Yu Hua - To Live

When I’d arrive in town, the neighbors would come over one by one to tell me how great Fengxia was. I heard nothing but compliments from them and started to blush.

“You people here in town are really nice,” I said. “It’s rare that anyone in the country says anything nice about Fengxia.”

I was really pleased to see how much Erxi loved her and how all the neighbors liked her. Every time I went home, Jiazhen would complain that I had stayed too long. She was right. All alone at home, staring at the door with her neck outstretched, she would wait for me to come home so she could hear all the latest news about Fengxia. After waiting all day and still not seeing any sign of me, it was only natural for her to start getting anxious.

“Sorry, as soon as I see Fengxia I forget the time,” I’d say.

Whenever I returned home I’d spend a long time sitting on the edge of the bed telling Jiazhen everything that was going on in and around Fengxia’s house. I’d even have to tell her what color clothes Fengxia was wearing and whether the shoes she had made for Fengxia were holding up. Jiazhen had to know everything — there was no end to her questions, just as there was no end to my answers. I talked so much that my throat would get dry, but even then Jiazhen wouldn’t let me go. She’d ask, “Is there anything you forgot to tell me?”

Once we started talking we wouldn’t stop until after dark. Just about everyone in the village had already turned in, but we still hadn’t even eaten.

“I’ll go fix something to eat,” I’d say.

But Jiazhen would pull me, practically begging. “Tell me some more about Fengxia.”

I was always willing to go on about Fengxia. Even after telling Jiazhen everything, I still couldn’t say enough. When I went to work down in the field, I’d tell the other villagers about her. I’d tell them how well she was doing in town, how everyone there complimented her for being hardworking and intelligent and how she knitted faster than anyone else. A few of the villagers were upset after hearing this.

“Fugui, how could you be so muddleheaded?” they’d say. “Those city people are always up to no good. How’s Fengxia to cope with all this work they’re giving her? They’ll work her to death!”

“Now, I wouldn’t say that,” I said.

“If Fengxia knits sweaters for them it’s only right that they give her some kind of present,” they’d say. “Do they give her anything?”

Country people are really narrow-minded — all they do is nit-pick over these little things. The women in town aren’t as bad as country people make them out to be. Twice I heard them say to Erxi, “Erxi, go buy a few jin of wool thread. Fengxia should have a sweater, too.”

Erxi laughed after hearing this but didn’t say a word. He was an honest guy. When he married Fengxia he listened to me and spent a lot of money, and now he still had a debt to pay off. When we were alone he whispered to me, “Dad, as soon as I pay off the debt I’ll buy Fengxia a wool sweater.”

Meanwhile, the Cultural Revolution was raging more and more intensely in town. All the streets were filled with big character posters. 7The people who hung them up were a bunch of lazy bums. When they hung new posters up, they didn’t even bother to tear the old ones down. The layers of posters just got thicker and thicker, making the walls stick out as if they had a whole bunch of pockets. There were even posters hanging over Fengxia and Erxi’s front door. Inside they had good ol’ Chairman Mao’s words written on their washbasin, and printed on Fengxia’s pillowcase was “Never Forget Class Struggle.” The characters on their quilt read “March Forward Through the Great Storms.” Every night Erxi and Fengxia literally slept on the words of Chairman Mao.

When I went into the city I’d try to avoid crowded areas. There were always people getting into fights in town, and on a few occasions I saw people beaten so badly they couldn’t get up off the ground. No wonder the team leader stopped going into town for meetings. The commune headquarters sent someone to notify him that he was to take part in the county’s third-level cadre meeting, but the team leader wouldn’t go. In private the team leader told me, “I’m scared to death. There are people getting killed there every day. Going into town for a meeting at a time like this is like digging your own grave.”

The team leader hid out in the village and wouldn’t go anywhere, but in the end he only had a few months of peace and quiet. If he wouldn’t go, they would come and get him. One day we were all in the fields working when we saw a flapping red flag approaching from far away. A group of Red Guards from the city were coming. The team leader was also in the field. When he saw them coming his neck tightened and, with his heart in his mouth, he asked me, “They can’t be coming for me, can they?”

Leading the Red Guards was a young woman. They made their way over, and the woman looked at us and yelled, “Why aren’t there any slogans here? Where are the big character posters? The team leader — who’s the team leader?”

The team leader quickly threw down his hoe and ran over, bowing and nodding.

“Comrade Red Guard Leader,” he addressed her.

The girl waved her arms as she asked, “How come there are no slogans or big character posters?”

“There are slogans. We’ve got two painted behind that building over there,” answered the team leader.

At most, the girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, yet she acted so cocky in front of our team leader, her eyes casting sidelong glances at him. A few of the Red Guards were carrying paint buckets, and she ordered them, “Go paint some slogans.”

The Red Guards ran right down to the village houses to paint slogans. The girl in charge of the Red Guards ordered our team leader, “Assemble everyone in the village together!”

The team leader quickly fumbled for his whistle. He blew it with all his might, and everyone working in the fields ran over. The girl waited until just about everyone showed up, then yelled at us, “Who’s the landlord here?”

As soon as everyone heard this, they turned to look at me; their collective gaze made my legs quiver. Thank god the team leader said, “The local landlord was executed just after Liberation.”

“Are there any rich peasants?” she asked.

The team leader humbly responded, “There was one, but he passed away two years ago.”

Keeping an eye on the team leader, the girl yelled at us, “Then are there any capitalist roaders?”

Maintaining his smiling face, the team leader said, “How could there be capitalist roaders in a little village like this?”

She suddenly shot out her hand, almost hitting the team leader in the nose, and asked, “Who are you?”

The team leader was so scared that he stuttered, “I’m the team leader, the team leader.”

Who could have known she would scream, “You’re the capitalist roader! Abusing your power to walk the road to capitalism!”

The team leader, overcome with fear, kept waving his hands and saying, “No, no, I never took that road.”

The girl ignored him and turned to us.

“He’s been making you live through a white terror, oppressing and belittling you!” she shouted. “You must stand up and rebel! Break his fucking legs!”

Everyone in the village was stupefied. Normally the team leader had a certain air of authority about him. We listened to whatever he said, and no one ever really thought he said or did anything wrong. And now here was the team leader suffering so badly at the hands of these city kids that he couldn’t even stand up straight. He kept begging for mercy, saying all the things we didn’t dare say. After begging for a while, the team leader turned to us and yelled, “C’mon, tell them I’ve never bullied or oppressed you!”