Yan Lianke - The Four Books

Apart from a few professors watching the fires, there was no one else here near the furnaces, and when the others called me over to play cards with them, I said, “You guys amuse yourselves — I have a furnace full of black sand here, and I need to keep the fire burning hot.”

So, they played cards while I stayed there alone. The fire in the furnace crackled away, sometimes loud and sometimes soft. This was the first batch of steel that the Child had smelted since his return from the provincial seat, and the leftover black sand was piled up next to the opening of the furnace. I added some extra elm to the fourth, fifth, and sixth furnaces. Because the opening of the sixth furnace was large, it burned more quickly, so after I had filled the furnace I brought several more bundles of kindling and piled them next to it. The smell of freshly chopped wood was so strong that it made you feel as though you had entered an oil mill, and oily resin would drip down from the burning wood into the fire, where it would explode in a burst of fragrance.

I was about to depart, yet still felt a certain reluctance. After feeding the fire, I once again climbed the river embankment to gaze out at the burning furnaces against the night sky. The hundreds and thousand of furnaces running along the river burned brightly like a fiery dragon, turning night into day. The Yellow River flowed from the west, and the furnaces resembled lanterns or golden scales affixed to its body. There was a dense, moist smell of burning in the air. In another three days it would be New Year’s. If I could reach the town by the following afternoon and then walk for another day and night, by the morning of the following day I would reach the county seat, where I would be able to buy a ticket for the first train out. That way, by New Year’s Eve I would be able to make it to my home in the provincial seat, and would be able to spend New Year’s Eve with my wife and children. Upon seeing me suddenly return, my wife would shout in surprise, while my son and daughter would first stare in shock and then rush forward and hang from my neck as though they were my grandchildren. They would boil a pot of water so that I could take a warm bath, then would look for some of my old clothing for me to wear. Perhaps they wouldn’t find any, and instead would bring me some of my son’s clothes. By this point, my son would already be nearly my height, since it had been five years since I entered Re-Ed, during which time I hadn’t returned home once. In those five years, my son and daughter would probably have changed so much that I might even have trouble recognizing them. As I stood on the embankment, the night breeze blew over me like a bucket of cold water poured on my head. But even in that bitter cold, I feverishly missed my children. I tried to imagine how my wife might have changed in the past five years, and was even concerned that I might not have the courage to strip and go to bed with her. I wanted to stand at the highest point of the embankment, with my back to the furnaces, and sing or scream. And, yet, I also knew that I couldn’t do anything unusual and instead had to continue tending to the furnaces, so as not to arouse suspicion.

I stood on top of the embankment, inwardly frantic but acting as though nothing unusual were happening. Eventually, I took a piss, then slowly climbed back down. After returning to the furnace, I examined it under the starlight, and felt to see if the bag I had hidden between the stones was still there. Humming to myself, I then went around to the front of the furnace. At that point, someone suddenly appeared between furnaces four and five, looking back and forth as though he were searching for something. Upon seeing me he rushed forward several steps, but then stopped and again looked around. Then, in a very soft voice, he uttered that portentous question,

“Do you really have five pentagonal stars?”

It was the Theologian.

As he asked me, his voice seemed to tremble. He sounded urgent, and his voice grew coarse, as though he were dragging the words out of his own throat.

“How did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Theologian said impatiently. “If you really have five stars, then you should leave quickly. I’ll watch the furnaces for you. I’m afraid that if you wait, you might lose this opportunity.”

I used the light from the fire to peer at the Theologian’s face. He had an urgent expression and grasped the front of my jacket as he entreated me to leave.

“I know for a fact you have five stars.”

I stared in shock, then turned and went back to the stones behind the furnace. I took out the bag and said “thank you,” then, with my back to the furnace, quickly proceeded toward the road. At this point, the Theologian followed me, saying, “As I was walking over from the embankment, I began to suspect there were people waiting for you along the main road.” After nodding to him again, I turned left and, half walking and half running, leapt into an empty riverbed and quickly disappeared into the pitch-black night.

As though running on air, I sprinted forward, my bag swinging against my thighs. By the time I had gone two li , I looked back in the direction of the furnaces. A feeling of gratitude for the Theologian welled up in my heart as though I had drunk too much water. I regretted that I had left so quickly and had not shaken the Theologian’s hand. I really wanted to go shake his hand and affectionately bid him a proper farewell. But I recognized that this was an idle thought, and that under no circumstances could I go back. Just as I was thinking this, I reached a fork in the road. The left fork linked up to the main road, while the right one led to the field where the firewood brigades were chopping wood for the furnaces. As I was trying to decide which road to take, two lanterns suddenly shone directly in my face. Shocked, I saw four men with their faces covered by towels, such that only their forehead and eyes were visible. They surrounded me as I raised my arm to shield my eyes and attempted to turn away from that bright light. As I was trying to recognize them, one hatefully spit out the word “Traitor!” Then another kicked me in the crotch and I dropped to my knees. Someone kicked me in the back, and someone else punched me in the face. After silently kicking and hitting me, one of them covered my eyes with his hands, then another started searching me and my bag. Without much trouble they were able to find my money pouch in a pocket sewn into my underwear. One exclaimed, “We found it!” Another added, “Burn it!” Then I heard the sound of firewood being lit. Through the cracks in the fingers of the hands covering my eyes, I could see that there was a yellow light in front of me, and as that light became a fire, the hands covering my eyes loosened. With several more kicks and punches, they forced me to kneel next to the fire. The four of them came up to me and took the pages of my manuscript out of my bag, and set them on fire. They also took the leather jacket I was wearing and removed the five red pentagonal stars that had been cut out of slick paper and wrapped in a white sheet of drafting paper, and threw them into the fire one after another. After the last star was burned up, they took the last few dozen pages of my manuscript and threw them into the fire as well. The one who had shouted “Traitor!” came over and undid his pants, then pissed on my head and face. Upon seeing him do this, the other three men also undid their pants and, in the light of the fire, pissed on me as well.

Their urine rained down on my head. It poured along my neck and back, while in the front it flowed down my forehead, my eyes, either side of my nose, over my lips, and into my shirt. When they had finished, one of them announced loudly, as though reciting a line onstage, “I’m telling you, this is the People’s verdict, that you traitors must be eliminated.” After this, someone behind me — I’m not sure who — slapped my face with his penis and after spurting out the last few drops of urine asked me,