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Blackie's heart, too, is swinging back and forth.
Woman
Wen Hai finally got a wife, which made the villagers very happy. But people listening at the door that night said she wouldn't let him do it. She refused to loosen the knot in her red sash and spent the whole night crying.
Later on, they said that not only would she not take off her trousers for him, but she even refused to work in the fields. And when Wen Hai came in from a hard day's work, instead of cooking for him, she did nothing but cry; she kept it up all day long.
Before long, the village was in an uproar. Not taking her trousers off for him is one thing, but refusing to work the fields and not cooking are things he should not tolerate.
"The founder of the Wen clan cave dwellers would not have tolerated this," they told Wen Hai.
"What should I do?"
"Beat her till she comes around."
"Can I do that?"
"Go ask your mother," said a man whose face was creased and pitted like a newly plowed hillside and on whose chin grew a wispy goatee like partially chewed grass on a grave site.
Wen Hai went and asked his mother, who told him, "Trees need to be pounded if they are to grow straight. Women are the same."
So Wen Hai went home and, taking his mother's advice, beat his wife black and blue.
People listening at the door reported, "It worked. Wen Hai is doing it to his wife right now, and he keeps saying, 'Fuck your old lady. You think I'm screwing you? No, I'm screwing that two thousand yuan. Fuck your old lady. You think I'm screwing you? No, I'm screwing that two thousand yuan!' "
"That's exactly what Wen Hai's daddy did to his mother back then," someone said.
Not long afterward, Wen Hai's wife started cooking for him.
After that, Wen Hai's wife was seen following him out into the fields, keeping her distance, a hoe over her shoulder.
"My, my, black-and-blue."
"My, my, black-and-blue."
The women in the fields scrunched up their mouths, blinked their eyes, and shook their heads.
‹h4
"Go on," his wife said. "He hasn't sent us any money for at least half a year. And bring some burlap bags back home with you."
So Leng Two's father climbed unsteadily onto a manure cart heading to the mines. The day after his father left, Leng Two went mad. The same thing happened as before; he kept shouting over and over, "Murder! Murder!"
Leng Two lay face up on the kang, slapping it with his big, swarthy hands, making it resound like a threshing ground. When he tired of that, he pressed the back of his head against the hard brick sleeping platform, arched his back, and shouted, "Murder! Murder!" When he tired of that, he recommenced slapping the kang. Not daring to leave his side, Leng Two's mother kept a vigil beside him.
We're done for if he really commits murder. He would have to be possessed to really commit murder. These were her thoughts as she stood by the stove. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
"So fucking poor," Leng Two said often, "that we can't even eat oatmeal bread without mixing it with wild yams."
Leng Two's mother replied, "That's to save money for you."
"How many fucking years of going without oatmeal bread will it take to save up two thousand yuan?"
This time, Leng Two's mother went ahead and made some oatmeal bread. But he wouldn't eat it. He just kept shouting "Murder" and slapping the kang until he wore holes in the grass mat, which had already been mended with burlap bags.
Villagers said that if the barefoot doctor, one of those itinerant care providers, could do no good, she ought to ask the spirit healer to look at her son. But Leng Two's mother just shook her head, for she knew from experience that neither the barefoot doctor nor the spirit healer could cure him.
We're done for if he really commits murder. He would have to be possessed to really commit murder. Again these were her thoughts.
Then one day, the villagers realized that Leng Two had stopped screaming "Murder" and slapping the kang.
Leng Two slept soundly on the kang, snoring like a pig.
"Is he cured?" someone asked Leng Two's mother as she fetched water.
"Yes, he's fine."
"How did that happen?"
"He's fine." Leng Two's mother walked off in a hurry.
Leng Two's father returned on the manure cart, reporting that their daughter-in-law would give them no money but sent him back with a few burlap bags and some ephedrine. Leng Two's mother did not tell his father that he had gone mad, for she had not told him the time before either. Leng Two's father took no notice of the sorry condition of the kang mat, either this time or the time before. He was concerned only with the ephedrine, two crystals of which would take care of his problem.
Leng Two's mother mashed some boiled yams for Leng Two to use as paste to mend the grass mat with the burlap bags.
At least he didn't commit murder. At least he's not possessed, Leng Two's mother was thinking as she stood beside the stove, watching him mend the mat. She raised her arm to wipe her eyes with her sleeve every so often.
In the Haystack
Silence all around; the moon goddess casts her light on the ground. On the moonlit side of the haystack, he and she tamp out a nesting spot.
"You first."
"No, you first."
"We'll go in together, then."
He and she climb into the nest, bringing the hay sliding down so that it buries them both. He reaches out with his muscular arms to prop it up again.
"Don't worry, this is fine." She cuddles up in his arms. "You must hate me, Elder Brother Chou."
"I don't hate you. The coal miners have more money than me."
"I won't spend any. I'll save it up so you can find a wife."
"No, thanks."
"But I want to."
"I said, 'No, thanks.' "
"And I said, 'I want to.' "
He can tell she is on the verge of tears, so he holds his tongue.
"Elder Brother Chou," she says after a long silent moment.
"Hm?"
"Give me a kiss, Elder Brother Chou."
"Don't be like that."
"But I want to."
"I'm not in the mood today."
"But I want to."
Once again, he can tell she is on the verge of tears, so he leans over and pecks her on the cheek, gently, softly.
"Not there, here." She puckers up.
He gives her a peck on the lips, cool and wet.
"How did that taste?"
"Like oats."
"Wrong, you're wrong. Try again." She pulls his head down.
"It still tastes like oats," he says after a thoughtful pause.
"Don't be silly. I ate some hard candy a while ago. Come on, try again." Again she pulls his head down.
"Hard candy, it tastes like hard candy," he hurries to say.
Neither of them says anything for a long while.
"Elder Brother Chou."
"Hm?"
"Why don't I do this for you tonight?"
"No, no, the goddess of the moon is right outside, so you can't do that. It's not something girls of the Wen clan cave dwellers do."
"Then make it next time, when I come back."
"Um."
Once again, there is a long silence, except for the footsteps and sighs of the moon goddess.
"Elder Brother Chou."
"Hm?"
"It's fate."
"Yes, it is."
"Our rotten fate."
"Mine, maybe. Yours is OK."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is."
"I said, 'No, it isn't.' "
He can tell she is crying now. He also feels hot tears rolling down his cheeks and splashing onto her face.