Yan Lianke: Dream of Ding Village

With that look, my dad drew blood. One last twist of the knife.

Grandpa knew everything now. It was as if everything my dad had ever done had been laid out before his eyes. While my dad was leaving the village, Grandpa was hurrying back to it. His first stop was Ding Yuejin’s house.

Yuejin and his family were gathered around the table, eating a sumptuous breakfast of stir-fried golden pumpkin, scrambled eggs with dark green leeks, piping-hot rice porridge and fried cakes. They were enjoying this feast behind closed doors when Grandpa burst into their courtyard. Yuejin, who seemed surprised to see him, motioned Grandpa to take a seat. Now that he was so sick, he told Grandpa, his family felt that he deserved to eat whatever he wanted. The cakes were supposed to be a special treat just for him, but he had insisted they make more so everyone could share them.

‘Don’t stop eating on my account,’ Grandpa said as he sat down. ‘I don’t want to interrupt your breakfast.’

Grandpa knew that since everyone had moved out of the school, Yuejin had been receiving regular food subsidies from the county government. Because he had the official village seal, he was able to get the best-quality rice and flour for free. His family ate very well, behind closed doors where no one could see. Grandpa glanced around the courtyard and saw piles of brand-new desks and chairs from the school stacked beneath the eaves. There were also several logs, sawed into six-foot lengths, that Grandpa knew had come from the big paulownia tree that once stood in the schoolyard. Also a dozen or so wooden nameplates, still marked with class numbers, which had once hung above the classroom doors. The sight of all these things, so clearly stolen from the school, embarrassed Grandpa, but he didn’t want them to think he was snooping, so he quickly averted his eyes.

Yuejin’s family lived comfortably. Their house had a tiled roof and a courtyard of poured concrete, and the rafters were hung with ears of corn from last winter’s crop. Everyone was rosy-cheeked and healthy. Even their pigs seemed exceptionally plump. When one of the pigs came snuffling around the table, looking for scraps, Yuejin shooed it off.

As the pig scampered away, Yuejin turned to Grandpa. ‘So, Uncle, what brings you here so early?’

Grandpa unwrapped the paper package my dad had given him, revealing three large ginseng roots. With round knobs at the top, and tendrils branching out from the sides like arms and legs, they looked like little dolls. The skin was pale yellow, almost translucent, and gave off a strong medicinal smell. Yuejin’s family, none of whom had ever seen wild ginseng before, gathered around for a closer look. ‘Ooh, it’s true what they say,’ said one of the women. ‘They look just like little people.’

Grandpa picked up one of the roots and offered it to Yuejin. ‘This one’s for you. You can boil it to make ginseng tea. This is wild ginseng from the north-west. It takes decades for the roots to grow this thick. It’s supposed to be a good tonic for strengthening the body, and will probably fight the fever better than any medicine.’

Ding Yuejin, who knew that wild ginseng was incredibly expensive, refused to accept the gift. When Grandpa insisted, he backed away, blushing and stammering. ‘No, no, Uncle. I can’t take that. Ding Hui meant it as a gift for you.’

But Grandpa pressed it into his hand. ‘Your cousin was very specific. He asked me to give this piece to you.’

Yuejin relented. After he had carefully wrapped the ginseng in paper and set it on the table, he said suddenly: ‘Uncle, you should tell Ding Hui to stay away from the village. Genzhu and some of the others are planning to hurt him.’

‘Genzhu promised me he wouldn’t,’ said Grandpa. ‘If you’d be willing to give up the seal.’

Yuejin thought for a moment. ‘All right,’ he said with a smile. ‘Tell Genzhu that if I die before him, I’ll leave him the seal. I don’t care about being buried with it. It’s not like it’s going to do me any good once I’m dead.’

He glanced at the breakfast table, laden with dishes of food, and seemed embarrassed. ‘But I have a feeling he’ll die first. Other than the rashes and itching, I don’t have any other symptoms. That’s a good sign. If he dies before me, I’ve got to go on living. I need that seal to collect my food subsidies from the county cadres.’

The package of ginseng was still lying on the table, where Yuejin had left it. Eyeing it suspiciously, he asked: ‘Uncle, you didn’t come here to speak up for Jia Genzhu, did you? After all, you and I are family. We Dings have to stick together.’

Now it was Grandpa’s turn to look embarrassed.

‘Of course not, of course not,’ he assured his nephew. He stayed for a while longer, made some small talk, then left.

Grandpa’s next stop was Jia Genzhu’s house.

As Grandpa walked through the courtyard and into Genzhu’s living room, he noticed that the house looked a lot like Ding Yuejin’s. The dozen or so desks and chairs stacked beneath the eaves were brand new, taken from the school. A pile of logs was all that was left of the cottonwood and paulownia trees that had once stood outside the school kitchen. Genzhu had even taken the basketball hoop and frame. It had been dismantled, and was lying in a twisted heap in the middle of the courtyard. Inside the house, the rafters were stacked with wooden frames ripped from the windows of the school. There were other odds and ends that Grandpa recognized, piled in corners or scattered about the room: pots, woks, a bamboo steamer, a metal bucket, a high-backed chair, a large blackboard, piles of blank homework notebooks and bags of unused chalk and pencils.

Jia Genzhu’s living room looked like a school supply warehouse.

Grandpa spied a rusted sheet of metal propped behind the living room door. It was the same piece of metal that had served for so long as the school bell. He couldn’t imagine why Genzhu had taken it, or how he planned to use it. Maybe he thought the metal would be worth something. But to Grandpa, it wasn’t just a piece of metal to be sold for scrap, but the school bell he’d been ringing for decades. He felt like it belonged to him, not to the school, and that Genzhu had stolen something personal.

Grandpa couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Genzhu noticed Grandpa staring. ‘You didn’t come here looking for that bell, did you?’ he asked.

Grandpa smiled sheepishly and shifted his gaze. After he’d assured Genzhu that of course he hadn’t come to snoop, that he’d never do such a thing, he showed him the piece of ginseng he’d brought. ‘My son Hui asked me to give you this. It’s genuine wild ginseng. He said if you let it steep for a while in boiling water, then drink the tea, you’ll get some of your strength back.’

Grandpa pushed the ginseng towards Genzhu, inviting him to take it. ‘You really ought to try it, son. People have been taking ginseng since ancient times. Why, even the emperors used it to treat illnesses that their doctors couldn’t cure. It will relieve your symptoms, and if you keep taking it, you might even get cured.’

Genzhu looked down at the ginseng in Grandpa’s hand, then raised his head and said coldly, ‘Ding Hui came into the village this morning and passed out cigarettes to everyone but me.’

‘Oh, surely not!’ Grandpa gave an unconvincing laugh. ‘Not after he went out of his way to bring you the ginseng. Even the best cigarette can’t compare with a tiny piece of this.’

‘Isn’t he afraid that if I start taking ginseng,’ Genzhu sneered, ‘I’ll get my strength back and bash him over the head when he’s not looking?’

Grandpa went pale. For a moment, his smile froze, but he quickly managed to regain his composure. ‘Son, just take the ginseng,’ he said with a reassuring smile. ‘Once you’ve got your strength back, I think you’ll feel differently. Hui’s coming back to the village in a few days to exhume his son’s grave, so if you still want to bash his head in, you’ll have your chance then.’