Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

were tears on her cheeks; I licked them dry — salty and fresh. “Why, dearest Chumiao? Is this a dream? Why?” “Dearest Lan, everything I have is yours, you want me, don’t you. ...” I struggled. We kissed again, desperately, and what followed was inevitable.
    We lay on the cot in each other’s arms; somehow it didn’t seem so narrow now. “Dearest Ghunmiao, I’m twenty years older than you, I’m ugly as sin, and I’m so afraid I’ll bring calamities down on you. I don’t deserve to live. ...” I was nearly incoherent. She stroked my chin and my face. With her mouth pressed against my ear, she said, “I love you.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I’ll be responsible for what happens.”
    “I don’t want you to be responsible. I’m a willing partner. I won’t leave you until we’ve been together a hundred times.”
    I was like a starving cow that has suddenly spotted a patch of fresh new grass.
    A hundred times came and went in a hurry, but we still found it impossible to part.
    On the hundredth time, we wished it would never end. She touched my face and said tearfully, “Take a good look at me. Don’t forget me.”
    “Chunmiao, I want to marry you.”
    “No.”
    “I’ve made up my mind,” I said. “What awaits us is probably an abyss. But I have no choice.”
    “Then we’ll jump in together,” she said.
    That night I went home to lay my cards on the table. My wife was in the side room, winnowing mung beans — a tricky job, but one she was good at. As her hands moved up and down and sideways, the beans fairly flew and the husks soared out.
    “What’s up?” I asked for lack of anything better to say.
    “His granddad sent over some mung beans.” She reached down and picked out some gravel. “They came from his garden. I don’t care if other things go bad, but not these. I’ll have some bean sprouts for Kaifang.”
    She went back to work.
    “Hezuo”—I hardened my heart—“I want a divorce.”
    Her hands stopped in midair and she stared blankly at me, as if she didn’t comprehend what I was saying.
    “I’m sorry, Hezuo, but I think that’s best.”
    The winnowing basket tipped slowly forward, sending a few, then a dozen or so, then a hundred or more beans spilling out onto the cement floor, like a green waterfall.
    The basket fell out of her hand and she began listing to the side, losing her sense of balance. I thought about reaching out to steady her, but she leaned up against a chopping board on which some onions and dry oil fritters lay. She covered her mouth with her hand and began to sob. Tears gushed from her eyes.
    “I really am sorry, but please do this for me.”
    She flung her hand away from her mouth and wiped the tears from her eyes with her fingers. Clenching her jaw, she said:
    “Over my dead body.”

43

Angered, Huang Hezuo Bakes Flat Bread
Drunk, Dog Four Displays Melancholy
    While you were laying your cards on the table with your wife, still covered with the heavy scent of passionate lovemaking with Pang Chunlai, I was outside crouching under the eaves, gazing at the moon, deep in thought. There was a deranged quality to the wonderful moonbeams. Since it was a full moon, all the dogs in the county were scheduled to meet in Tianhua Square. The first item on the agenda was a memorial for the Tibetan mastiff who could not adapt to life below sea level, causing his internal organs to fail, which led to internal bleeding and death. Next was to arrange a celebration for my third sister, who had married the Norwegian husky belonging to the county Political Consultative Conference chairman four months earlier, and had just had a litter of three white-faced, yellow-eyed bastard pups a month ago.
    Lan Jiefang, you rushed out of the house and gave me a meaningful glance as you passed by I saw you off with a series of barks: Old friend, I think the happy times are coming to an end for you. I felt mildly hostile toward you; the smell of Pang Chunmiao you carried with you worked to diminish the hostility I’d otherwise have felt.
    My nose told me you headed north, on foot, the same route I used when taking your son to school. A lot of noise from your wife came from inside the house, thanks to the open door, through which I saw her raise her cleaver and, with loud thuds, shred the onions and oil fritters on the chopping board. The pungent smell of chopped onions and rancid odor of oil fritters spread vigorously through the room. By now your scent