Ha Jin - Ocean of Words

“Hello, Dragon Head,” I said. “Why are you here?” We shook hands.

“Went to Hsiufen’s grandpa’s home in Garlic Village.” He pointed at the girl and introduced her. “This is my fiancée, Hsiufen.”

“I’m happy to know you two are engaged. Congratulations.” Then I said to the girl, “See how important you are? Dragon Head, the commander of the militia company, follows you around as your fully armed bodyguard.” She smiled, and her clear, large eyes rolled toward her betrothed.

“Commander Gao,” Dragon Head said, slapping his Mauser pistols. “I’m not carrying these fellows as presents for my in-laws, am I? Who knows when the Russians will come. We must keep them warm all the time.” By “them” he meant the guns. The girl looked at me rather seriously and seemed to expect a positive response.

“You really have high vigilance,” I managed to say. He smiled, and so did the girl. I felt awkward, because I didn’t have my pistol with me. It was unnecessary to carry a gun when you were off duty in the summer. Truly, in the winter you could see many people bear weapons in the streets of Hutou; if you ate in a restaurant, very often some militiamen sat nearby, drinking and rejoicing, with their loaded guns propped against their tables. But other than in winter, few people carried weapons in town.

The bus arrived, and people were lining up to get aboard. I deliberately stood at the end of the line, not wanting to sit with Dragon Head and his fiancée, because I must have reeked of alcohol. As they moved slowly to the bus, I had a good look at the girl. She was tall, with a neck as white as that of a young goose. Her narrow nose pointed upward above a mouth shaped like a water chestnut. Her pink shirt and sky blue pants bulged a little around her breasts and hips. A pair of plastic sandals revealed her large feet. In a way, she seemed to match Dragon Head well in size and stature.

On the bus Dragon Head greeted a man behind him, then chatted with another man on his right. He appeared to know everybody. The conductor began to sell tickets. When she came to Dragon Head’s seat, he handed her a one-yuan bill and said, “Two for Guanmen.”

The driver in the front turned around and said aloud to the conductor, “Dragon Head doesn’t need to pay.”

“What?” Dragon Head said. “Don’t try buying off a revolutionary, Old Zhao. I have to pay, because the bus is our country’s. If you owned it, I’d take a ride directly to my brick bed at home.” A few passengers laughed. The conductor accepted his money and gave him two tickets.

“Together with Hsiufen?” the driver asked, giggling without turning his head.

“Damn you, Monkey Zhao,” Dragon Head retorted. His fiancee flushed a little and turned her head away. Some people chuckled, looking at the girl.

The bus pulled out. On the roadside, cement wire poles fell behind one by one, and bulletin boards, wider and taller than a soccer goal, moved past one after another. A white line of Chairman Mao’s instructions paraded on a brick wall: DIG DEEP HOLES, STORE GRAIN EVERYWHERE, DO NOT LORD OVER THE WORLD! From the side I peered at the girl who sat beyond Dragon Head by the window. Against the breeze her curly bangs were fluttering on her smooth forehead. Her chin set forward a little, giving a clear contour to her face, while her eyes were half closed.

Somehow she felt me observing her. She turned around and gave me a childlike smile. All of a sudden I felt pity for her, not because of her beauty, which was in no way extraordinary, or because of my amorous attention, but because of the man she was engaged to. Dragon Head was not a bad fellow, but he was unreliable and could never be a good husband. Marrying a man of his kind is like building a home below a dam. I would have no child rather than allow my daughter to be such a man’s wife.

The bus jolted to a stop at Guanmen Village. About a dozen passengers got off. Before I could wave good-bye to him and his fiancée, Dragon Head stopped me. “I want to have a chat with you, Commander Gao.” Then he pointed to an aspen.

We moved a few steps to the tree, leaving the girl standing alone at the bus stop. “You can do me a favor, can’t you, Commander Gao?”

“What favor?”

“We need a pair of transceivers.”

“What for?”

“We often go to the Wusuli River to keep an eye on the Russians. But we can’t go all together. You see, those of us on the river and those at home must find a way to keep in touch. I know you just got a bunch of new transceivers. Can you give us two of the big ones?” He was referring to some old three-watt transceivers that had just been put out of service.

“No, Dragon Head, I can’t,” I said firmly. “We do have some old ones, but they have all been listed and numbered, and we have to return them to the Regimental Logistics Department.”

“Why do they want them back? They won’t use them, will they?” He looked quite cross.

“I have no idea. According to the rule, we have to send back every one of the machines. Forgive me, Dragon Head. It’s not personal. Say, if you wanted a transistor radio of mine, I would give it to you, but this is a matter of discipline.”

“All right, I understand discipline all right. We won’t ask you for them again.” Without saying one more word, he turned around and walked away to the girl. His large shadow, cast by the setting sun, covered a long strip of land ahead of him.

That night Commissar Diao and I had a drink. I took out a packet of sliced pork head that I had brought from Hutou, and he told Orderly Liu to get a bottle of corn liquor from his room. “Old Gao,” he said, “we two should really get loose tonight. Ha! Pork head, I haven’t tasted this since we came here.” He picked a chunk and put it into his mouth. “Hum, so good. Delicious!”

I smiled and poured the liquor into my green mug.

Two mugs later, I told him that I had met Dragon Head in Hutou and that he had asked me for two transceivers. “Crazy. He’s more vigilant than we are,” I said.

“He’s just that kind of man. You cannot do anything about it — it’s easy to change a mountain or a river but not a man’s nature.”

“He’s too warlike,” I said. “It’s the busy farming season now. Fields need hoeing and vegetables must be sown, but he and his men patrol around carrying guns and banners. It looks like he can’t live without war.”

“I agree with you, Old Gao, a hundred percent.” Diao’s tongue was a little thick. I didn’t advise him to stop drinking; today we were off duty and should relax.

“I know his type well,” he said again, and stuck a piece of the meat into his mouth. “What do you think would be his best end, O-Old Gao?”

“I’ve never thought about it. What do you think?”

“His best end is to be killed by our enemy.” He chuckled. “I can see you’re shocked, but I told you the truth. My granduncle was like that too, the same … same type.” He raised his mug and drank.

“Same as Dragon Head?”

“Yes. My granduncle used to be a landlord, a ri-rich one. He overrode the entire village. Nobody dared oppose him, and he took care of everybody’s business. For instance, a cart driver stole a chi-chicken from a farmer’s house; he led the farmer to … to the cart driver’s home, carrying a big stone, and they smashed the only caldron on the kitchen range. The family couldn’t cook for many days. Everybody said my granduncle would be avenged sooner or later. My dad told me that he would have been e-executed by the Communists, if — if he had lived longer.”

“How did he die?” I was curious. Diao would never talk like this when he was sober.

“How?” He giggled, shaking his head. “He was beheaded by the Japanese devils. The Japs surrounded our village and brought all the folk to — to the marketplace. They ordered them to tell where the guerrillas hid themselves. The folk didn’t know. The Japs set two straw cutters in the front of the crowd and said they would chop off some heads if the folk didn’t tell them. My granduncle stepped out and said he knew, but he wouldn’t tell. The Japs were mad and or-ordered him to go down on his knees. He refused. They beat him to the ground with gun butts, and … and put him under the blade. Still he wouldn’t tell, and never stopped cursing, so they cut his head off.”