Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

go on. That was great. The spring breeze of modernization had blown into Ximen Village along with the east wind of the Cultural Revolution. Quick, turn it off, don’t let them know I know how to do that.
    I moved into my new quarters in the fall, when the sunlight was more red than white, and the red sun dyed the leaves of the apricot tree red. Each evening or early morning, when the sun was sinking or rising, breakfast and dinnertime for the pig farmers, the pens were unusually quiet. That’s when I stood up on my hind legs and, with my front legs curled in front of me, began eating apricot leaves right from the tree. Slightly bitter, but loaded with fiber, they helped lower my blood pressure and keep my teeth clean.
    One day, when the apricot leaves were bright red, around the tenth day of the tenth lunar month — yes, that was the day, my memory’s still sharp — early on the tenth, just after the sun, big and red and gentle, had climbed into the sky, Lan Jinlong, whom I hadn’t seen in a very long time, returned. He was accompanied by the four Sun brothers, who attended to his every need and desire, and the brigade accountant, Zhu Hongxin, who had bought 1,057 pigs for the astonishingly low cost of 5,000 yuan, or less than 5 yuan apiece. I was performing my morning exercises when I heard the roar of motors. I looked outside in time to see three vehicles with trailers coming my way from beyond the apricot grove. They were so dusty they looked like they’d come straight from the desert, the hoods so dirty it was impossible to see what color they were. They bumped and rattled their way through the grove behind the new pigpens and into a clearing littered with broken bricks and tiles and mud-covered wheat stalks. Looking like long-tailed monsters, they took their time coming to a complete stop, after which I saw Lan Jinlong, his hair a mess and his face covered with grime, climb out of the first cab. Then Zhu Hongxin and Dragon Sun climbed out of the second vehicle, and finally, the remaining three Sun brothers and Mo Yan climbed out of the last one. All four faces in this last group were coated with dust, looking like the terracotta warriors of the First Emperor. Then I heard the oink-oinks of pigs in the three trailers, getting steadily louder, until it was a shrill chorus. Was I excited! I knew the day of the pigs had arrived. I couldn’t see these newcomers; I could only hear them and smell the strange odor of their droppings. I was ready to bet they were an ugly lot.
    Hong Taiyue rode up like the wind on his brand-new Golden Deer; bicycles were a rarity at the time, and only the branch secretaries were permitted to buy them. Hong parked his bike at the edge of the clearing, up against an apricot tree, half of whose top had been cut off. He didn’t lock it, which shows how fired up he was. He greeted Jinlong with open arms, a conquering hero. Now don’t think he was about to give Jinlong a hug — that’s for foreigners, something Chinese didn’t practice during the pig-raising era. So when Hong reached the spot where Jinlong was standing, he dropped his arms, then reached out and patted Jinlong on the shoulder.
    “I see you bought them.”
    “One thousand fifty-seven altogether, exceeding the assigned quota!” Jinlong said as he started to sway and, before Hong could catch him, crumpled to the ground.
    Almost immediately the four Sun brothers and Zhu Hongxin, who was clutching a Naugahyde briefcase, started to sway as well. Only Mo Yan was full of energy. He raised his arms and shouted:
    “We fought our way back! We were victorious!”
    The red sun shining down made it a somewhat solemn and tragic scene. Hong Taiyue summoned the brigade’s cadres and militiamen to carry these pig buyers who had performed such meritorious service, and the three drivers, over to the buildings housing the animal keepers.
    “Huzhu, Hezuo, go find some women to make noodles and eggs for these men in recognition of their services,” he shouted. “Then get people to unload the trailers.”
    I got my first look at the ghastly animals as soon as the tailgates came down. Those aren’t pigs! How could anybody call them pigs? Some big, some small, different colors, and every one filthy, covered with their own shit, and stinking to high heaven! I shoved a couple of apricot leaves up my nose. I thought they’d be bringing over some pretty little pigs to keep me company and supply the future king of pigs with a harem. Who