Yan Lianke - Dream of Ding Village

Once the festivities were over, my dad and the others began the solemn task of exhuming my grave.

The sound of firecrackers had brought a surge of villagers to my graveside. They flooded into the schoolyard like visitors to a temple fair. Some came to gawk, some to help, and others, just to join in the fun. Everyone talked about how lucky I was to have such a grand wedding ceremony. Even though the bride and groom were dead, it was better than most weddings in which both parties were still alive.

Although Ding Village had lost a lot of people recently, the ceremony drew a big crowd. It seemed as if half the village were there. Some of the people sitting or standing around my grave wore broad straw hats to block the burning sun, while others were bare-headed. Sunlight and perspiration glinted from several bald heads, making them look like freshly washed melons bobbing in a sea of human heads. At a signal from my father, the gravediggers dug their red-ribboned shovels and spades into the ground. Before long, there were two heaps of dirt on either side of my grave. As this was happening, the middle-aged master of ceremonies began making the rounds, doling out cigarettes and treats, as if he were presiding over a celebration rather than an exhumation. There were brand-name cigarettes for the men in the crowd, and candies, cakes and sweets for the women and children.

Rarely had there been so much activity at the school gate. Ding Yuejin and several other young men walked around stomping on spent firecrackers to make sure that they were extinguished. Because the weather was so dry, he explained to my dad, it would be easy for a pile of kindling to catch fire, and he wouldn’t want to see me burned in my grave.

When Ding Xiaoming arrived, he walked up to my dad, all smiles, and asked if he needed help with anything. Seeing that my father had the situation under control, he picked up a shovel and joined the crew of men who were digging up my grave.

There was also a woman named Fen, who had been a cook at the school and a good friend of my mother’s. Fen was now horribly thin and frail, and didn’t look as if she would live more than a few days, but she still made a point of asking after my mother. She told my dad how much she missed my mum, and said that she would never forget her kindness. When Fen was a new bride, it had been my mother who went to her hometown to meet her and escort her to her in-laws’ house in Ding Village.

Then there was ‘Woody’ Zhao, a young man who had refused to leave his house for days after finding out that he had the fever. But today he had joined the celebration and seemed to be in a better mood. When he noticed that the gravediggers were getting dirt on the plates of food near my grave, he moved them out of the way and asked my dad what he should do with them. Dad waved his hand and said, ‘Take them, if you want.’ Woody stuffed a couple of steamed buns into his pockets and divided the deep-fried sweets among the children who were playing in the crowd.

The schoolyard was a sea of bobbing heads, like an audience at a concert. Nearly 100 people had turned out to watch the fireworks, or to offer help, or to see how the elderly man who was the senior master of ceremonies would conduct the ritual. At each step in the process of exhuming my grave, he set off a string of firecrackers to frighten off evil spirits. He lit the first string of firecrackers when they broke the soil and began digging, and the second string when the helpers climbed down into my open grave. After they had wiped the dirt from my coffin and were preparing to open the lid, he set off a third string of firecrackers, draped a large red cloth over the grave and asked the crowd to move back a few steps, ensuring that no one would be able to see what state my body was in. Then he lowered a red tunic and trousers into the grave so that the helpers could begin dressing my remains.

When this was done, it was time to raise my remains. This was the most solemn part of the ceremony. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for my red-clad bones to appear. At this point, the elderly master of ceremonies pulled my dad aside and told him to go and get Grandpa, and then find somewhere far away from my grave to watch from. If Dad and Grandpa saw my remains and started crying, they might scare my ghost away. He also told Dad to talk to Grandpa about whether or not there would be a wedding banquet in the village, and whether they would be needing his services. Dad promised they would talk about it, and went off to find Grandpa.

In fact, my dad had already made up his mind about the banquet. He was planning to hold it in the city, rather than in Ding Village, because what was the point of treating a bunch of sick people and their families to a big, expensive meal? Instead, he had reserved three floors of the largest restaurant in the city, and invited all his closest friends, acquaintances and influential colleagues to join the feast. Lingzi’s dad, my new father-in-law, was the highest-ranking official in the county, so no one refused the invitation. Everyone who was anyone would be there, and they were all looking forward to rubbing elbows with the county governor.

My dad searched the whole school and couldn’t find Grandpa anywhere. He went back to the gate and searched through the crowd, but Grandpa wasn’t there. At this point, my dad realized that he hadn’t seen Grandpa since they’d started digging up my grave. No one else had, either.

My dad organized a search party.

They found Grandpa sitting alone by the side of the road leading to the village. He was hunched beneath the branches of a small elm, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the village and the withered, yellowed plain. He seemed to be lost in thought. Maybe he was thinking about important things like grief and loss, death and dissolution. Feelings that were miles wide and fathoms deep. Then again, maybe he was just tired and wanted a quiet place where he could sit down and rest. A place where he could be alone. He gazed at the dead crops and dried-up plain with a melancholy and worried expression. The little elm had more branches than leaves, and didn’t offer much in the way of shade. Grandpa might as well be sitting in the blazing sun. As my dad approached, he saw that the back of Grandpa’s white cotton shirt was stained with perspiration.

‘Dad,’ he said cautiously. ‘What are you doing? It’s too hot to be sitting out here.’

Grandpa slowly turned around. ‘I suppose Qiang’s been moved from his grave?’

‘Uh-huh.’

My dad squatted down next to Grandpa. ‘What are you doing out here?’

Grandpa stared at my dad for a long time before asking the question that had been on his mind. ‘Exactly how much older is this Lingzi girl?’

My dad grinned. ‘You didn’t come out here to watch for Jia Genzhu, did you? Are you afraid he’ll show up at the grave and make a scene?’

Grandpa ignored the question. ‘I want to know, Hui. How much older is she?’

‘Qiang needs someone older to take care of him.’ My dad sat down on the ground. ‘And I wouldn’t worry about Genzhu, if I were you. I was actually hoping he’d show up today. I’d like to see him try to lay a finger on me.’

‘Is it true Lingzi had a crippled leg?’

Grandpa looked into his son’s eyes, but my dad averted his gaze.

‘Yes, but it wasn’t obvious. They say you’d never notice unless you looked really close.’

Then, changing the subject: ‘If Genzhu does cause any trouble today, I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.’