Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

you to issue me a guarantee that gives me the authority to farm on my own. Once I post that on my wall, no one will dare attack me. Ah, that black donkey... a good animal, the chief remarked emotionally. I owe you for what happened. I can’t give you the kind of pass you want, but I can give you a letter that explains your situation to the Farming Village Labor Bureau of the Provincial Party Committee. So Dad took the letter to the provincial capital, where he was received by the Labor Bureau head, who also tried to convince him to join the commune. Father refused. If Chairman Mao issues an order outlawing independent farming, I’ll join. If not, I won’t. Moved by Father’s intransigence, the Labor Bureau head wrote two lines at the bottom of the county chief’s letter: While it is our wish that all farmers join the People’s Communes and walk the path of collectivization, anyone who refuses to join is within his right to do so. Low-level organizations may not use coercive measures, especially illegal means, to force anyone to join a commune.
    Father placed this letter, which was like an imperial edict, in a glass frame and hung it on his wall. He had returned from the provincial capital in high spirits. Now that Mother and Jinlong and Baofeng had joined the commune, only three-point-two acres of the original eight, which were completely surrounded by land belonging to the collective, remained for us to farm, a narrow strip of land like a levee trying to hold back an ocean. In accord with his wish to be independent, Father built a new room, walled it off from the other three, and opened a new door. He added a stove and a kang, and that’s where he and I lived. Beyond this room and the ox shed against the southern wall, we owned three-point-two acres of land, a young ox, a cart with wooden wheels, a wooden plow, a hoe, an iron shovel, two scythes, a little spade, a pitchfork with two tines, a wok, four rice bowls, two ceramic plates, a chamber pot, a cleaver, a spatula, a kerosene lamp, and a flint.
    Admittedly, there were many things we lacked, but we’d slowly add whatever we needed. Dad patted me on the head.
    “Son, why in the world do you want to farm with me like this?”
    Without a second thought, I replied:
    “Looks like fun!”

14

Ximen Ox Angrily Confronts Wu Qiuxiang
Hong Taiyue Happily Praises Lan Jinlong
    During the months of April and May 1965, while my father was making an appeal in the provincial capital, Jinlong and Baofeng joined the People’s Commune with my mother. On that day, a solemn ceremony was held in the Ximen estate compound. Hong Taiyue spoke from the steps of the main house. The chests of my mother, Jinlong, and Baofeng were decorated with large red paper flowers; a red cloth was tied to our iron plow. My brother, Jinlong, delivered an impassioned speech expressing his determination to hew to the path of socialism. He was normally not much of a talker, so everyone was taken by surprise. To be honest, it turned me off. I hid out in the ox shed, with my arms around your neck out of a fear that they’d come and take you away with them. Before setting out, Father had said to me: Son, be sure to take good care of our ox. We needn’t worry as long as we have him, because then we’ll be able to hold out as independent farmers. I gave him my word, you heard me. Remember? I said, Dad, go now and come back as soon as you can. If I’m here, the ox will be here. He rubbed the horns that had just started growing on your head and said: Ox, you do as he says. We won’t be able to harvest the wheat for another six weeks, so there won’t be enough for you to eat. Let him take you out where there’s wild grass, which will tide you over till we bring in the wheat. I saw tears in Mother’s eyes as she glanced our way from time to time. This wasn’t the path she’d wanted to take, but she had no choice. As for Jinlong, though he was only seventeen, he already had definite views of things, and the force of his words seemed to frighten Mother, at least a little. I could tell that her feelings for Father weren’t as strong as those she’d held for Ximen Nao. She married him because she had to. And her feelings for me weren’t as strong as those she held for Jinlong and Baofeng. Two different men’s seed. But I was still her son, and she worried about me, even if she didn’t want to. Mo Yan led a bunch of schoolboys in shouting slogans outside the ox shed:
    A headstrong man, a