Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

street. A car was coming our way, driving normally, still two hundred yards away, plenty of time to cross. Your son wanted to, but I grabbed his shirt with my teeth and wouldn’t let him. “What’s wrong with you, Little Four?” your son said. “Don’t be chicken.” But I wouldn’t let go. It was my job to keep my mistress from worrying. Once the car had passed, I let go of him, but remained on my guard, prepared to protect your son with my life, if necessary, as we crossed the street. I could tell by the smell that your wife’s mind was at ease. She followed us all the way to school. I watched her ride off on her bike and then trotted after her, keeping a distance of a hundred yards or so between us. I waited till she put her bike away, changed into her work clothes, and started her day before running up and barking softly to let her know everything was all right. A look of gratification came over her, and the smell of love was strong.
    We started taking shortcuts on the third day, after letting your son sleep till seven o’clock. We could make it to the school gate in twenty-five minutes if we took our time and fifteen if we ran. After you were kicked out of the house you often stood at your office window with Russian binoculars to watch us as we passed down a nearby lane.
    In the afternoons we were in no hurry to get home. “Little Four, where’s Mama now?” he’d ask me. I’d sniff the air to pick up her scent. I’d only need a minute to fix her location. If she was at work, I’d face north and bark; if she was home, I’d face south and bark. When she was home, that’s where we headed, no matter what. But if she was at work, we could have a little fun.
    Your son was a good boy. He never followed the example of those unruly kids who left school with their backpacks and went to one roadside stall or department store after another. The only thing he liked to do was go to the New China Bookstore and borrow children’s books for a fee. Once in a while he’d buy one, but most of the time he just paid to borrow them. The person in charge of selling and lending children’s books? Your lover, that’s who. But she wasn’t your lover then. She was nice to your son; I could smell the good feelings, and not just because we were regular customers. I didn’t pay much attention to how she looked, since her scent was intoxicating enough. I could distinguish a couple of hundred thousand scents floating around in the city by then, from plants to animals, from mining ores to chemicals, and from food to cosmetics. But none of them pleased me like Pang Chunmiao’s scent. To be perfectly honest, there were in the neighborhood of forty local beauties who emitted a lovely scent. But they all had impurities. All but Chunmiao. Hers was like a mountain spring or the wind in a forest of pine trees, fresh, uncomplicated, and never-changing. How I yearned for her touch — not the sort of yearning associated with family pets, but. . . damn it, even a great dog can experience a momentary weakness. As a rule, dogs weren’t allowed inside the bookstore, but Pang Chunmiao made an exception for me. You couldn’t find another shop in town that was as deserted as the New China Bookstore, which employed three female clerks, two middle-aged women, and Pang Chunmiao. The other two women did their best to butter up Chunmiao, for obvious reasons. Mo Yan, who was one of the bookstore’s rare customers, once saw Lan Kaifang sitting in a corner absorbed in a book, so he went over and tugged on the boy’s ear. Then he introduced him to Pang Chunmiao, telling her he was the son of Director Lan of the County Supply and Marketing Cooperative. She said that’s who she thought he was. Just then I barked to remind Kaifang that his mother had gotten off work and that her scent had traveled to the hardware store, and if we didn’t leave now, we wouldn’t get home before she did. “Lan Kaifang,” Chunmiao said, “you’d better be getting home now. Listen to your dog.” Then she said to Mo Yan, “That’s a very intelligent dog. Sometimes Kaifang gets so wrapped up in a book he forgets everything. When that happens, the dog runs in from outside, grabs his clothes in his teeth, and drags the boy out of the shop.”

42

Lan Jiefang Makes Love In His Office
Huang Hezuo Winnows Beans at Home
    After that first kiss, I wanted to back off, wanted to run away. Sure, I was happy, but I was also afraid and, of course, suffering from guilt