Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

splashing skyward. Your son put down his game and gazed out the window, a look of envy crossing his face.
    “Kaifang,” your wife said, “your cousin Huanhuan is one of those boys.”
    I tried to recall what Huanhuan and Gaige looked like. Huanhuan’s face had always been sort of gaunt, and clean, Gaige’s was pale and pudgy, and always decorated with a line of snot down to his lips. I still recalled their unique smells, and that triggered an upsurge, like a raging river, of all the thousands of odors associated with the Ximen Village of eight years before.
    “Wow, standing there naked at his age,” he muttered. I couldn’t tell if that was a scornful or an envious comment.
    “Don’t forget, when we get home, say sweet things, be polite,” your wife reminded him. “We want your grandparents to be happy and our relatives to admire you.”
    “Then smear some honey on my lips!”
    “You love to upset me, don’t you?” your wife said. “But those jars of honey are for your grandparents. Say you bought them.”
    “Where was I supposed to have gotten the money?” he said with a pout. “They won’t believe me.”
    By now the car was driving down the village’s main street, lined with rows of 1980s barracks-style houses, all with the word Demolish on the brick walls. A pair of cranes with their enormous orange arms stood ready to begin rebuilding Ximen Village.
    The car pulled up to the gate of the old-fashioned Ximen family compound. The driver honked the horn, bringing a swarm of people out of the yard. I detected their individual odors at the same time that I saw their faces. Signs of age appeared in both their odors and their looks. All the faces were older, looser, and furrowed: Lan Lian’s blue face, Yingchun’s swarthy face, Huang Tong’s yellow face, Qiuxiang’s pale face, and Huzhu’s red face.
    Your wife wouldn’t step out of the car until your driver opened the door for her. Then she scooped up the hem of her dress, climbed out, and, because she wasn’t used to wearing heels, nearly fell. I watched as she struggled to keep her balance and not call attention to her gimpy hip.
    “Ah, my darling daughter!” Qiuxiang cried out happily as she ran up to Hezuo and seemed about to throw her arms around her. She didn’t, stopping just before she reached her daughter. The once willowy woman whose cheeks were now slack, her belly quite pronounced, had a loving and fawning look in her eyes as she reached out to touch the sequins on your wife’s dress. “My goodness,” she said in a tone that suited her perfectly, “can this really be my own daughter? I thought for a moment a fairy had come down from the heavens!”
    Your mother, Yingchun, walked up, aided by a cane, since one side of her body was not functioning. She raised her arm weakly and said to your wife:
    “Where’s my darling grandson, Kaifang?”
    Your driver opened the other door to bring out the gifts. I jumped out.
    “Is that Puppy Four?” Yingchun gasped. “My heavens, he’s big as an ox!”
    Your son emerged, I think, reluctantly.
    “Kaifang,” Yingchun cried out. “Let Grandma look at you. You’re a head taller, and it’s only been a few months.”
    “Hi, Grandma,” he said. Then he said, “Hi, Grandpa,” to your father, who had come up and patted him on the head. Two faces with blue birthmarks, one coarse and old, the other fresh and supple, presented an interesting contrast. Your son said hello to all his grandparents. Then your father turned to your wife. “Where’s his father? Why didn’t he come with you?”
    “He’s at a conference in the provincial capital,” she replied.
    “Gome inside,” your mother said, thumping the ground with her cane, “come inside, all of you.” She spoke with the authority of the head of the household.
    Your wife said to your driver, “You can go back now, but be here at three to pick us up. Don’t be late.”
    The people swept your wife and son into the yard, all carrying colorful packages in their arms. You assume I was left out of all the merriment, right? Well, you’re wrong. While the people were enjoying themselves, a black-and-white dog came out of the house. The smell of a sibling filled my nostrils, a surge of memories filled my mind. “Dog One! Elder brother!” I greeted him excitedly. “Dog Four, little brother!” he replied, as excited as I was. Our loud vocalizations startled Yingchun, who turned to look at us.
    “You two brothers, how many years