Yu Hua - Chronicle of a Blood Merchant

Xu Sanguan concluded, “So people ought to try their best to do good and stay away from doing bad. If you do something bad and don’t change your ways, you’ll end up like He Xiaoyong and be punished by Old Man Heaven. And let me tell you, when Old Man Heaven punishes somebody, he shows no mercy. He’ll take your very life if he feels like it. Look at He Xiaoyong. He’s laid up in the hospital right now, and no one knows if he’ll live or die.

“People like me, who always do good, well, Old Man Heaven remembers us, and every once in a while he’ll throw something nice our way. Take my blood selling, for instance. You all know that I sell blood. Most people in town think selling blood is something to be ashamed of, but in my grandpa’s village they believe that the men who sell blood are stronger than the ones who don’t. Now look at me. I’ve sold blood. Am I the weaker for it? No, of course not. And why not? Because Old Man Heaven’s rewarding me. I’d continue to survive even if I sold blood every day. Blood for me is like a money tree. All I’ve got to do is give myself a little shake, and Old Man Heaven’s bounty rains down on me.”

Xu Yulan was not as happy as her husband to hear that He Xiaoyong had been hit by a truck. She merely acted as if nothing had happened. When it was time to fry dough, she went to fry dough. When it was time to go home and cook dinner, she went home to cook dinner. When it was time to do the laundry, she piled Xu Sanguan and the children’s dirty clothes in a wooden basin and went down to the river. When she heard what had happened to He Xiaoyong, her eyes went wide and her chin gaped open with surprise, but she didn’t smile.

Xu Sanguan was annoyed by her reaction, so she explained, “What’s in it for us if He Xiaoyong gets hit by a truck? If we got a stack of money every time he got hit by a truck, there might be some reason to feel good about it. But we haven’t gotten a single thing. What’s the point of gloating?”

And as Xu Yulan watched Xu Sanguan dart in and out of the neighbors’ places in his sleeveless T-shirt, dispensing his karmic platitudes, she grew annoyed. “If you have something to say about him, go on and say it. But don’t go on and on about it. You were saying the same things yesterday, and you’re repeating them again today, and I suppose you’ll be going on and on about it again tomorrow too. But no matter how bad He Xiaoyong may be, he’s still lying half dead in a hospital bed right now. If you keep going on like this, Old Man Heaven’s going to punish you too.”

This last sentence was a splash of cold water. She was right. If he spent his days taking delight in someone else’s misfortune, Old Man Heaven just might take offense. Xu Sanguan furled in his sails, and from that day on was never again to be seen darting in and out of doors to chat with the neighbors.

HE XIAOYONG was laid up in the hospital for a total of seven days. He was unconscious for the first three days. On the fourth day he opened his eyes, looked around for a moment, and then suddenly lapsed into a coma that lasted for another three days.

The truck had broken his right leg and his left arm. The doctor said the broken bones were the least of his worries. Worse was that he had no way to stem the tide of He Xiaoyong’s internal bleeding. Every day He Xiaoyong’s blood pressure slid up and down the dial. In the morning, after a transfusion, his blood pressure would shoot up to normal. But by evening he would lose more blood, and the mercury would once again plummet down toward the bottom of the dial.

He Xiaoyong’s friends said among themselves, “He Xiaoyong’s blood pressure is shooting up and down every day. It climbs up in the morning and falls back down in the evening. He might survive three or four days of that, but we’re afraid that if this goes on any longer, there will come a time when it refuses to go back up again.”

They said to He Xiaoyong’s woman, “We don’t think there’s anything the doctor can do. All they do every day is stand next to his bed for an hour or two, discussing what they might do. But when all is said and done, He Xiaoyong’s still lying there with an oxygen tube up his nose and a blood-transfusion bottle hanging next to his arm. They’re giving him the same medicine they gave him last week, and he isn’t getting any better.”

They concluded, “We think you ought to go see Mr. Chen over on the west side of town.”

Mr. Chen on the west side of town was an old Chinese herbalist, an oracle, and a fortune-teller.

Mr. Chen said to He Xiaoyong’s woman, “I’ve already prepared a prescription for him. But no matter how much effect the medicine has on his body, it still won’t be strong enough to save his soul. If his soul escapes, there’s no medicine on earth that can stop it from taking flight. When people’s souls take flight, they almost always exit through the chimney. Here’s what you have to do. Tell your son to go up on the roof, sit directly on top of the chimney, and call as loud as he can toward the Western Heaven, ‘Dad, don’t go! Dad, come back!’ That’s all he needs to say. No more and no less; just those two sentences. If he shouts for half an hour or so and He Xiaoyong’s soul heeds the call, he’ll turn around and come back, even if he’s already taken flight. And if he hasn’t yet taken flight, he’ll stay right where he is.”

He Xiaoyong’s woman said, “He Xiaoyong doesn’t have a son. All he has is two daughters.”

Mr. Chen said, “Daughters don’t count. As soon as you marry them off to another family, they’re water under the bridge. If you sent one of your daughters up on the roof, her father’s soul wouldn’t be able to hear her, no matter how loud she shouted or how far the sound carried.”

He Xiaoyong’s woman said, “He Xiaoyong doesn’t have a son. I haven’t given him a son. All I’ve given him is two daughters. I don’t know what crime I committed in my last life, or what he did in his last life, but we don’t have a son in this life. If He Xiaoyong doesn’t have a son, does it mean there’s nothing we can do to save his life?”

He Xiaoyong’s friends said, “Who says He Xiaoyong doesn’t have a son? Isn’t Xu Sanguan’s Yile actually his son?”

AND SO IT WAS that He Xiaoyong’s woman arrived at Xu Sanguan’s door. As soon as the skinny woman caught sight of Xu Yulan, she began to cry. First she stood at the doorstep, wiping her eyes, which were already red from weeping, with a handkerchief. Then she sat down on the doorstep and began to sob in earnest.

Xu Yulan was alone, and when she saw He Xiaoyong’s woman, she wondered what she could possibly be doing by her door. After the woman sat down on her doorstep and began to sob and wail, Xu Yulan began, “And who might this be? Who could be quite so shameless as all that? Rather than crying in the privacy of her own home, she cries on someone else’s doorstep. And she doesn’t just cry. She wails like a cat in heat.”

He Xiaoyong’s woman stopped sobbing long enough to say, “My fate is bitter. My husband, He Xiaoyong, was walking down the street minding his own business, not looking for any trouble, and for no reason at all, he got hit by a truck. He’s been in a coma for seven days, and the doctors at the hospital can’t do anything to save him. Mr. Chen on the west side says that only Yile can save his life, so I’ve come to beg you for a favor.”

Xu Yulan picked up where the other woman had left off. “My fate is sweet. My husband, Xu Sanguan, has never been admitted to the hospital. He’s over forty, and he’s never known what it’s like to sleep in a hospital bed. He’s so strong, he can carry a hundred-pound sack of rice. The rice shop’s almost a mile away, and he doesn’t even need to stop for a break on the way home.”