It's the world that is grotesque, not the insect that has taken refuge in the hive, the insect says.
34
Beyond the pass at Shanhaiguan it got cold early, and he had run into chilly winds blowing down from the northwest. The bicycle, hired in the county town, was impossible to ride against the wind, and even pushing it was hard. At four o'clock in the afternoon it was already dark, when he reached the place where the commune was located, but the village he was going to was a further ten kilometers away. He decided to stay the night in the cart station, where the peasants stopped for a break with their donkey- and horse-carts. He forced himself to eat a bowl of hard sorghum along with the two strips of salted turnip that had gone bitter, then stretched out on the woven rush mat on the earthen kang. In weather like this, the villagers didn't take their carts out, so he had to himself a communal kang that could accommodate seven or eight people. His letter of introduction from the nation's capital seemed to have made an impression, because a special effort had been made to heat the kang for him. However, as the night wore on, it got so hot that the lice on him were probably oozing oil. Even after he had taken off everything except his underpants, he was still sweating, so he got up, sat on the edge of the kang, and smoked, as he pondered the real possibility of seeking refuge somewhere in a village during these chaotic times.
He was up early. There was still a strong north wind, so, leaving the clumsy, heavy-duty bicycle at the cart station, he set off on foot against the wind, and, after three hours, arrived at the village. He asked from house to house whether there was an elderly woman with such-and-such a surname who was a primary school teacher. People all shook their heads. There was a primary school in the village with one teacher, a man, but his wife had given birth and he had gone home to look after her.
"Who else is at the school?" he asked.
"There hasn't been a class for more than two years. It wasn't really a school, so the production brigade converted it into a store-house. It's piled high with sweet potatoes!" the villagers said.
At this point, he asked for the Party secretary of die production brigade, to get someone in charge.
"The old one or the young one?"
He said he wanted a villager who was in charge, so, naturally, the old one was better, he would be sure to know about things. He was taken there. The old man, a bamboo pipe clamped in his teeth, was weaving a rattan basket. Without letting him explain why he had come, the old man mumbled, "I'm not in charge, I'm not in charge!"
It was only after he said that he had come specially from Beijing to carry out an investigation, that the old man became respectful and put down his work. Holding the bronze bowl of his pipe and exposing his brown-black teeth, his eyes narrowed as he listened to him explain the situation.
"Oh, yes, there is such a person, the wife of old man Liang. She taught at the primary school, but she retired because of illness, a long time ago. People have been here to investigate her, but her husband is a shadow-play singer with a poor-peasant family background, so there weren't any problems!"
He explained that he was looking for this old man's wife because he was doing an investigation on another person, that it didn't actually concern the woman herself. At this, the old man took him to a house on the outskirts of the village. At the front door, he shouted out, "Old man Liang, your wife!"
There was no answer. The old man pushed open the door. No one was there, so, turning to the village children who had followed behind, he said, "Go quickly and fetch her, a comrade from Beijing is waiting for her in the house!"
The children dashed off, shouting as they ran. The old man also left.
The walls of the main room were gray-black from smoke, just like the square table and two wooden benches, the only furniture in the room. The kitchen adjoined, but the fire was not burning, so, feeling extremely cold, he sat down. It was gloomy outside, although the wind had died down. He stamped his feet trying to get warm, but, after a long wait, there was still no sign of anyone.
He thought about his waiting in this destitute, faraway village for the former wife of a high official. What could have made her settle in this village? Why had she become the wife of a poor peasant, a shadow-play singer? But what did this have to do with him? It was simply to delay his return to Beijing.
After almost two hours, an old woman appeared. Seeing him inside the house, she hesitated, stopped, but finally came in. The old woman wore a gray scarf around her head, a dark-gray padded jacket, an old pair of padded crotchless overtrousers that puffed out because they were tied at the ankles, and a pair of grimy black padded shoes. Could this genuine old peasant woman be the revolutionary hero of those times, who had been educated at a prestigious university and had worked in intelligence? He got to his feet and asked if she was Comrade Such-and-Such.
"No such person!" the old woman instantly said with a dismissive wave.
This gave him a shock, but he went on to ask, "Are you also known as…?" He repeated the name.
"My surname is the same as my husband's, Liang!"
"Is your husband a shadow-play singer?" he asked.
"He's very old and stopped singing a long time ago."
"Is he here?" he asked cautiously.
"He's out. Who, in fact, are you looking for?" the old woman retorted, as she took off her scarf and put it on the table.
"Forty years ago, did you stay in Sichuan? Did you know someone called…?" He said the name of the high official.
The woman's eyes lit up, but her sagging eyelids immediately drooped again. Those were not the eyes of an ignorant village woman.
"You even had a child by him!" Having blurted this out, he had to calm the woman.
"The child died a long time ago," the woman said, as she rested her hands on the table and sat down on the bench.
It was her. He felt he should try to console her, "You did much work for the Party, but old revolutionaries-"
The woman cut him short, "I didn't do anything, I just cared for my husband and gave birth to a daughter."
"Your husband of that time was secretary of a special zone of the underground Party, surely you were aware of this?"
"I wasn't a member of the Communist Party!"
"But your husband, your husband at the time, was involved in the secret activities of the Party. Surely you knew about this?"
"I didn't," she insisted.
"It was you who covered his escape and, by giving a secret signal, also helped his contact to escape and not get arrested. You were very brave!"
"I don't know anything about this, I didn't do anything," she adamantly denied.
"Do I need to provide you with details to help you remember?
You lived on the first floor, and there was a rattan fan hanging at the window overlooking the street. At the time, you went to the window and took down the fan, you were holding a baby in your arms…" He waited for her response.
"I don't remember any of that." The old woman closed her eyes and ignored him.
He went on coaxing her, "There are testimonies from the people involved, written documents. Your husband, your former husband, escaped by climbing from the clothes-drying porch at the back. He has written a statement on this, it was a meritorious act that you carried out for the revolution."
The woman snorted and gave a little laugh.
"You covered your husband's escape, but you yourself were arrested by undercover spies lying in ambush!" he exclaimed with a sigh. This was a ploy often used in investigations.
Her eyes wide-open, the woman suddenly asked in a loud voice, "If you know everything, why are you carrying out this investigation?"