Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

picked up the scent of an approaching band of men. It was the militiamen who’d been after me a few days earlier. I’d only had time to eat about half of what I’d wanted, but one mouthful of such high-quality feed was the equivalent of ten mouthfuls of what I’d been eating. My energy was restored, my fighting will revitalized. You’re not going to hem me in, you two-legged dullards.
    Just then a square, grass-green, and very strange object sped my way, bouncing from side to side and trailing dust. I know now that it was a Soviet Jeep-like vehicle; actually, these days I know a lot more than that: I can point out an Audi, a Mercedes, a BMW, and a Toyota; I also know all about U.S. space shuttles and Soviet aircraft carriers. But at the time, I was a donkey, a 1958 donkey This strange object, with its four rubber wheels, was clearly faster than me, at least on level ground. But it would be no match for me on rugged terrain. Allow me to repeat Mo Yan’s comment: A goat can scale a tree, a donkey is a good climber.
    For the convenience of my story, let’s just say I knew what a Soviet Jeep was. It struck fear in me, but also piqued my curiosity, and I hesitated just long enough for the militiamen to catch up and surround me. The Soviet Jeep blocked my escape route when it stopped less than a hundred yards from me and disgorged three men. One of them I recognized right off: the former district, now county, chief. He hadn’t changed much in the years since I’d last seen him; even the clothes on his back looked like the same ones he’d worn in the past.
    I had no bone to pick with County Chief Chen. In fact, the praise he’d showered on me years before continued to warm my heart. He’d also been a donkey trader, and that I liked. In a word, he was a county chief with emotional ties to donkeys, and I not only trusted him, I was actually glad to see him.
    With a wave of his hand, he signaled his men not to approach any closer. Then with another wave he signaled the militiamen behind me, who wanted either to capture or kill me to bring credit to themselves, to stop where they were. He alone, raising his hand to his mouth to give out a whistle that was music to my ears, walked up to me. When he was four or five yards away, I spotted the toasted bean cake in his hand and drank in its heavenly fragrance. He treated me to a familiar little whistled melody, which brought feelings of mild sadness. My tensions dissolved, my taut muscles relaxed, and I wished for nothing more than to place myself in this man’s caressing hands. And then he was standing next to me, draping his right arm over my neck and holding the bean cake up to my mouth with the other. When the cake was gone, he rubbed the bridge of my nose and muttered:
    “Snow Stand, Snow Stand, you are a fine donkey. Too bad people who have no understanding of donkeys turned you wild and unruly. It’s all right now, you can come with me, I’ll teach you how to become a first-rate, obedient, and courageous donkey that everyone will love.”
    He first ordered the militiamen away and told his driver to return to town. Then he climbed aboard, bareback, like a pro, straddling me right at the spot where I was most comfortable. He was a practiced rider who knew his way around a donkey. With a pat on my neck, he said:
    “Let’s go, my friend.”
    From that day forward I was County Chief Chen’s mount, carrying a lean Party official with an abundance of energy all over the vast spaces of Gaomi County. Up till that time, my movements had been restricted to Northeast Gaomi Township, but after I became the county chief’s companion, my traces were found north to the sandbars of the Bohai, south to the iron mines of the Wulian Mountain Range, west to the billowing waters of Sow River, and east to Red Rock Beach, where the fishy smells of the Yellow Sea permeated the air.
    This was the most glorious period of my entire donkey life. During those days, I forgot about Ximen Nao, forgot about all the people and events that had colored his life, even forgot about Lan Lian, with whom I’d had such close emotional ties. As I recall those days now, the basis of my contentment was most likely linked to a subconscious appreciation of “official” status. A donkey, of course, respects and fears an official. The deep affection that Chen, the head of an entire county, held for me is something I’ll remember to the end of my days. He personally prepared my feed and would let no