Jia Pingwa - Ruined City

. . .

After admonishing Zhou Min to get him to return to Tongguan and rescue Tang Wan’er, Zhuang returned to his apartment, where he discovered that Niu Yueqing had left him. He had suddenly become a lonely man in a cheerless house, like a nest with broken eggs after the hens have flown the coop. He saw her request for a divorce. Before that time, he would have jumped at the suggestion, and he was astounded to see the letter in front him. After reading it, he let out a loud laugh and made himself a strong cup of coffee, feeling an unusual sense of relief. But after spending a day in the room alone, the emptiness got to him; he had to put on the funereal music and turn the volume all the way up before he could lie down peacefully in bed to think. In the past, whenever he’d had a dalliance with Tang Wan’er, Liu Yue, or even Ah-can, he had come home hoping that Niu Yueqing would scream hateful words at him. If she ignored him, he felt bad; if she devoted all her care to him, he felt guilty. Tormented by these reactions from his wife, he had hoped more than once to end the marriage. Now it was finally going to be over, and all he could think about were her positive traits, which, however, did not motivate him to go to Shuangren fu and ask for her forgiveness. It was obvious to him that getting back together would be virtually impossible. First of all, would she be able to live with the shadow of his relationship with Tang Wan’er? Besides, how would he deal with his feelings for the woman? It was she who had infused him with new emotions and new desires, and now that she had been plunged into an abyss of suffering, could he continue to live as if nothing had happened with a clear conscience? Even if he could bear the pain, wouldn’t that mean he would carry the burden of double crimes on his back for the rest of his life? But — but on second thought, it was precisely because of his encounter with Tang Wan’er, to which he had given himself body and soul, that he had inched closer and closer to the quagmire. In order to extricate himself, he judged her by applying the moral standards and norms for women, hoping that he would come to hate her and be able to forget her. But he could not think of any sinfulness on her part, or anything that would make him loathe her. He tried many times to forget her, but each time he ended up missing her more. It was like knowing that the glass of wine in front of him was laced with poison, but, unable to resist the tempting color and heady aroma, he took a drink. Meng came to see him once, criticizing him for being cocooned so long in literary creation that he no longer knew how to live in society. He dealt with everything as if it were art, which was what had gradually put him in this state, and look where that had gotten him. Now did he plan to continue the way it was? “You worry that you can’t let this one or that one go. But what about yourself? You’re a celebrity, and a celebrity must live a more carefree and expansive life than others, while you, just look how you suffer.”

Zhuang laughed silently, saying that Meng’s ideas were alien to him. He hadn’t agreed with Meng’s opinions before, and he wouldn’t agree with them now; all he wanted was for his friends to butt out. He said that Tang Wan’er was gone and Niu Yueqing had left home, which was a punishment from God. He and he alone would have to endure it.

After buying a case of instant noodles and doing his laundry for a few days, he was so bored that he went to Meng’s place and invited Zhao and Hong over to drink. He turned into a glutton at the sight of liquor, getting so drunk that he disgusted himself. So he got on his scooter each day, Walkman headphones over his ears, and roamed the city listening to music, his hair flying. Sometimes he wondered if a woman might stop him and ask for a ride; or he might even block the way of a pretty woman on the open road. But all he did was return after a frenzied ride, his face nearly unrecognizable from dust and sweat.

On this day, when he was out on his usual roam, an idea flashed into his mind, so he rode to the southern suburb to see the cow. The late autumn sun was still powerful; the corn had been harvested, but the soil had yet to be turned over, leaving dust to roll across a brownish-yellow expanse. When he got to the grounds outside Aunty Liu’s house, he was greeted by dozens of farm cattle; none was tied to a rope, and none was tethered to a stump or a millstone. Instead, they were looking into Liu’s yard through the crumpled fence, so he followed their eyes. The cow was lying down, looking like a pile of hide-covered bones. Aunty Liu was squatting by the cow’s head, stirring feed in a wooden basin. After parking his scooter, Zhuang walked in. Aunty Liu looked up silently, tears running down her cheeks. Knowing that the cow would not survive, he consoled himself with the fact that his timely arrival had made it possible for him to see her one last time. He pulled up a blade of pungent silver grass and put it by the cow’s mouth. She twitched her ears with difficulty, as a way to greet him; there was something sticky around her eyes, which were only half-open. She smelled the grass that lay on her drooling tongue. “Didn’t I tell you to go buy a bottle?” A man’s thick voice could be heard from inside the house. “What are you doing out there? There’s no use giving her food now.” He came out with another man and stood on the steps. All Zhuang sensed at first was a white glare, which turned out to be a long, thin blade in the man’s hand. Liu’s husband had a stubble-covered face, bloodless and ghastly pale. “Oh, you’re here,” he said when he spotted Zhuang. “Come inside for tea.”

“Are you killing the cow?” Zhuang asked.

“There’s nothing else we can do. It’s been too long, so we’d be better off to kill her to give her release than to let her continue to suffer. If she could talk, she would want it this way. You’re a celebrity who came to see her when she was sick. And you returned today when she has reached the end of her life.”

“The cow and I have a karmic connection.”

The blade-wielding man laughed. “Old Qi, I’m afraid no one will come to see you when you die.”

“I deserve that,” Liu’s husband said. “The cow is going to die by my hand, and that makes me guilty, too.”

The man walked up to the cow with the blade between his teeth, tightening his belt. “Old Qi, you and your wife come hold down the horns.” Liu’s husband went up while Aunty Liu covered her face and ran inside. “Women!” her husband cursed, holding both horns. She paused at the door, unable to bear the sight, but also unable to face the fact that she would not be with the cow when she died. Facing the door, she held tightly onto the rings. With the blade still in his mouth giving off a white glint, he felt around the cow’s throat before taking the instrument out of his mouth.

“Would you mind holding the cow’s tail, mister?” he asked. When Zhuang did not move, the man sneered and knelt down on one leg.

“Your suffering is reaching its end today. Don’t be reborn as a cow in your next life.” With a swish, he plunged the blade into the cow’s neck so deeply that part of the handle was invisible. Zhuang saw her eyes, the color of egg whites, roll up, as hot, gamey air gurgled around the entry point and blood ran down onto the warm earth in pink bubbles. Suddenly drained of energy, Zhuang squatted down when he saw Aunty Liu’s hands slip out of the rings as she slumped to the doorsill. At that moment, the cattle outside the yard bellowed and ran in circles as if crazed, kicking up so much dirt that the area was blanketed in dust. The butcher yelled and went over to shut the gate, picking up a leather whip. One crack of the whip stopped the cattle from stampeding. One let out a bleak lowing as it raced toward a trench, followed by the others, all emitting the same sound. Zhuang watched for a while, then turned back to see a cowhide spread out on the ground. The man rummaged in the messy cow flesh before retrieving a small golden-yellow object.