With a loud cry, I burst into the compound, but several people clumsily managed to close the gate before I could get to it. My heart had suddenly outgrown the compound; it was too small to hold me, and I ran around madly, sending people scurrying. I heard Yang Guixiang scream,
“The donkey bit Ximen Bai’s head, it’s bleeding, and he broke the village chief’s arm!”
“Shoot it, kill it!” someone else shouted. I heard the militiamen cock their rifles, and I saw Lan Lian and Yingchun running toward me. Moving at the fastest speed I could manage and summoning up all the strength I had, I headed for a breach in the wall caused by heavy summer rains. I leaped, reached into the air with all four hooves, stretched to my fullest length, and sailed over the wall.
The legend of Lan Lian’s flying donkey is still told by old-time residents of Ximen Village. Naturally, it’s told most vividly in stories written by Mo Yan.
6
Tenderness and Deep Affection Create a Perfect Couple
Wisdom and Courage Are Pitted against Vicious Wolves
I headed south at top speed after flying over a toppled wall. I nearly broke a leg when my front hooves landed in mud, and I was seized with terror. I tried to free my legs from the mud, but only succeeded in sinking in deeper. So I stopped, settled down, and planted my rear legs on solid ground. Then I lay down and rolled to the side, managing to pull my front legs free. After that I climbed out of the ditch, giving proof to the words that Mo Yan once wrote: A goat can scale a tree, a donkey is a good climber.
I followed the road southwest at a gallop.
You probably recall my mention of the female donkey belonging to the stonemason, the one carrying Han Huahua’s son and the piglet on her way home to her in-laws. Well, she – the donkey – ought to have been out of her halter and on her way back by this time. When we parted to go our own ways, we agreed that tonight would be ours to enjoy. Words once spoken by humans cannot be taken back, not even by a team of horses; for donkeys, it’s a matter of a promise is a promise, and we would wait for one another, no longer how long it took.
Chasing the emotional message she left in the air around her at dusk, I raced down the road she’d taken, raising a clatter with my hooves that traveled far on the night air; it was almost as though I was following the sound of my own hoofbeats, or that the sound was chasing me. Roadside reeds were withered and yellow on that late autumn evening, dew had become frost, and fireflies flitting amid the grass created a spotty illumination of the ground with their blinking green lights. My nose was assailed by a stench hanging in the air, which I knew came from an old corpse whose flesh had long since rotted away, but whose bones continued to reek.
Han Huahua’s in-laws lived in Old Man Zheng Village, whose richest resident, Zheng Zhongliang, had been one of Ximen Nao’s friends, though they were of different generations. I thought back to the time when we were chatting over fine spirits and he had patted me on the shoulder and said, My young friend, amassing wealth creates enemies, dispensing it brings good fortune. Enjoy life while you can, take your pleasure where you can, and when your wealth is gone, fortune will smile on you. Do not take the wrong path… Ximen Nao, you goddamned Ximen Nao, stay out of my business. I am now a donkey with the fires of lust burning inside me. When Ximen Nao enters the picture, even if it’s only his recollections, the result is a recapitulation of a bloody, corrupt history. A river ran across the open fields between the Ximen and Old Man Zheng villages. A dozen sandy ridges meandered along both sides of the stream like writhing dragons, all covered with tamarisk bushes in such profusion I couldn’t see beyond them. A major battle had been fought there, with airplanes and tanks, and the victims of that battle still lay where they died. Stretchers had filled the streets of Old Man Zheng Village, loaded with wounded soldiers, their moans and groans accompanying the chilling caws of crows in the air. But enough talk about wartime, since that is when donkeys are used to transport machine guns and ammunition in the thick of battle, and a handsome black donkey like me would not have been able to avoid conscription.
Long live peace! In peacetime, a donkey can freely tryst with the female of his choice. We’d agreed to meet on the river’s edge; light from the moon and stars was reflected off the shallow water, like slithering silver snakes. Accompanied by the low chirping of autumn insects and cooled by night breezes, I left the road, climbed over the sandy bank, and stepped into the river, which swallowed up my feet. The smell of the water reminded me how dry my throat was and gave rise to a desire to drink. Which is what I did, though I made sure not to drink too much of the sweet, cold river water, since I needed to run a bit more and didn’t want a lot of water sloshing around in my stomach. My thirst slaked, I climbed the opposite bank and began walking down a twisting path, moving in and out of the tamarisk bushes until I was standing atop a high sandy ridge, where her smell swept over me, thick and powerful. My heart was beating wildly against my ribs, my blood heated up, my excitement was so great I lost the ability to bray and was reduced to emitting choppy whinnies. My darling donkey, my treasure, my most adorable, my dearest, my sweetheart! Oh, how I want to embrace you, to wrap my legs around you, to nibble your ears, to kiss your eyes and lashes and pink nose and lips like flower petals. My darling, my cherished, I fear only that my breath will melt you, that by mounting you I’ll break you. My tiny-footed little donkey, I know you are near. My tiny-footed little donkey, you do not know how much I love you.
I raced toward the smell, but halfway down the ridge, I saw a sight that tested my courage. My donkey was running wild amid the tamarisk, spinning around and kicking out with her hooves, braying loudly, as she tried to sound intimidating. In front and in back, to one side or the other, she was the intended victim of a pair of gray wolves; unhurriedly, biding their time, sometimes moving as a team, sometimes as individuals, they probed, they moved in and out, they feigned an attack. A treacherous, lethal pair of predators, they were patiently wearing her down; when, her strength and will gone, she lay down on the ground, they would go straight for the throat. Then, after they’d drunk their fill of her blood, they would tear open her abdomen and eat her now useless vital organs. Only death awaited any donkey meeting up with a pair of wolves working in tandem at night on a sandy ridge. My little donkey, if I hadn’t shown up, your unhappy fate would have been sealed. Love has saved you. Is there anything else that could erase the innate fears of a donkey and send him to rescue you from certain death? No. That is the only one. With a call to arms, I, Ximen Donkey, charged down the ridge and headed straight for the wolf that was tailing my beloved. My hooves kicked up sand and dust as I raced down from my commanding position; no wolf, not even a tiger, could have avoided the spearhead aimed at it. It saw me too late to move out of the way, and I thudded into it, sending it head over heels. Then I turned and said to my donkey, Do not fear, my dear, I am here! She moved close to me; I sensed the violence with which her chest was rising and falling and could feel the sweat covering her body. I nibbled her neck to comfort and encourage her. Don’t be afraid, I’m here. There’s nothing to fear from these wolves. Stay here while I smash their heads with my hooves of steel!