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Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

Titel: Life and Death are Wearing Me Out Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Mo Yan
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a son. I remember every lesson you gave me. Our society has developed along with the changing times, and everything I’ve done has befitted those changes. Tell me the truth, Uncle, over the past decade have the people’s lives gotten better or haven’t they?. . .”
    “I don’t want to hear any more fine words from you!”
    “Come down, Uncle,” Jinlong said. “If you say I’ve made a mess of things, I’ll resign and let someone more capable take over. Or, if you prefer, you can be the one holding the Ximen Village official seal.”
    While this exchange between Jinlong and Hong Taiyue was playing out, the policemen who had driven Pang Kangmei and others to the funeral were crawling toward the tomb. Just as they jumped to their feet, Hong Taiyue leaped off of the tomb and wrapped his arms around Jinlong.
    A muffled explosion sent smoke and the stench of blood flying into the air.
    After what seemed like an eternity, the stunned crowd quickly converged on the spot and pulled the two mangled bodies apart. Jinlong had been killed instantly, but Hong was still breathing, and no one knew what to do with the mortally wounded old man. They just stood there gawping at him. His face was waxen.
    “This is,” he stammered in a soft, barely audible voice as blood oozed from his mouth, “the last battle . . . unite for tomorrow. . . Internationale . . . has to . . .”
    Blood spurted from his mouth, a foot-high red fountain, and splattered on the ground around him. His eyes lit up, like burning chicken feathers, once, twice, and then darkened, the fires extinguished for all time.

53

As Death Nears, Charity and Enmity Vanish
A Dog Dies, but the Wheel of Life Rolls on
    I was carrying an old floor-model electric fan given to us by a colleague at the newspaper who had been promoted and was moving into new quarters. Chunmiao was carrying an old microwave oven, also a gift from that colleague. We’d just alighted from a crowded bus and were sweating profusely. It was hot and we were tired, but delighted to have these new — to us — items without having to spend a cent. It was a three- li walk from the bus stop to where we lived, but we weren’t willing to part with our limited funds to hire a pedicab, so we hoofed it, stopping frequently to rest.
    Dusk was deepening when we reached our kennel-like apartment, where our fat landlady was cursing at two other tenants for using tap water to cool the street in front of the building. Those two young tenants, our next-door neighbors, were gleefully throwing curses right back at her. A tall, thin man was standing in our doorway, the blue birthmark that covered half his face looking bronzed in the twilight. I set the fan down on the ground, hard, as I was racked by a chill throughout my body.
    “What is it?” Chunmiao asked.
    “It’s Kaifang,” I said. “Maybe you should make yourself scarce.” “What for? It’s time to deal with the situation.” We made ourselves as presentable as possible and, trying hard to look relaxed, walked up to my son carrying our new possessions.
    He was quite thin, but taller than me, and slightly stooped. Despite the heat, he was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt-jacket, black trousers, and a pair of sneakers of an indefinable color. His body gave off a sour smell; his clothes were sweat-stained. His luggage consisted solely of a transparent plastic bag. Saddened by the sight of a son who looked so much older than his years, I was on the verge of tears. I ran up to him, but the off-putting look on his face kept me from embracing him. I let my arms drop heavily to my sides.
    “Kaifang . . .”
    He looked me over without a trace of warmth, disgusted even by the tears that were now washing my face. He frowned, imprinting creases on his forehead above a nearly unbroken line of eyebrows, like his mother’s. He sneered.
    “Not bad, you two, making it to a place like this.”
    I was too tongue-tied to say anything.
    Chunmiao opened the door and carried in our fan and microwave. Turning on the twenty-five-watt overhead light, she said:
    “Since you’re here, Kaifang, you’d better come in. We can talk in here.”
    “I have nothing to say to you,” he said with a quick glance inside, “and I’m not going inside your house!”
    “No matter what, Kaifang, I’m still your father,” I said. “You’ve come a long way, and Aunt Chunmiao and I would like to take you to dinner.”
    “You two go, I’ll stay here,” Chunmiao said.

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