Yan Lianke - The Four Books

I crawled into a nearby ravine and hid amid some weeds. I could only vaguely make out what was going on, but some things were quite clear. By this time the sun was already high in the sky and was warming the breeze blowing over from the old course of the Yellow River.

By midday the winter chill began to dissipate, as a layer of warmth hung above the wasteland. The furnace was one that had been left by the criminals of the ninety-ninth when they were smelting steel the previous winter, and now it had been appropriated by the Musician and the man in the military uniform for their rendezvous. I don’t know how many iron dregs were smelted in that row of furnaces at the time, but a year later, after the dust on the outer walls had been blown away, all that was left was a layer of reddish brown coke. The furnaces stood there like a row of rusting battlements, and the two of them snuck into the second one.

After crawling out of the ravine and heading back to the furnace, I squatted in front of the entrance for a while. I failed to hear a sound, so I climbed up onto the roof, and found that the opening used for dousing the furnace with water was facing the sky like the mouth of a well. I crawled across the roof toward the opening, and when I reached it I peered inside, then immediately looked away and sat down. In the distance there were people foraging for wild seeds, and someone had already lit a fire and started to boil some soup. For several seconds, I sat dazed on the roof of the furnace, staring at the smoke in the distance, as I waited for my heart to stop racing. Then I crawled back to the opening and once again peered inside. The furnace was half as large as a normal room, and the floor of the northern portion was covered with a thick layer of dry weeds, on top of which there was an old and dirty comforter. The comforter was full of holes and old cotton stuffing was poking out.

The Musician and that man had removed their clothes and left them in a pile next to the comforter, while they themselves were cuddled beneath, with only their heads and shoulders visible. The man was on top and panting as he did his thing, like a pig, while the Musician angled her head away from him and stared upward. The object of her gaze was a small hole in the side of the furnace, in which there was a black bun. The bun was about two feet from her face, and she appeared drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The man, however, didn’t let her eat it, and instead made her focus on the task at hand. The Musician kept staring at the bun, her eyes looking as though they were about to explode. They continued like this for a while, until the man finally stopped moving. After a brief rest, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a steamed bun. He moved the black bun aside, then placed the steamed bun next to it in the same hole in the wall, as though he were turning on a lamp. He said three words to the Musician: “Pure fine grain.” He nudged the Musician’s shoulder, and she quickly got out from under the comforter and began crawling forward like a dog, such that he could then enter her from behind. As he did so, she raised her head even higher, staring intently at that steamed bun.

The man began exerting himself even more frantically. As he was rhythmically thrusting, he emitted a series of sharp, hoarse screams. The Musician, stark naked, knelt on the ground on all fours, supporting herself against the wall of the furnace with one hand, while reaching out for the bun with the other. The man struck her and shouted, “Wait a moment!” The Musician quickly pulled her hand back, and continued staring intently at that bun, as though it were a glimmer of light inside a room that was as dark as death. At this point the man began thrusting even more quickly, as though he had gone mad. I leaned over the opening in the roof, my gaze riveted by the sight below. I don’t know how long they had been secretly fornicating in that furnace, but eventually the man let out a scream and collapsed onto the comforter, mumbling to himself, “Thank God for the famine. That was fucking great!” Meanwhile, the Musician quickly grasped the steamed bun with both hands, seeming to devour it in a single bite.

Just as the Musician was about to finish eating it, the man said with slight embarrassment, “I don’t have much grain, so from now on let’s meet here only every other day.”

The Musician paused in shock, then stepped forward and said, “You are a higher-up, so you can easily ask the other higher-ups for more. Tomorrow you don’t need to give me a steamed bun. It would be fine if you just give me a breadroll.”

The man laughed and said, “You scholars from the city are even easier to manage than those peasants from the countryside.” Then he began collecting his clothes and getting dressed.

At this point, everything was calm. I slowly pulled my head away from the opening and sat under the sun on the roof. My heart was racing, and I kept remembering the Musician’s snow-white body, the way she stared at the bun while under the man, and the way she ravenously devoured it. The sky was clear, and the clouds in the distance produced a faint whistling sound as they floated forward. I looked around and saw a handful of new columns of smoke from people boiling water for grass seed soup. The smoke appeared to congeal, though in reality it continued to dissipate. This was, after all, the twelfth month and there was a heavy chill in the air, which was only barely covered by a thin layer of warmth from the midday sun. In this border between cold and warmth, the sandy ground and wild grass were shrouded in a grayish yellow light, and when the dry sand and withered grass mixed together in the sunlight, they produced a scent of water plants that had been left to dry in the sun. In this medley of odors, I detected the faint smell of steamed bun and fried soybeans. Gazing at the columns of smoke in the distance, I leaned forward and inhaled that aroma of buns and fried beans, but then heard footsteps behind me. I instinctively shrank back against the furnace, then peered down from the roof, whereupon I saw the Musician and the man walking out. After looking around, they each departed in opposite directions.

I waited until they were long gone, then climbed down, and when I entered the furnace I saw that the comforter they had been using was carefully folded and placed in a nook inside the furnace, where it was shielded from the wind and rain. The higher-up had covered it with a pile of weeds, and when I pulled off the weeds and unfolded the comforter, I was immediately assaulted by a nauseating odor. Ignoring the stench, I shook the comforter and picked out the handful of soybeans and grains of wheat that fell to the ground. I quickly scooped them into my mouth and swallowed, then refolded the comforter and covered it again with the dried weeds. When I walked out of the furnace, I saw the man in the military uniform heading back to the ninety-eighth and the Musician heading toward the ninety-ninth. Her light red uniform was walking by the side of the road, like a glowing ember.

I myself also headed back to the ninety-ninth.

When I arrived at the compound, everyone who had gone in search of grass and seeds had not yet returned. As a result, the compound was as quiet as a graveyard. The Child’s door was still tightly closed, and there was now a lock on it. Needless to say, he had gone to the headquarters in town. I urgently wanted to see the Child as soon as possible, to tell him what I had witnessed. I knew that if I told him, he would give me half a handful of fried soybeans, but if I wrote it out he would give me an entire handful. I urgently wanted to tell someone and reveal why the Musician still had a ruddy complexion. I knew, however, that the affair between the Musician and the man was not yet over. I knew that what I had witnessed was only an opening act of a larger play. Given that it was the beginning of the story, I should follow this narrative thread wherever it might lead. As long as I did so, I would be able, like the Musician, to obtain some breadrolls, steamed buns, and fried soybeans.