Yan Lianke - Dream of Ding Village

‘Now,’ my dad continued. ‘The regulations say that these government-subsidized coffins can’t be sold for less than two hundred yuan each, but seeing as we’re all from Ding Village, I think I can pull a few strings and get you coffins for only a hundred and eighty each. If you submit your requests right now, I’ll have someone deliver the coffins tomorrow.’

As the sun sank in the west, a red glow settled over the village. The sweet scent of spring drifted in from the fields and dissipated through the village streets. Standing on the top step of his doorway like a political leader atop a rostrum, my dad scanned the crowd of villagers and addressed them in a loud voice:

‘These coffins are not very cheap, actually. It would cost about the same to make your own. If they were such a great bargain, don’t you think I’d have told you about it earlier?

‘Honestly, I wouldn’t sell one to my own brother, not if he asked. The wood is not even dry yet. . In a couple of days, these coffins are going to start showing cracks as wide as your finger.

‘You’d be better off buying wood and building a coffin yourself. Then you could make whatever kind you wanted.

‘We’re all friends and neighbours here. . There’s no need to get all worked up, or turn this into some kind of confrontation. Because if it comes to that. .’, pointing at Jia Genzhu and Ding Yuejin: ‘You two might be in charge of the village task force, but I’m the guy in charge of the county. . and who do you think wins? Who has the final say? If this turned into a fight or got ugly, one word from me and the higher-ups would have the police and public security here so fast it would make your head spin. But nobody wants that, am I right? What kind of a neighbour would I be — what kind of a person would I be — to do something like that?’

After that, nothing more was said.

After that, there was nothing more to be said.

The crowd of villagers dispersed and began heading back to the school. The setting sun hung red and heavy in the sky, like a ball of glowing red-vermilion ink. Like lead. It slowly sank towards the horizon, dragged to earth under its own leaden weight. The western border of the central plain appeared to be a swathe of fire; you could almost hear the flames, popping and crackling like a wildfire raging through a grove of cypress trees.

Ding Village elementary was silent, sleeping the sleep of the dead. That day, the sky had been so clear it was as if you could see right through it, to a deep and bottomless blue heaven. But now, in the middle of the night, the sky was overcast, as damp and dark as a freshly dug grave. In the silence of the school, a deep well of silence, you could almost hear the clouds bumping against each other. Everyone was asleep. Even Grandpa was asleep.

Thump. Thump. Someone was knocking at Grandpa’s window. The late-night visitor must have come in through the unlocked school gate. Since Genzhu and Yuejin had confiscated Grandpa’s keys, no one bothered to lock up at night. People came and went at all hours, so the gate was always open. Anyone could walk right in and creep up to Grandpa’s window, unheard. Thump, thump. . The sound continued, steady as a drumbeat.

‘Who’s there?’ Grandpa called.

‘It’s me, Professor,’ the visitor wheezed. ‘Open up.’

Grandpa opened the door to find Zhao Dequan standing on the threshold. In the few days since Grandpa had last seen him, Dequan had changed beyond recognition. Where he had been skin-and-bone before, now he was just bone. What flesh he had left hung limp from his skeletal frame, dark and discoloured, a patchwork of dry, hardened scabs; the sockets of his eyes, two deep, dark pits. One look at him and Grandpa could see that death was dancing in Zhao Dequan’s body. His eyes were dull, bereft of light. He stood at Grandpa’s door like a cadaver in shabby clothes. Under the electric lights, his shadow seemed more lifelike than his person, a dark silhouette flickering on the wall like a funeral shroud ruffled by the breeze.

When Grandpa opened the door, Zhao Dequan broke into a smile, a sickly grin that seemed to cost him a good deal of effort.

‘Professor Ding,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking it over, and I decided that while I’m still well enough to walk, I ought to return the blackboard. I don’t want to end my life by doing something so low. It’s a blackboard, not a coffin. Once the fever is gone, the kids will be back in school, and their teachers will need something to write on. I’d rather be buried without a coffin,’ he sighed, ‘than leave those kids without a blackboard.’

Grandpa looked out and saw the blackboard loaded on a hand-cart parked beside the gate.

‘I can’t lift it myself,’ said Zhao Dequan. ‘Can you help me carry it inside?’

With a lot of clunking and clattering, Grandpa and Zhao Dequan managed to carry the blackboard into the room.

‘Careful you don’t hurt yourself,’ Grandpa said, as they leaned the blackboard up against a wall.

‘No matter. I’m going to be dead soon, anyway. If Genzhu and Yuejin see the blackboard, you can blame it on me. . Tell them I’m the one who brought it back here.’

Zhao Dequan stood panting, trying to catch his breath. The same sickly smile was glued to his face like a sticking plaster. After he had helped Grandpa lean the blackboard against the wall and wiped the dust from his hands, Grandpa expected him to leave, but instead Dequan sat down on Grandpa’s bed, still smiling his silent, cardboard-cutout smile.

Grandpa waited for him to say something, but it seemed the man had nothing to say. When Grandpa offered him a drink of water, he waved it away. When Grandpa poured him a basin of water so he could wash his hands, he ignored the basin and said: ‘Professor, I’m fine. But if it’s okay with you, I’d just like to sit here for a while.’

‘Is something wrong?’ Grandpa asked, taking a chair opposite the bed. ‘If so, you can tell me.’

Zhao Dequan’s smile faded. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

The two men sat quietly, as still as the night around them. Silence lay thick across the plain. Now and then, a chirp or a cry broke the stillness. Some tiny insect managing to make itself heard. Then there was silence, and after that, more silence.

‘You ought to move back into the school,’ said Grandpa awkwardly, trying to make conversation.

Zhao Dequan stared. ‘Don’t you see the state I’m in? I doubt I’ll live more than a few days.’

‘How can you say that?’ Grandpa tried his best to be reassuring. ‘You’ve made it through the winter and into spring. I bet you’ll live at least another year.’

Zhao Dequan smiled wryly, unconvinced. As he shifted position on the bed, his shadow flickered over the walls like a black silk funeral shroud. It was clear that he was having trouble moving, but his shadow remained active. It was as if his spirit had already left his body and was hovering nearby.

Grandpa realized that Zhao Dequan was right: he really was going to die soon.

‘Do you have a casket yet?’ he asked, deciding he might as well be direct. ‘Even if it’s not the best quality, you’ve got to be buried in something.’

Zhao looked embarrassed. ‘Jia Genzhu and Ding Yuejin gave my wife permission to cut down one of the paulownia trees to make my coffin.’

Zhao gripped the edge of the bed for support, as if he were getting ready to stand up and leave. But instead of leaving, he spoke again. ‘Professor, that’s really what I came here to tell you. Genzhu and Yuejin gave my wife special permission to cut down a tree for my coffin, but now everyone is jumping on the bandwagon, chopping down the paulownia and cottonwoods. And some of those people don’t even need coffins. They’re cutting down all the trees in the village. . I’m afraid that by morning, there won’t be any left.