Mo Yan - Frog

It must have been the guards who called the police, since they were the only ones who came to report what had happened when the police cars drove up, sirens blaring. Three policemen walked up and asked me how I was doing. They were all young, and their yellow teeth showed they were all from Northeast Gaomi Township. I got tearful, and before long was sobbing my story like a boy who’s been victimised by a bully when he sees his father arrive. Only the cop with a growth between his eyebrows seemed to be listening to what I was saying. The other two were more intent on studying the signboard above me. When I finished, the first cop said: How do we know that what you’ve said is the truth? Go ask Chen Bi, I told him. The tallest cop said, without taking his eyes off the signboard, How do you feel? Want us to take you to the hospital?

I tried moving my legs. They were still working. Then I looked at the wounds on my arms and hands. They’d stopped bleeding. If you don’t mind the bother, the cop with the growth on his brow said, you can come to the station with us and make a report. If it’s too much bother, you can go home and rest up. That’s it? I said. No who’s right and who’s wrong? There’s right and there’s wrong, he said, but we need proof, witnesses. Can you get that Chen Bi and those fishmongers to be witnesses? Can you be sure those two women and the boy would not turn around and accuse you? That kid, the grandson of the scoundrel Zhang Quan of Dongfeng Village, is a bad one, all right, but he is a child, and what do you think you can do to him? All right, I said, I’ll just drop it, I lose — wisdom grows out of experience, and at my age a man should stay home and out of trouble, playing with his grandchildren and enjoying family life — thank you all, sorry to waste the nation’s gasoline and wear down the nation’s tyres, and cause you trouble. Are you mocking us, old sir? No, of course not, I wouldn’t dare. I’m being truthful, absolutely sincere.

The two cops — one with the growth, the other very tall — turned to leave, but the third man — who had a wide mouth on a square face — kept staring at the signboard and had no interest in leaving. Let’s go, Wang, Eyebrow Growth said. Has the sight of the babies paralysed you? Wide Mouth responded with a note of approval, Cute, really cute! Eyebrow Growth teased, Then go home and give your seed to your wife. Can’t, Wide Mouth said, she’s barren. I can do the planting, but there’ll be no sprouts. The tall cop joined the conversation: Don’t put all the blame on her, he said. Go get checked. Maybe your seeds have all been fried. No way, Wide mouth said…

The banter continued as they climbed into their car and left me there under the signboard, depressed but resigned to my fate. What would I have gained by going to the station with them and making a report? Since the women were Zhang Quan’s daughters — he had a third — Gugu was their enemy, and now I knew why the boy had scared her with that frog. He’d probably been coached by his mother or aunt as a means of avenging their mother, even though Gugu had not been responsible for her death. You can’t be reasonable with people like that. To hell with it, I lose. No, God is testing me. So grin and bear it. I’m a strong-willed man, a playwright, and all these encounters and experiences constitute superb material. Important people become important by enduring the suffering and humiliation that defeats ordinary people. Examples like General Han Xin, who drank the cup of humiliation; or like Confucius, who endured hunger from Chen to Cai; or Sun Bin, who ate his own faeces… how can the little bit of suffering and humiliation I endured be mentioned in the same breath as that of those sages and ancient wise men? With that thought in mind, Sensei, I gained a sense of tolerance as my breathing returned to normal, my eyes lit up, and I felt my strength slowly return. Stand up, Tadpole, the heavens have bestowed great responsibilities on you. You must bravely accept suffering without complaint and with hatred towards no one.

I stood up, and though my wounds hurt, I was famished, my legs were rubbery, and I saw stars, I would not allow myself to fall back down. I thought there’d be people watching me, but there were none. Even the guards at the hospital entrance ignored me. This confirmed what Li Shou had told me. Thoughts of Li Shou reminded me of Chen Mei, in whose belly my child was growing.I felt different about that now than I had in the morning. I’d been hell-bent on forcing the death of the child, but no longer. I turned to look at the hospital signboard and the thought running through my head could not have been clearer: I want that child! I desperately need that child. He is a treasure sent down to me from the heavens, and is worth all my suffering.

Sensei, I want you to know that the signboard was etched with the enlarged photographs of hundreds of children, some laughing, others crying; some with their eyes shut, others open in a squint; some had both eyes wide open, others had one eye open and one eye shut; some were looking up, others were looking straight ahead; some were holding out both arms, as if reaching for something; the hands of some were balled into fists, as if they were unhappy; some were sucking on a fist, others had their hands over their ears; some were laughing with their eyes open, some with their eyes shut; some were crying with their eyes open, some with their eyes shut; some had no hair on their heads, others had a headful of black hair; some had soft, golden fuzz, others had sleek, shiny, velvet-like, flaxen hair; some had wrinkly faces, like little old men, some had fat faces with big ears, like little piglets; some had skin as white as glutinous dumplings, others were as dark as coal; some had puckered lips, as if angry, others looked like they were shouting; some were making sucking motions, looking to nurse, other pressed their lips together, cocking their heads, refusing to nurse; some were sticking out bright red tongues, others were sticking out pink ones; some had two dimpled cheeks, some had only one; some had double-fold eyelids, some had single-fold eyelids; the heads of some were round as balls, those of others long as gourds; the brows of some were thoughtfully furrowed, others had raised their eyes… in other words, their appearances and expressions varied widely, and each one was cute as could be. The promotional text informed me that these were pictures of every child born in the hospital in the two years it had been open, a bumper crop. This was truly a great undertaking, a noble one, and a sweet one… Sensei, I was deeply moved. As tears filled my eyes, I heard the call of a sacred noise, and experienced the most solemn feeling a human can know — the love of life; all other love, by comparison, is vulgar, low-class. Sensei, it was as if my soul had received a solemn baptism, and that I’d been given the chance to have all the sins of my past forgiven. Whatever the cause or the effect, I wanted to spread my arms to enfold this innocent new life sent to me by the heavens!

Sensei, my soul received a solemn baptism that day as I sat beneath the signboard etched with those hundreds of children’s photographs. All my doubts, wavering, torment, beatings, humiliation, and being pursued were necessary steps in the process. Like the Tang monk Tripitaka, who encountered eighty-one trials on his trip to India for the Buddhist scriptures. A tortuous path leads to Nirvana; tribulations are essential for an understanding of life.

Back home I cleaned my wounds with alcohol and cotton swabs and drank some Yunnan powder steeped in liquor, which is particularly effective for bruises. The physical pain did not go away immediately, but my spirits were high. When Little Lion walked in the door I threw my arms around her and brushed her cheek with mine. Wife of mine, I said, thank you for creating my child. He has been nurtured not in your womb but in your heart. He is our very own child.