The moist mud and watery mist gradually calmed me down and lessened the pain on my rump; but it still hurt, worse than the bite the wolf had taken out of me. Continuing along the muddy bank, I stopped to drink some river water, which had the unpleasant taste of toad piss. I swallowed some little objects that I knew were tadpoles. Nauseating, to be sure, but what was I to do? Maybe they had a curative effect, so it would be like taking a dose of medicine. I lost all my senses, didn’t know what to do, when that lost odor suddenly reappeared, like a red silk thread in the wind. Afraid of losing it yet again, I took up the chase anew, this time confident that it would lead me to that female donkey. Now that I’d put some distance between me and the furnace fires, the moon seemed brighter. Frogs croaked up and down the river, and from somewhere far off I detected human shouts and the beating of drums and gongs. I didn’t have to be told that I was hearing the hysterical shouts of fabricated victory by fanatical people.
And so I followed the red thread of aroma for a very long time, leaving the smelting furnaces of the state-run farm far behind. After passing through a bleak village from which no sound emerged, I stepped onto a narrow path bordered on the left by wheat fields and on the right by a grove of white poplars. Ready to harvest, the wheat field gave off a dry, scorched odor under the chilled beams of moonlight. Critters moving through the field made rustling noises as they broke tassels off the wheat stalks and sent grains raining to the ground. Light bouncing off the poplar leaves turned them into silver coins. But who had time to take in the lovely scenery? I’m just trying to give you an idea of what it was like. Suddenly -
The aroma flooded the air, like fine liquor, like honey, like husks straight from the frying pan. The red thread in my imagination became a thick red rope. After traveling half the night and encountering countless hardships, like finding a melon at the end of a vine, I was finally about to meet my true love. I bolted forward but abruptly slowed down after only a few steps, for there in the light of the moon a woman all in white sat cross-legged in the middle of the path. No trace of a donkey, female or otherwise. And yet the smell of a donkey in heat hung in the air around us. Was this a trap? Was it possible that a woman could emit a smell that could drive a male donkey crazy? Slowly, cautiously, I approached the woman. The closer I got, the more brightly Ximen Nao’s memory lit up in my mind, like a series of sparks creating a wildfire, pushing my donkey consciousness into darkness and reasserting my human emotions. I didn’t have to see her face to know who she was. Outside of Ximen Bai, no other woman exuded the smell of bitter almonds. My wife, you poor, poor woman!
Why do I refer to her that way? Because of the three women in my life, she suffered the bitterest fate. Yingchun and Qiuxiang both remarried peasants who had gained stature in the new society. She alone, as a member of the landlord class, had been forced to live in the Ximen ancestral caretaker’s hut and suffer through unbearable reform through labor. The squat, confining hut, with its rammed earth walls and a thatched roof, was so dilapidated it could not withstand the onslaught of wind and rain, and was in danger of toppling; when that happened it would bury her forever. The bad elements had all joined the People’s Commune, under the supervision of the poor and lower-middle peasants, reforming themselves through labor; in accordance with common practice, she too should have been spending her days as a member of the iron ore transport teams or breaking up large chunks of ore under the supervision of Yang Qi and his ilk, her hair in disarray, her face covered with dirt and grime, clothes torn and tattered, more ghost than human; so why was she sitting in this lovely setting, dressed in white and giving off a compelling fragrance?
“I knew you’d come, husband, I knew you’d be here. I was sure that after all these years of suffering, after seeing so much betrayal and shameless behavior, that you would recall my loyalty.” She seemed to be both talking to herself and pouring out her grief to me. Her voice carried the tone of sweetness and desolation. “I knew that my husband had been turned into a donkey, but you are still my husband, the man I lean on. Only after you were turned into a donkey did I feel that we were true kindred spirits. Do you recall how we met on grave-sweeping day in the year you were born? You passed by the hut where I live on your way to pick greens with Yingchun. I saw you that day while I was secretly adding fresh dirt to your and your parents’ graves, and you ran up to me, nibbling at the hem of my jacket with your soft pink lips. I looked up and saw you, such a lovely little donkey. I rubbed your nose and your ears; you licked my hand. My heart ached yet grew hot, I felt both sorrow and warmth, and tears flowed from my eyes. Through the mist I saw that your eyes were also moist, and in them I saw my own reflection. The look was one I knew well. I know you suffered injustice, my husband. I covered your grave with the dirt in my hand and then sprawled atop it, sobbing quietly with my face pressed to the fresh yellow earth. You gently touched my backside with your hoof, so I turned my head and once again saw that look in your eyes. My husband, I believe with all my heart that you have been reborn as a donkey. How unkind Lord Yama has been to turn my cherished husband into a donkey. But then, I thought, maybe that was your choice, that in your abiding concern for me, you would rather come back as a donkey to be my companion. Maybe Lord Yama planned to let you be reborn into a rich and powerful family, but you chose the life of a donkey instead, my dear, dear husband… The grief welled up inside me and I could not keep myself from wailing piteously. But in the midst of my wails, the sound of distant bugles, brass drums, and cymbals came on the air. Yingchun, who was standing behind me, said softly, Don’t cry, people are coming. She was still a woman of conscience. A packet of spirit money was hidden under the wild greens in her basket, and I guessed that she had brought it to burn at your grave. I forced myself to stop crying and watched as you and Yingchun rushed off into the grove of black pines. At every third step you stopped and turned to look, at every fifth you hesitated, and I knew the depth of your feelings for me. The contingent of people drew near, drums and gongs signaling their approach, red flags the color of blood, floral wreaths the color of snow. Teachers and students from the elementary school were coming to sweep the graves of martyrs. A light rain was falling, swallows were flying low in the sky. Peach flowers were like a sunset in the martyrs’ cemetery, visitors’ songs filled the air, but your wife did not dare cry over your grave, my husband. That night you went wild in the village office compound and bit me, and everyone thought you’d gone crazy, but I knew you were calling attention to my unfair treatment. They had already dug up the family treasure. Did they really think there was more buried at Lotus Bay? I treated that bite as a kiss from my husband. It may have been more violent than most, but that was the only way I could print it indelibly on my heart. Thank you for that kiss, my husband, for it was my salvation. When they saw the blood, they were so afraid I might die they carried me back into my home. My home, the run-down little hut by your gravesite. I lay down on the damp, dirt-covered sleeping platform, hoping for an early death, so that I too could be reborn a donkey, and we would be reunited again, a loving donkey couple…”