dip in the large pond beyond the village. Four Eyes, the Professor, and Abe Lincoln were busy getting dinner ready. They had just made the dough, rolled it out into wheat cakes, and were now waiting for the wok to heat up. As they stood near the hot stove, a quarrel erupted because Abe Lincoln kept pestering Four Eyes about why he hadn't helped put out the fire.

Four Eyes, defending himself, said, "There were already plenty of people inside the house. If I'd gone in, it would only have added to the confusion."

"That's no reason," said Abe Lincoln.

"I couldn't go. 'I think therefore I am; if I take action, I shall perish,' " Four Eyes said.

"That's the Prince of Denmark speaking-not Four Eyes," the Professor said.

Four Eyes flew into a rage. "So then what am I? It sounds like you won't be satisfied until my body is consumed by a sea of flames! I know what you want me to say. OK, I'll admit I was scared. Now are you satisfied? The truth is I wasn't scared at all, and I was quite clearheaded about everything. But for some reason at that moment, I just couldn't get my feet to move."

That was one minor episode. There was another. The team leader was squatting near the doorstep, smoking a pipe. After he'd had enough nicotine to satisfy his craving, he knocked out the ashes, then vented his moral outrage over the way the Crabman had shamelessly paraded by in a pair of low-cut swimming trunks. The team leader was speaking in behalf of the untainted youth of the village. As the Crabman splashed about in the pond, the teenagers were so shocked that they covered their faces and cried out. "We don't go in for that sort of thing in our little village," the team leader remarked. "Just look how skimpy his trunks are. Why, you can see his pubic hair!"

Just then the team leader's wife broke in, shouting at her husband at the top of her lungs that there wasn't any water in the vat, and he rushed off to get some. This left unresolved the question of whether the teenagers had cried out from shock or whether they were just joking around. Were they so scandalized that they'd run off, or were they still hanging around at the edge of the pond?

When they covered their faces and closed their eyes, had they, in fact, peeked through their fingers? Although these suspicions filled everyone's head, the answers remain unknown. This, however, is irrelevant. The reason we include these minor episodes is merely to prove that at this point in our story, no one in the village considered the Crabman much of a hero. Nor did anyone forgive his lack of modesty because of his earlier show of bravery. But did the team leader really have the right to berate him this way? After all, the two of them had dashed into the sea of flames at practically the same moment. In any case, by the time evening fell, neither the Crabman nor anyone else in the village, apart from the team leader (who was still concerned about the couple of thousand catties of straw he would have to give Old Chen to rebuild his house), was thinking about the fire that afternoon.

The whole matter would have been forgotten if it hadn't been for the team leader's son, Little Shuanzhu, who was a student at the commune middle school. Since he couldn't come up with anything better to write about, the event found its way into one of his compositions. And if it hadn't been for his teacher, who had always wanted to be a writer herself and who corrected and practically rewrote the story by turning it into a radio script; and if it hadn't been for the fact that the commune broadcasting station stepped in and sent the script to the district; and if it hadn't been for the fact that when the script arrived at the district broadcasting station, a reporter from the Eastern Anhui News happened to be there (God only knows why: did he have some official business, or was he visiting friends or relatives, or was he just so tired from walking that he'd stopped there to take a break?)-in any event, he was there and he happened to see the script; if it hadn't been for all these coincidences, the entire incident of the fire would certainly have been closed. Now you know, were it not for all the "if it hadn't been for's" that one encounters, one's achievements and potential ability (in politics, military service, cultural and artistic endeavors, etc.) would no doubt sink into oblivion. Some people have, in fact, disappeared into oblivion precisely because they lacked the "if it hadn't been for's" in certain situations. When you think about it, don't you just want to sigh in despair?

At this point, "coincidences" fade into the background as we touch upon the reporter from the Eastern Anhui News who happened upon the script. At once, his keen, X ray-like investigative abilities surfaced as he realized the potential value of this bit of news. He put aside the work that had brought him to the broadcasting station in the first place (God only knows what it was), hopped onto the last bus of the day, and spent the night cramped up in the dark, dingy, commune hostel. The next day, he found the soundman at the commune broadcasting station, through whom he was able to contact the middle school teacher, who in turn put him in touch with Little Shuanzhu. On the third day, he personally went to visit the small brigade.

I don't need to tell you that from the very first day Shuanzhu brought home the news that the fire would make the papers, the entire village was in an uproar. "Reporters-"coming-" "to investigate." Investigate what? The villagers whispered among themselves and engaged in endless debates-after all, nothing like this had ever happened before. The eldest resident in the village, the venerable Mr. Liu, could date events as far back as 1905. But no one knew much about anything that had happened before then. In any case, no one with comparable experience of those early days had come to this little village. Even during the time of the Great Leap Forward, when more than fifty people in the village had starved to death, no one came to investigate. So the older people said assuredly, "This, and I'm speaking of the peculiar circumstances surrounding that fire, is going to cause a real stir, just you wait and see."

Sitting on his heels by the students' doorstep, the team leader puffed on his pipe. Then he said, in a voice that showed how deeply troubled and exasperated he was, "You guys have got to come up with an idea to get me out of this mess!"

You haven't heard what Shuanzhu told the team leader, his father, so naturally you can't understand why the team leader was so upset. The reporter had told Shuanzhu that since this was the very first time a Shanghai high school graduate had risked his life to rescue someone from a local fire, he wanted to write a story about the Crabman. He wanted to interview the Crabman and Old Chen, and he also wanted to meet with all the high school graduates, the team leader, the secretary of the Party branch, and the representative of the peasants' association. You might be saying to yourself, So they have a meeting, what's the big deal? But you must realize that in this village, the team leader was, in fact, the secretary of the Party branch, and the secretary of the Party branch was, in fact, the representative of the peasants' association. In short, all these positions were held by the same person, and this person happened to be Shuanzhu's father. The team leader was not concerned about whether the reporter held a high official rank, nor was he worried that the reporter was in a position to have him removed as Party-branch secretary or representative of the peasants' association. What concerned him, apart from having to hold meetings for a few days (for which he wouldn't earn a penny), was how in the world his one pitiful mouth would be able to spit out enough words for three different people.

For all intents and purposes, there simply was no solution to the dilemma faced by the team leader. But then again, you have to understand the temperament of these Shanghai students-they never give up in the face of adversity. "I've got it," Four Eyes said, "I'll be the representative of the peasants' association. I look old for my age."

As good as his word, he did indeed carry out the scheme. The team leader brought a white Chinese-style jacket from home and gave it to Four Eyes to wear. Four Eyes also changed his shoes for a pair of small cloth "peasant" slippers. He took off his glasses, and Abe Lincoln rubbed a few ashes on the bridge of his nose to cover up the red indentations. The Professor said he looked just right: when Four Eyes blinked, it looked like he had trachoma. The Crabman was still worried that the effect wasn't complete, so he found a towel (one of those brand-name towels from Shanghai) and tried to wrap it like a turban around Four Eyes' head. Four Eyes absolutely refused to wear it. "You're not going to make me look like a hick," he said.

The next day, the reporter came to the village, and the team leader made such a fuss you'd think somebody was getting married. Bare-bottomed toddlers shouted and squealed with excitement as they escorted him to the students' house. On the other hand, the adults, without exception, slammed their doors shut and stayed inside. The Crabman, the Professor, and Abe Lincoln sat on the bed, leaving the three stools for the reporter, the team leader, and the representative of the peasants' association. Several bold youngsters pressed close to the reporter and stared at his notebook and even rubbed the material of his clothing with their fingers. No matter how experienced and knowledgeable a reporter might be, he'd still find it difficult not to fidget in circumstances such as these. The team leader and the representative consulted briefly and decided to kick the people out and shut the door. Actually, by the time they closed the door, the villagers were already pretty fed up. "So this is a reporter," someone outside the room was heard to say. "How come he looks just as poor and hard up as a schoolteacher? Is there something we're missing? Do you think he can sing local opera?"

Whether or not the reporter could sing local opera remains unclear, but he certainly could talk! Almost all the talking that day was done by him and the representative of the peasants' association (you of course remember that this was Four Eyes); the former monopolized the first half of the discussion, and the latter dominated the second half. Every now and then, the team leader and the high school graduates somehow managed to get in a word or two. There's no need to relate the reporter's opening remarks here since everyone can more or less imagine what he said. We also don't intend to go into what Four Eyes said, for that can all be found in the editorials that came out in the revolutionary newspapers and magazines that year. What we do want to reveal is a few words that were spoken right before the meeting adjourned. After all, as experience has shown, there comes a moment in steeping tea when it tastes just right.

"Well, that's enough for today. I think I have the overall picture/' the reporter said as he closed his notebook. "But I can't help feeling the material is a little too ordinary. How should I put it? It doesn't quite have enough punch. It needs something special to catch the reader's eye."

"Something special?" asked Four Eyes. "I've been stuck in this village for some thir-thir-thirty years, and I've seen hundreds of fires put out, but I can't say I've ever seen anything special about them."

"What I meant was the second time he rushed in to the sea of flames," the reporter said, pointing to the Crabman, "all he came out with was an old quilt. I mean, don't you think that's rather anti-climactic? Don't you think it would make a flashier story if he had come out with, say, a few scrolls of Chairman Mao's writings or a sacred portrait of the chairman?"

"But an old quilt was all I brought out," the Crabman insisted. "And anyway, Old Chen's house didn't have a picture of Chairman Mao."

It's at this moment that we discover the difference between being a reporter and being a high school graduate. We can also see how someone who consciously makes use of his brain approaches problems.

"Comrade, you can stop with the T and 'my,' " the reporter said with a smile. "We are not the least bit interested in using you, as an individual, for propaganda. What's an individual, anyway? We owe all our achievements to the Party and to the people. The reason for reporting a story about you is to provide a good model, so that other high school graduates can learn from your example. The potential power of such a model is boundless! Do you follow me? Now do we want people to imitate your dragging out some old quilt, or would we rather have them emulate your undying dedication to the chairman? Why don't you think about it for a while? You can write a short statement and give it to me tomorrow, OK?"

That night, if you had rushed over to the room where the students from Shanghai lived, you'd probably have thought they Were holding an open discussion meeting. Four Eyes was sitting in front of the oil lamp, pen and paper in hand; the Crabman was standing behind him with an expectant look on his face; Abe Lincoln and the Professor were already in bed. Even though the seating arrangement was casual, they expressed their opinions with utmost seriousness.

"So do we vote for or against the reporter's proposal?" asked Four Eyes.

"Against! That man is an out-and-out liar," Abe Lincoln said firmly.

"Yes, we should vote against it. Otherwise, people will say that all I can do is show off," the Crabman said somewhat hesitantly.

"However," interrupted the Professor, "as the saying goes, When it comes to important people, not every statement can be believed, and not every act comes to fruition."

"So should we just write what happened?" Four Eyes asked.

"Of course the facts demand it," Abe Lincoln said, remaining resolute.

"But in that case, maybe he won't use the story," the Crabman said, still somewhat uncertain.

" 'Look not upon something that is not proper; act not upon something that is not correct,' " quoted the Professor. "Who cares whether or not he uses the story?"

"I've got a plan that might satisfy everyone," Four Eyes said as he picked up his pad of paper. "Listen to this: 'After I helped Old Chen the pensioner out of his house, I remembered his portrait of Chairman Mao. Of course it would have been impossible to leave that bright and glorious portrait in the fire. So, burning with righteous fervor, I charged back into the sea of flames. The thick smoke stung my eyes so badly that tears blurred my vision; the tongues of fire leaped toward me, but driven by ardent loyalty, I summoned up the courage to forge ahead. When I felt the wall, I looked up and-it was as if a weight pressing up against my heart suddenly fell to the ground-there was no portrait on the wall! I grabbed a quilt from the bed and rushed out of the room.' " Four Eyes was triumphantly smug as he looked around at his three friends. "What do you think?" he asked. "A case of going in like a lion and out like a lamb. You must admit it's a lot more lively."

"But can I really say that?" The Crabman was still somewhat hesitant.

"What's wrong with it? I ask you, if at that moment there really had been a sacred portrait of the chairman in the fire, would you have carried it out with you?"

"Probably, I would have."

"So why are you being such a stick-in-the-mud? Be a little more positive. When it comes right down to it, would you have taken it or not?"

"Most likely, I would have."

"Well, then, I rest my case."

Consequently, this was the statement they gave to the reporter. And so once more, we have proof that these students from Shanghai were not in the habit of being overcome by difficulties.

After the reporter returned to his district, many days passed without incident. And since the villagers spent their days fiercely hoeing the fields of corn and sorghum, they apparently forgot the matter. But the Crabman hadn't forgotten. After all, for him, it had been a personal experience, so his feelings about the subject were quite different from the gossip passed back and forth by mere observers. He sent letter after letter to Shanghai in which he boasted of his achievement to friends and relatives. The Professor could see him consulting the statement Four Eyes had written for him as he wrote these letters.

One day, Four Eyes and the others caught the Crabman completely off guard. He had just finished writing a letter and was standing near the kitchen stove, sealing the envelope with some sticky rice. As you know, some people feel elated after they have accomplished some task at hand. Take, for example, the way the team leader acted each time he got a haircut: he'd get a blissful look on his face, close his eyes, and hum a few bars of his favorite opera. The Crabman said, "Well, for guys like us, whoever has a girlfriend in Shanghai -"

"Whether she's got a job or not," Four Eyes interjected.

Abe Lincoln took up where Four Eyes left off, "A guy like that-"

Now the Professor chimed in, looking quite pleased with himself: "… is truly great!"

The Crabman, who still had the word Shanghai on his lips, registered a shocked look.

On their way to work, Abe Lincoln asked Four Eyes about the underlying meaning in the Crabman's comment.

"It's black and white," Four Eyes explained. "When he says, 'For guys like us, whoever has a girlfriend in Shanghai,' he means he has a girlfriend in Shanghai. 'Whether she's got a job or not' means his girlfriend doesn't have a job. She just hangs around the house, living off her family. In short, it means he thinks he's one great guy. I can read him like a book!"

Four Eyes might have analyzed the man's thoughts a little more thoroughly (maybe he was thinking of doing just that), but at that precise moment someone was running down the path, shouting. It was Shuanzhu, running like a scared rabbit. With one hand, he was holding his book bag tightly against his chest; with the other, he was waving a wad of-no, wait a minute, it was newspapers. If you'd seen the way he looked, you'd have thought he was a paper-boy shouting out the latest hot-news item.

There's no need to tell you, since you've all guessed by now, what was written up in that newspaper. Four Eyes picked up a copy, opened it, and there on the front page was a banner printed in red: LOYAL HEART SEEN IN BLAZING FLAMES OF ROARING FIRE: SHANGHAI HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE RISKS LIFE TO SAVE POOR PEASANT. Why, you didn't even have to read the article. Just looking at the color of the print was enough to make you think of red flames!

The contents of the article were more or less the same as the first draft that Four Eyes had come up with. To be more precise, the first part was exactly the same; just the ending was a little different. Phrases like "burning with righteous fervor," "charged back into the sea of flames," "the thick smoke stung my eyes," "tears blurred my vision," and "ardent loyalty" had all been left in. They had just been changed from the first person to the third person. But there was an added twist after the part that recorded his courageous advance. The article read: "He felt the wall, very carefully lifted the portrait down, and stuffed it under his jacket, pressing it close to his fervently burning heart. Next he turned around, yelled out, 'Long live Chairman Mao,' then rushed out of the building." Sometimes there is no such thing as compromise. Either the "east wind will prevail over the west," as Chairman Mao said, or the west wind will prevail over the east. How could Four Eyes fail to understand this fundamental concept? If you could take a minute to look at our characters now, you'd see that the Professor was scratching his head, Abe Lincoln was muttering something, Four Eyes was wide-eyed and tongue-tied, while our hero, the Crabman, had just plunked his butt down on the muddy ground as if somebody had kicked him in the shins.

Actually, the Crabman was afraid that the villagers would revile him for being such an egomaniac, and for the time being he didn't even dare raise his head. But regardless of what had happened, nobody was going to say anything disagreeable (didn't we already tell you the villagers said they'd seen just about everything?). After dinner, the team leader brought the newspaper over and sat on his heels by the doorstep. Once again, the Crabman was overcome by a sense of guilt and slipped away to hide behind the mosquito netting. Actually, he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion; the team leader had come there to ask one of the students to mark in red the passages in the article that referred to him. You see, since he couldn't read, he didn't know which parts featured him. As Abe Lincoln picked up a pen, he discovered that there really were quite a number of passages to be marked. Of course, the Crabman's exploits were inseparable from the topic of reeducating the poor and lower-middle peasants; so at each mention of poor and lower-middle peasants, how could the article not refer to the Party secretary, the team leader, and the representative of the peasants' association? Four Eyes asked the team leader why he hadn't told Shuanzhu simply to underline the relevant passages for him. The team leader threw down his pipe and swore, "That damned kid! I haven't seen a trace of him since dinner." Actually, we shouldn't blame Little Shuanzhu. Just think, from the time he finished hoeing the field until after dinner, he had already read the entire article to his father twenty times.

Henceforth, there were two famous people in our village. One was the team leader-he tucked that newspaper with all the red marking into his pant pocket, right next to his beloved pipe and his house keys, and took it with him wherever he went. Whenever he ran into a cadre from the production brigade at the commune or someone he was close to-a friend or a relative or even just the neighborhood street vendor-he would take out the article and show him the passages that were marked. And what would he do? He'd silently sit off to one side with a big grin on his face and smugly puff on his pipe.

Of course, the other famous person was the Crabman. The elementary school run by the people at the production brigade invited him to give their next presentation. The middle school at the commune also invited him to give a talk. The commune called a huge gathering of all the young high school graduates in the commune for the express purpose of having him speak. Just look at him as he takes the podium-he appears composed and at ease, and his words flow so eloquently, not a trace of guilt to be seen. Before long, there was a large meeting of the activist representatives from among the various high school graduates throughout the province (those who had answered the Party's call to go up to the mountains and down to the countryside), and naturally the Crabman was asked to be one of the representatives. Strutting about with an air of arrogance, he set out for the meeting.

It was early August, and the hoes had been put away. The team leader was in a position to help the old pensioner rebuild his house. Come to think of it, there really wasn't anything so hard about it. The four walls were still intact. In fact, after having withstood the fire, if anything, they were sturdier. All that had to be done was add little adobe, patch up the gable, put up the reed frame for the house beams, and smooth out some straw on top. Building houses is considered technical work, not something those Shanghai students had ever been involved in. But this time, the team leader asked Four Eyes, the Professor, and Abe Lincoln to help out by passing up some straw or by handing him a spade or some such task. This may also have been a consequence of the Crabman's actions during the fire.

During that time, the team leader went to the commune once, maybe to attend a meeting for third-level cadres, maybe an enlarged meeting of the Party committee. Or could it have been a general meeting of the representatives of the peasants' associations? Anyway, it was some kind of meeting. Of course, there was no way he would leave behind that article from the Eastern Anhui News. We can verify that by then, his copy of the newspaper was already starting to fall apart from so much handling. It was torn at the corners, and the places that had been marked in red were nearly illegible. But what did that matter? Those particular phrases had already bored their way into the depths of the team leader's heart. No matter where you put your finger, he could recite the passage from memory. However, this does not concern us here. Instead, let's turn to several letters he picked up from the post office and brought back to the students after the meeting was over.

There was one each for the Professor and Abe Lincoln but none for Four Eyes; the letter Four Eyes was holding in his hand was for the Crabman. First, he looked at the front; then he turned it over to look at the back; next he looked again at the front. He brought it up to within two inches of his eyes and, squinting one eye, scrutinized it. Next he went outside and held the letter up to the sun and shook it slowly. From the way he was acting, you might have thought he was a bank teller examining a forged bill.

"Well, what did you find out?" asked the Professor.

"Look," said Four Eyes as he handed the letter over to the Professor. "Now for guys like us, whoever has a girlfriend in Shanghai -"

"Whether she's got a job or not?" the Professor said with an expression that reflected his doubt. "What makes you think it's a letter from her? All that's written on the envelope is 'Name and address of sender confidential.' "

"Wanna bet? Why not just open it and have a look?"

"How can we open the Crabman's personal mail? That's not right, is it?" asked the Professor.

"Hey, Four Eyes, don't you dare open it. If you do, I'll tell the Crabman," Abe Lincoln chimed in.

Have you heard the slogan Fight selfishness, repudiate revisionism? Have you ever personally experienced the complications and pain brought on by too much mental activity? Now take a look at Four Eyes. His eyes were getting bloodshot from staring so fixedly at that letter. His lower jaw was twitching nervously, his cheeks were puffed out, and sweat was pouring from his forehead. The sight he presented was that of a starving wolf tempted by a piece of bait. He was desperately struggling against his own selfish desires. Perhaps you might also feel the utter futility of his efforts. Thus you, too, would be able to breathe a sigh of relief when Four Eyes finally ended up shouting and grabbing the envelope out of the Professor's hand. "What the hell!" Four Eyes shouted. "If someone can't even be curious, then what kind of a person is he?"

Generally speaking, it's no easy matter to open an envelope without leaving a trace of its having been opened. But then again, since Four Eyes is not exactly your average individual, we can't use normal standards when we're dealing with him. According to his own conclusions, he should be categorized as a person with much baser instincts. He carefully made a small opening in a corner of the envelope and stuck a thin bamboo chopstick in the hole, then twisted it around and around until the letter was tightly wound around it. He removed the chopstick, and the letter popped out. Obviously, in a moment, he would be able to reverse the process and reinsert the letter into the envelope. In light of this, we cannot help but admit that there is nothing that cannot be accomplished as long as one has confidence, patience, a cool head, and nimble fingers.

As Four Eyes read the letter, he started to whistle. His expression was as tranquil as a calmed ocean. In fact, the tense scene he had just experienced now seemed instead to be reenacted by the professor, who was itching for his turn. His neck was stretched so far it seemed as long as that of a wild crane. He said, "Forget it! So the Crabman will be angry. How long are you going to read it? What does it say? Hurry up and read it to us!"

"Why don't you read it yourself?" said Four Eyes.

The Professor glanced at it and shouted, "I told you you were full of shit! Right here it says, 'Dear Brother.' It's a letter from the Crabman's little sister."

"You don't understand the first thing about love letters," Four Eyes said with a trace of commiseration.

The Professor directed his full attention to the letter, mumbling all the while, "Oh! So that's how it is… What does this mean? What does she mean 'Do you still care about me?' " When he reached the last paragraph, the hand holding the letter suddenly dropped. His face was covered with an expression of horror. "What? She wants to break up with the Crabman?"

"To break up with one guy one minute in favor of another in Shanghai the next-I wouldn't say she's exactly facing any great loss," Four Eyes said without changing the tone of his voice. "As I see it, it's just another vulgar love tragedy."

Abe Lincoln finally abandoned his earlier ideals and read the letter from start to finish. All three of them were in the throes of depression. They were in low spirits not just for the Crabman but also for all the "guys like us." It's quite likely that none of them slept very well that night, because the next day when they woke up, Four Eyes got on the Professor for tossing and turning all night, the Professor yelled at Abe Lincoln for having talked in his sleep, and Abe Lincoln complained that Four Eyes must have a bladder problem, since he had got up at least eight times during the night. The result of this loss of sleep was that they decided to go downtown to eat at the conference center for district-level representatives. At least then they could be sure of getting some nutritious food, which might perk them up.

That year, there was a popular saying among the high school graduates: "As long as there's a meeting, no one will starve." Most of the time when one eats at a meeting, the rice is free. But what about the meat and vegetable dishes? Well, for that you rely on meal tickets. Now for a table for ten, as long as everyone's willing, it's no problem to add a few more people. What? Are they willing, you ask? Of course they are. After all, we're all just poor wanderers on this earth.

The Crabman was delighted to see them. He started boasting about what a hit he had made at the meeting, how many girls had their eyes on him, and how the district leader had come over to shake his hand, which meant either that he wanted to send him to the province-level meeting as a representative or possibly wanted to recommend him to go to college. But let us no longer dwell on the Crabman's inflated ego nor describe the way the Professor's eyes seemed to pop out of his head when he heard the word college. After all, we must not forget that our main characters came here to eat, so let us allow them first to go into the dining room.

With eyes as bright as candles, Four Eyes sized up the situation, table by table. The amount of knowledge needed for scrounging for food was immense since not only did our heroes want to eat, but they wanted to eat well. After all, how else could they accomplish their goal of having a nutritious meal to perk them up? Based upon our experience, the best choice is to sit at a table occupied by female high school graduates. You know just how sophisticated those young ladies from Shanghai can be in front of their male peers. They'll eat only a small bowl of rice and occasionally, very occasionally, daintily pick up a morsel of food. Even then, they look at the food with expressions of disdain on their faces. They say they're full even though their bowls aren't empty and may raise their eyes and sigh in amazement as they say, "Really, I don't know what's wrong, but I just don't feel like eating." Of course, who are we to pass judgment on them? Maybe they would rather starve themselves than see their male classmates return home disappointed because they haven't eaten their fill. If that were really the case, then these young girls should be praised for having been blessed with the radiant, majestic glory that emanates from maternalism and love.

All roads lead to Rome. Four Eyes' choice just happened to coincide with our own. Since he understood the rules of etiquette far better than we, he appeared unwilling to accept other people's kindness without offering some sort of payment. After all, if he was going to eat somebody's stir-fried beef, he was definitely going to give them the benefit of his knowledge. Consequently, one could hear the uninterrupted sound of jokes and laughter coming from that table. You can imagine just how adorable those girls looked as they covered their mouths and giggled. Of course, they had no time to eat, which was perfectly normal and proper. The problem arose when Four Eyes brought up the subject of the Crabman's rescuing Old Chen, a topic of conversation that the Crabman did not find funny in the least. He shot a glance at Four Eyes, in which we can detect the silent suffering of a tough young man whose pride has been seriously wounded. What's more, the flavor of this suffering seemed to be doubly intense. From this episode, we can gain a profound moral lesson: never tell jokes about a man in front of a woman.

Unfortunately, Four Eyes had never learned this lesson, and there he was at the dining room table, bringing up that same old story one more time. The Crabman put down his rice bowl and dragged Four Eyes over to the corner. With a stern look on his face, he said, "A person should be a little more tactful when he speaks. Do you understand? Everything isn't just a big joke."

"Huh? Do you mean the part about saving the portrait?" Four Eyes still hadn't begun to take it seriously. "Don't tell me you're starting to believe the newspaper report?"

"The fact that there wasn't a portrait of Chairman Mao in the room isn't my fault. Hadn't I already risked my life by rushing in there? Can you blame me because Old Chen didn't hang up a picture? If he'd wanted to hang one up, don't you think I'd have helped him? In the ordinary course of events, every house should have a picture of Chairman Mao, so it follows that logically speaking, the newspaper report was accurate."

Four Eyes shook his head so hard his glasses nearly crashed to the floor; then he just stood there for a minute as if in a daze. You could see that he was trembling inside. Then he walked away. But he had only gone about two paces when he turned around, took the letter out of his pocket, and flung it at the Crabman. Then he stalked off, making it clear that he wasn't returning to the table. The Professor and Abe Lincoln exchanged glances. Finally, Abe Lincoln trailed after Four Eyes while the Professor stayed behind with the Crabman. At this point, it's hard to say whose loss was greater. There might have been another goal to this outing for the three of them (that is, apart from the idea of eating well to perk them up). But now that Four Eyes was gone, it's hard to gauge what the chances were of actualizing the goal.

We don't know how the Crabman felt after reading the letter. I heard about what happened later from the Professor. That night, the Crabman ignored the Professor's advice against going to the restaurant in town. Neither did he listen when the Professor tried to dissuade him from drinking so much. At the table next to them were several other young high school graduates from Shanghai who worked at the commune. The Crabman started arguing with one of them over some trivial matter, which resulted in black eyes and bruised faces all around. In the process, they managed to break several bowls and plates. The man who ran the restaurant was neither sympathetic nor amused. He called in the police, who took both sides into custody. Since the Crabman was an activist representative, he was handed over to the head of high school graduates in the district, who subjected him to a half-hour lecture. Luckily for him, this brought the incident to a close. However, from then on, there was no further mention of going to a province-wide meeting or being recommended to go to college or anything of the sort.

Can you actually say you don't feel sorry for the Crabman? Don't you think that he let things get a little out of hand? When you consider what a glorious future he had as a potential college student chosen from among all the activists in the province who answered the Party's call to go up to the mountains and down to the countryside (and getting into college then was certainly more difficult than it is now), it's hard to understand how he could throw everything away because of a girl. With all that going for him, could he possibly have been worried about not finding another girlfriend? Although your questions are perfectly reasonable from both the emotional and logical points of view, somehow the Crabman was unable to get this into his head. So we can only conclude that it must have been caused by the hand of Fate. Otherwise, as Four Eyes said, everything is predetermined by one's personality. In fact, it was that night, when the Crabman returned home so crestfallen, that Four Eyes delivered his famous lecture on how personality types are predetermined.

"Humans fall into three basic personality types," he announced. "Let me give you an example. The first type is called the prude, the second type is the womanizer, and the third is the pervert. That's to say, human desires can be elevated to the theoretical level. Now I'm a true pervert, so I'm not interested in taking any action unless that action is going to confirm my theories. Crabman, you're a womanizer, and that's why you drink and get into a fight over some trivial incident. The Professor is a prude, which is why he won't get involved in things like this. You see, the entire outcome of a person's life is predetermined by his personality type."

"You didn't mention Abe Lincoln. What type is he?" asked the Professor.

"I'm not exactly sure; he's so defensive it's hard to tell. I'd guess he's either a prude or a wild rapist."

The Crabman was seething. He said, "How the hell can he be a wild rapist when I'm just a womanizer?"

"A wild rapist is simply one type of womanizer. Most men are perverts of one kind or another. It's like class distinctions. There are a few at the two extremes, with the vast majority falling somewhere in between," Four Eyes was quick to explain.

The next day was another scorcher. Even the early-morning sun was so hot that everyone was panting from the heat. By the time the sun came out, the air was so suffocating that the ground seemed to tremble and the straw on the roofs softened into clumps The two factors needed for combustion to occur were once again present; a single spark from a chimney might produce another story that would move you to song and tears. It was at this point that Abe Lincoln displayed a sign of that "wild" quality in keeping with his personality type (we really don't have the courage to repeat the particular indelicate term used earlier). He ran into the team leader's house, insisting that he immediately send someone to repair the leak in the chimney. "Otherwise, if a fire starts," he said, pointing to the roof, "I can promise you that as sure as two times two is four, it's going to be your house that goes up in flames next!" The team leader, who had been sitting on his heels by the doorstep, proceeded to give Abe Lincoln a sound dressing-down. "To talk like that in a farming village is counterrevolutionary. Why, it's even more reactionary than being counterrevolutionary!" Nonetheless, after lunch, he went over to Old Chen's and rounded up a couple of workers to replace the stovepipe for the students.

Since it was such a hot day, they didn't go to work until quite late in the afternoon. When Four Eyes woke up, sunlight had flooded the room. One particular patch of light was already boring its way into the door across from him. Two mud walls away, the team leader gave an earth-shattering yawn.

Four Eyes said, "Now for guys like us, whoever has a girlfriend, whether or not she's-"

The Crabman interrupted him: "I swear on that sacred portrait that I struggled so long and hard over that if anyone ever says that again, I'll smash his face in. I'm giving you fair warning, so don't anybody accuse me of turning against a friend."

"That reminds me of a poem," the Professor said as he sat up in bed.

"If you're planning to recite from a book or something, please spare us," said Abe Lincoln.

"It's nothing like that; it's not from a book. Listen: 'On such a calm and peaceful day, how sweet it is to play hooky.''

The sound of the team leader's whistle split the long silence.

When a story begins to repeat itself, it's time to end it. But don't be in such a hurry, be patient for a couple of minutes longer, for we still have a short epilogue. That afternoon, the final touches were put on Old Chen's house. The last thing the team leader did was plaster the mud on the ridge of the roof and, for effect, place two gray bricks at an angle on the very top. After he came down from the roof, Old Chen began to set off firecrackers and gleefully passed out cigarettes. The house turned out pretty well. The straw was smoothed out flat and even, the hay for the eaves was clipped off all nice and tidy. The newly broken-off wheat stalks shone like strands of platinum. The team leader took a look inside the house and nodded his head in satisfaction. "It looks OK, doesn't it?" he said. "It's just lacking one thing." He unbuttoned his tunic and took out a sacred portrait of Chairman Mao that had been tucked away close to his heart. As he placed the portrait in the Crabman's hands, he said in a voice full of compassion, "Go hang it up. It was you who rescued it; now it should be you who hangs it up again."

While the Crabman was hanging the portrait, his hands were trembling. There was a moment when he was actually on the verge of tears, but he quickly rubbed his eyes and looked up at the straw room divider, acting as if a speck of dust or something had flown into his eye. We know he must have been feeling that he had somehow lost face (it appears that for the most part, all this was predetermined by personality type). But once again, he was wrong: no one laughed at him, not even Four Eyes. In fact, quite the contrary- Four Eyes told him later that this was the single most emotional and moving scene the production team had experienced in over three years.

Translated by Madeline K. Spring