Naonao and Huahua. We’ll stay together forever. Heaven and earth cannot tear us apart. How does that sound, Naonao? It sounds wonderful, Huahua. Let’s become wild donkeys and live amid the meandering ridges of sand, among the lush tamarisk bushes, alongside the clear water of this worry-free river. We’ll eat nice green grass when we’re hungry, we’ll drink from the river when we’re thirsty, and we’ll lie down to sleep together, coupling often, loving and caring for one another always. I’ll swear to you that I’ll never look at another female donkey, and you’ll swear to me that you’ll never let another male mount you. I swear it, my dear Naonao. Darling Huahua, I swear it too. You must not only ignore other female donkeys, but mustn’t even look at a mare, Naonao, Huahua said as she nipped my hide. Humans are shameless the way they mate male donkeys with female horses to produce strange animals they call mules. Don’t worry, Huahua. Even if they blindfolded me, I’d never mount a horse. But you need to promise me you’ll never let one mount you, because male horses and female donkeys also produce mules. Don’t worry, Naonao. Even if they tied me to a stake, I’d keep my tail tucked tightly between my legs. What I have belongs only to you…
We lay in our love nest, neck to neck, like a pair of swans frolicking on the water. Words cannot chronicle our mutual affection; our tender feelings were indescribable. We stood shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the river, gazing at our reflection. Lights flashed in our eyes, our lips swelled, our beauty came from love; we were a match made in heaven.
As we stood there lost in love in the bosom of nature, a clamor rose behind us. Jerking our heads up out of our reveries, we saw a group of twenty or so people fanning in on us.
Run, Huahua! – Don’t be afraid, Naonao. Look, it’s people we know.
Huahua’s attitude turned my heart cold. Of course I knew who they were, I could see that right off. The crowd included my master, Lan Lian, his wife, Yingchun, and two of Lan Lian’s village friends, the brothers Fang Tianbao and Fang Tianyou (martial arts masters in a story by Mo Yan). My cast-off halter was cinched around Lan Lian’s waist; he was holding a long pole with a noose on the end, while Yingchun was carrying a lantern whose red paper shade was so badly singed the metal frame beneath it was exposed. One of the Fang brothers was carrying a rope in his hand, the other was dragging a club behind him. Others in the crowd included Han, the humpbacked stone mason, his half-brother, Han Qun, plus some men I’d seen before but whose names I didn’t know. They looked tired and dirty, which meant they’d been out looking all night.
Run, Huahua! – I can’t, Naonao. – Then grab hold of my tail with your teeth, and I’ll pull you along. -Where can we run to, Naonao? They’ll catch up to us sooner or later, Huahua said meekly. Besides, they’ll probably go back for their rifles, and no matter how fast we run, we can’t outrun a bullet. Huahua, I replied, disappointed, you haven’t forgotten our vows already, have you? You swore to stay with me for all eternity, swore that we would be wild donkeys, to live in freedom, with no constraints, loving one another in nature’s bosom. She hung her head as tears welled up in her eyes. Naonao, she said, you’re a male donkey. You were relaxed after you pulled yourself out of me, not a care in the world. But now I’m carrying your offspring. I’m probably carrying twins, and my belly will soon be getting big. I’m going to need all the nutrition I can get; I want to be eating fried black beans, freshly milled bran, and crushed sorghum, all finely mashed and run three times through a sieve to make sure there are no stones or chicken feathers or sand. It’s already October, and the weather is turning cold. How am I going to eat as I drag my big belly around when the ground hardens, snow falls, the river freezes over, and the grass is covered with a blanket of snow? Or, for that matter, find water to drink? Then, when the babies are born, where will I sleep? Even if I force myself to stay with you on a sandy ridge, how will our babies stand the bitter cold? If they freeze to death in the snow and ice, their bodies lying out in the cold like logs or rocks, won’t you, their father, be heartbroken? Donkey fathers might be able to callously abandon their offspring, Naonao, but not their mothers. Or maybe some mothers can, but not your Huahua. Women can abandon their sons and daughter for their beliefs, but not donkeys. I ask you, Naonao, can you understand what a pregnant donkey feels?
Under the assault of Huahua’s barrage of questions, I, Naonao, a male donkey, had no adequate comeback. Huahua, I said feebly, are you sure you’re pregnant?
What a foolish question, Huahua said angrily. Six times in one night, Naonao, filling me with your seed. I’d be pregnant if I were a sawhorse, or a stone, or a log!
Ahhh, I muttered, crestfallen, as I watched her obediently walk over to meet her mistress.
Tears fell from my eyes, only to dry in the white heat of a name- less anger. I wanted to run, to bound away; I could not tolerate this sort of betrayal, however justified, and could not continue to live the humiliating life of a donkey in the Ximen estate. I turned and ran to the glittering surface of the river, my objective the tall sandy ridge, where the tamarisk grew in misty profusion, the pliant red branches serving as cover for red foxes, striped badgers, and sand grouses. So long, Huahua, go enjoy your life of splendor, I’ll not miss the warmth of my donkey lean-to, I must answer the call of the wild and seek my freedom. But I’d not even made it to the riverbank when I discovered that there were people lying in wait in the tamarisk, their heads camouflaged with leaves and twigs, their bodies cloaked in rush capes the color of dry grass; they were armed with muskets like the one that splattered the brains of Ximen Nao. Terror-stricken, I turned and headed east along the bank toward the early morning sun. The hair on my hide was painted flame-red; I was a galloping ball of fire, a donkey whose head was like a burning torch. Death did not scare me; I had faced ferocious wolves without a trace of fear, but the black holes of those muskets pointing at me terrified me, not the weapons themselves, but the horrible image of splattered brains they created. My master must have anticipated my path of escape, since he crossed the river up ahead, not even taking off his shoes and socks beforehand. Water flew in all directions as he lumbered through the river toward me. I changed direction, but not quickly enough to avoid the pole he swung, and the noose fell around my neck. But there was no quit in me, no easy defeat. Galling on all my strength, I raised my head and thrust out my chest, tightening the noose and making me fight for every breath. My master pulled on the pole with all his might and leaned backward until he was nearly parallel with the water. He dug in his heels; I dragged him along, his feet digging ruts in the sandbar like plows.
In the end, as my strength waned and I could hardly breathe, I stopped running and was quickly surrounded, although the people held back, not daring to approach me. It was then that I was reminded of my reputation as a donkey prone to biting people. In the village, where life was peaceful and quiet, a donkey made news by causing injury with its teeth, and that news spread through the village like wildfire. But who among those men and women knew why I’d done that? Who could have guessed that the hole taken out of Ximen Bai’s head had resulted from a kiss by her reincarnated husband, who had forgotten he was now a donkey, not a man?