Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

blood come out of his mouth and nose. . . .
    As I stood in the gateway of my pen I made the most important decision of my life: Chairman Mao had died, which meant great changes were unavoidable in the human world. As for me, I’d become a homicidal pig, and if I stuck around, all I could look forward to was the butcher’s knife and a pot of boiling water. At that moment I thought I heard a voice summoning me from the distance:
    “Rebel, brothers!”
    Before fleeing into the wild, I opened the gates on the pens of the pigs who had survived the Red Death and let them out.
    “Brothers,” I said to them from a high spot of ground, “rebel!”
    They just stared at me blankly, having no idea what I was saying, all but one skinny immature sow — an unspoiled body with a black-and-white belly — who emerged from the crowd and said, “I’ll follow you, my king.” The rest of them just rooted around in their pens looking for something to eat. A few walked back inside to lie down lazily and wait to be fed by the humans.
    So with the little sow behind me, I headed southeast on ground so soft our legs sank in up to the knees. We left a clear trail. When we reached the bank of the deep, water-filled canal, I asked her:
    “What’s your name?”
    “They call me Little Flower, my king.”
    “Why do they call you that?”
    “Because there are two little floral patterns on my belly, my king.”
    “Did you come here from Mount Yimeng, Little Flower?”
    “No, my king.”
    “Then where did you come from?”
    “I don’t know, my king.”
    “You’re the only one who came with me. Why?”
    “I worship you, my king.”
    As I looked this simple little animal over, naive Little Flower, I was both moved and saddened. I nudged her belly with my snout as a sign of friendship.
    “All right, Little Flower,” I said, “humans no longer have any control over us, just like our ancestors. We’re free. But starting today, we’ll dine on the wind and drink the dew. It will be a hard life, and it’s not too late for you to change your mind.”
    “I’m not going to change my mind, my king,” she said decisively.
    “That’s wonderful news, Little Flower. Can you swim?”
    “Yes, my king, I can.”
    “Great!” I patted her on the rump and jumped into the water.
    The water was warm and gentle, and it felt wonderful to be immersed in it. I’d originally planned to swim to the opposite bank and walk from there, but I changed my mind. At first the surface of the water looked frozen in place, but once we were in it I realized that it flowed northward, toward the great canal once used by the Manchu government to transport grain, at a speed of at least five yards a minute. The speed of flow and our buoyancy would make our passage an effortless one. By barely kicking with my front legs, I sailed through the water like a shark, and when I turned to look, there was Little Flower, right behind me, all four legs churning in the water, head high, eyes flashing; she was breathing through her nose.
    “How’re you doing, Little Flower?”
    “I’m doing fine, my king.” But with that brief bit of conversation her nose dipped beneath the surface, which led to snorts and a spurt of frantic leg kicks.
    I lifted her up until she was nearly out of the water. “You’ll be fine,” I said. “We pigs are born swimmers. The key is not to panic. I’ve decided to stay off the roads and travel by water. That way we won’t leave a trail for those disgusting humans. Can you hold out?”
    “Yes . . .” She was gasping slightly.
    “Good. Here, why don’t you climb onto my back?” She refused, preferring to tough it out. So I dove underwater, and when I floated up to the surface I had her perched on my back. “Hold tight,” I said. “Don’t let go no matter what.”
    With Little Flower on my back, I floated down the canal past the Apricot Garden Pig Farm and on to the grand canal, heading east amid billowing waves. A fiery sunset put on a beautiful show in the western sky with mutating cloud formations — a green dragon, a white tiger, a lion, a wild dog — with rays of sunlight filling the gaps between clouds and lighting up the surface of the water.
    Waves chased us; we chased waves; waves chased one another. Great canal, where did you get such power? You carry with you mud, corn, sorghum, potato vines, even uprooted trees, on your eastward journey You also deposit dead pigs in your tree-lined shallows, where they swell up, rot,