Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

donkey pen, into such torment that I chew the edge of my wicker feedbag, but then some of the newly fried black bean and grass in the feedbag finds its way into my mouth and I cannot help but chew it up and swallow it down, and the chewing and swallowing imbue me with an unadulterated sense of donkey delight.
    In the proverbial blink of an eye, it seems, I am halfway to becoming an adult, which will bring an end to the days when I was free to roam the confines of the Ximen estate. A halter has been put over my head and I have been tethered to a trough. At the same time, Jinlong and Baofeng, who have been given the surname Lan, have each grown two inches, and you, Lan Jiefang, born on the same day of the same month in the same year as I, are already walking. You waddle like a duck out in the yard. On a stormy day during this period, the family in the eastern addition has been blessed with the birth of twin girls. That proves that the power of the Ximen Nao estate has not weakened, since everyone seems to be having twins. The first one out was named Huzhu — Co-Operation — and her sister was called Hezuo — Collaboration. They are the offspring of Huang Tong, born from a union between him and Ximen Nao’s second concubine, Qiuxiang. The western rooms were turned over to my master, your father, after land reform; originally, it had been my first concubine, Yingchun’s, quarters. When the eastern rooms were given over to Huang Tong, the original occupant, Qiuxiang, apparently came along with them, and wound up as his wife. The main building of the Ximen estate, five grand rooms, now served as government offices for Ximen Village. It was where daily meetings were held and official business conducted. That day, as I was gnawing on a tall apricot tree, the coarse bark made my tender lips feel like they were on fire. But I was in no mood to stop. I wanted to see what was underneath. The village chief and Party secretary, Hong Taiyue, shouted and threw a sharp rock at me. It hit me in the leg, loud and irritating. Was that pain I felt? A hot sensation was followed by open bleeding. Hee-haw, hee-haw — I thought this poor, orphaned donkey was going to die. I trembled when I saw the blood, and hobbled from the eastern edge of the compound, as far away from the apricot tree as possible, all the way to the western edge. Right by the southern wall, in front of the door of the main building, a lean-to made of a reed mat over a couple of poles, open to the morning sun, had been set up to keep me out of the elements, and was a place to run to when I was frightened. But I couldn’t go there now, because my master was just then sweeping up droppings from the night before. I hobbled up and he saw that my leg was bleeding; I think he’d probably also seen Hong Taiyue throw the rock. When it was on its way, it cut through the colorless air, making a sound like slicing through fine silk or satin, and struck fear into the heart of this donkey. My master was standing in front of the lean-to, a man the size of a small pagoda, washed by the sunlight, half his face blue, the other red, with his nose as the dividing line, sort of like the division between enemy territory and the liberated area. Today that figure of speech sounds quaint, but at the time it was fresh and new. “My poor little donkey!” my master cried out in obvious agony. Then his voice turned angry. “Old Hong, how dare you injure my donkey!” He leaped over me and, with the agility of a panther, got up into the face of Hong Taiyue.
    Hong was the highest-ranking official in Ximen Village. Thanks to a glorious past, when all other Party cadres were turning in their weapons, he wore a pistol on his hip. Sunlight and the air of revolution reflected off his fancy brown leather holster, sending out a warning to all bad people: Don’t do anything reckless, don’t harbor evil thoughts, and don’t think of resisting! He wore a wide-brimmed gray army hat, a button-down white jacket, cinched at the waist by a leather belt at least four inches wide, and a gray lined jacket draped over his shoulders. His pants ballooned over a pair of thick-soled canvas shoes, with no leggings. He looked like a member of an armed working team during the war. During that war, I was Ximen Nao, not a donkey. It was a time when I was the richest man in Ximen Village, a time when Ximen Nao was a member of the enlightened gentry, someone who favored resistance against the invaders and supported