Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

came up with the idea of bringing a bunch of freakish offspring of wolves and pigs? I didn’t have the heart to look any longer, but their funny accents piqued my curiosity. Old Lan, I might have the spirit of a man somewhere inside me, but I’m still a pig, and I’d advise you not to expect too much from me. If humans are curious animals, then what do you expect from a pig?
    I rested my front hooves and chin in the crotch of the tree to lessen the pressure on my hind legs. The branches sagged and shook. A woodpecker on one of the limbs cocked his head and stared down at me, his beady, black eyes filled with curiosity. Not knowing bird talk, I couldn’t speak to him, but I could tell I was freaking him out. I watched through the leaves of my tree as the newcomers were unloaded. They were all semiconscious, barely able to stand, a pitiful bunch. A sow with a cylindrical snout and pointy ears, apparently too old and weak to travel long distances, passed out as soon as she hit the ground. Some of the rest tilted to one side, others were sprawled on the ground, and some were scratching themselves against the bark of apricot trees — scrape scrape. My god, what thick hides! Yes, they had fleas and they had scabies, and I had to be sure to keep my distance. One black male caught my attention. He was scrawny, but looked to be clever and bright. Here’s what he looked like: long snout, tail dragging on the ground, dense, hard bristles, broad shoulders, pointy ass, thick limbs, tiny, keen eyes, two yellow front teeth that stuck out between his lips. In short, the next thing to a wild boar. So while all the others looked wretched from the long trip, this one sauntered around taking in the sights, like a whistling hoodlum walking around with his arms crossed. A few days later, Jinlong gave this one a name: Diao Xiaosan. That was the name of a bad character in the model revolutionary opera Shajiabang. Yes, he was the bad guy who snatched a girl’s bundle and wanted to take advantage of her. Diao Xiaosan and I would have some interesting times together, but I’ll get to that later. I watched the commune members, under Hong Taiyue’s direction, herd the pigs into the two hundred pens. It was chaos. The animals, with their low IQs, were used to running wild and oblivious to the reality that once inside the pens, they could live in ease and comfort. They thought they were being rounded up for the slaughterhouse, so they squealed and bawled and ran for their lives and crashed into each other, fighting like cornered beasts. Hu Bin, who’d done all those bad things during my ox years, was put flat on his back by a crazed white pig that butted him in the belly He struggled to sit up, ashen-faced and bathed in a cold sweat, holding his belly with his hands and moaning. This luckless bumpkin who harbored dark thoughts and had too high an opinion of himself wanted to be a part of damned near everything, and he always got the worst of things. So while he was despicable, he was also to be pitied. You probably remember how I got even with him on the sandbar by the Grain Barge River, don’t you? Well, in the years since, he’d gotten old and even had trouble speaking, now that his teeth had fallen out. And here I was, a pig not even a year old, young and sprightly, enjoying life. Being reborn over and over may wear a guy out, but it has its advantages.
    Another animal, an angry castrated male with half an ear missing and a ring in its nose, bit Chen Dafu on the finger. This rotten individual, who’d once had illicit dealings with Qiuxiang, screamed so loud you’d have thought the pig had taken off his whole hand. In contrast to these useless men, the slow-moving middle-aged women — Yingchun, Qiuxiang, Bai Lian, and Zhao Lan — bent at the waist, stretched out their arms, made gentle sounds with their tongues, and, with friendly smiles, got close to some of the pigs that had been forced into a corner. Despite the filth covering the animals, there were no looks of disgust on the faces of these women, just genuine smiles. The pigs oinked but didn’t run away, so the women reached out, disregarding the filth on their bodies, and scratched their hides. Pigs never pass up a good scratching, and people love to be flattered. The animals’ fighting will evaporated; shutting their eyes blissfully, they swayed a moment or two and then slumped to the ground. The only thing left was for the women to pick up their velvet prisoners and,