“Back in the beginning, I never imagined that I had married someone who was such a skilled craftsman,” she said as she stood up.
The news of the marshland caused her to worry anew about Youlin, but after the road was built over there, his business would be better, wouldn’t it? Was he willing do business next to the highway? If he liked roads, then why had he run off and set up shop in the marshland? Mrs. Yun thought it over every which way and still didn’t understand.
“Mrs. Yun, the magpies are singing so cheerfully that there must be a happy event in your family!” Old Mrs. Weng said as she entered the courtyard.
The old woman smiled hypocritically, and she looked ugly and ferocious. Mrs. Yun was a little afraid of her.
“Old Weng is sitting in the ditch, waiting for that event!”
“What event?!” Mrs. Yun was startled.
“Something connected with the marsh. Lend me a little salt.”
When Mrs. Yun went into the kitchen to get the salt, the old woman tagged along.
“Your Wumei is blissful,” she said as she took the salt.
Mrs. Yun figured borrowing salt was her excuse to come and reconnoiter. She reeked of the strong smell of pepper and spices. It made one’s thoughts run wild. After she left, Mr. Yun mockingly commented that she was “the flower queen.” Mrs. Yun asked him why he called the old woman the “flower queen.” Mr. Yun said, “Go ask Uncle Weng. He knows. Don’t think of them just as neighbors. Their home is the barometer for this region.”
“Why did she say that Wumei is blissful?” Mrs. Yun was very suspicious.
“Maybe she smelled out this omen with her nose.”
Later, Mrs. Yun went to the pigpen to feed the pigs. As she listened to the pigs chewing their food, she heard the Wengs talking outside her pigpen.
“Lately, the situation kept changing. Now, it’s finally come to light,” Uncle Weng said.
“Then why don’t you go check on it? The brushwood with the floating wildfire is just where you’re longing to be. As for me, I’ve smelled everything already.”
“It’s better to stay here without moving and let the roaring vehicles push across from the top.”
“Yes, that makes sense.”
Mrs. Yun wanted to continue listening, but they had already walked on. Only a few words carried by the wind reached her ears: “the low water season. ”; “motorcade. ”; “smoke. ”; “prisoners. ”; “before sunset. ”; and so forth. Mrs. Yun set down her bucket and went out to look. She saw that they had already gone into their own courtyard. In this sort of dreary weather, Mrs. Yun didn’t think Wumei would have any good luck; she was deeply uneasy about her daughter. The day before, Wumei had complained to her father that her brain was addled. “I can’t cut anything new.” Mr. Yun had advised her, “Leave your handicraft work and go walking in the mountains — the farther, the better. Don’t be afraid of getting lost.” When Mrs. Yun heard him say this, she wanted to slap him! She had no idea whether Wumei would do as her father suggested. In her mind, she kept seeing the piglet being cruelly killed.
The large pig stopped eating, swaggered to one side, and lay down. When Mrs. Yun looked closely, she saw a melancholy, sad expression in its eyes. She thought to herself: Perhaps I should ask the vet to look at it.
When she went to a neighboring village to look for the vet, he wasn’t home. His wife said he had gone to the marshland first thing in the morning, because a large number of horses there had the pox and were lying on the ground braying and braying.
“One of our pigs is sick, too. There’s also a sick pig at the Youshun household. They all caught it from over there.”
As the vet’s wife talked, she stared at Mrs. Yun, making Mrs. Yun so uncomfortable that she left immediately. She had walked some distance and yet she could still hear the woman shouting at her: “You need to calm down!” Mrs. Yun was really annoyed. She didn’t want to go home, either, so she sat in a daze on a rock beside the field. When she had composed herself, she glanced all around. Everything was ashy and white. There was no vitality anywhere. Could the pox already be here? Growing worried again, she hurried home at once.
“There’s a pestilence,” she said.
Mr. Yun said “Oh” indifferently and continued sieving the rice. Noticing his livid face, Mrs. Yun knew something was wrong and headed for Wumei’s room. Sure enough, Wumei was gone. Hanging from her mosquito net were little serpents that she had cut out.
“Has she really gone off?” a very upset Mrs. Yun asked her husband.
“Just ignore what she does. She’s a child with ideas of her own. And the pestilence is everywhere, so how can she go on with her papercuts? It’s better to hide for a while. One doesn’t worry about what one doesn’t see. A person alone won’t be in danger. Last time, she shouldn’t have gone with those other women.”
Mrs. Yun glanced out the window with hopeless eyes and saw some villagers — old and young, men and women, some of them driving their pigs — hurrying past as though they were fleeing from disaster. Mrs. Yun recalled what she had heard the Wengs saying as she fed the pigs, and she thought even more that there was no way out. But what on earth was Mr. Yun up to?
“There’s something wrong with the big pig,” she said faintly.
“Oh, I saw that. I think it will survive.”
Mrs. Yun felt that, in these days of pestilence, Mr. Yun’s body had become heavy and unwieldy. Not only was he not as restless as others, but he had gradually become as solid as a rock. When he reached out for something, he was like someone exerting a lot of strength to open a massive iron door. The hens seemed to have sensed something, for they were especially afraid of Mr. Yun. Whenever he went near them, they cried out in fear and flew high up in the air. Their wings stirred up dust and fluff and also lent energy to this lifeless courtyard. Only when Mr. Yun went to the pigpen to clean out the dung did the hens quiet down and shiver next to the wall. Mrs. Yun thought to herself, Could he still do things that took strength, such as cleaning out the dung? But she didn’t want to go over to check. She was startled each time she heard her husband making loud noises.
Mrs. Yun steeled herself to go outside. She walked to the road, where she took hold of a child and asked where he was going. The child struggled hard, but she wouldn’t let go of him.
“Tell me, and then I’ll let you go!”
“I’m going to the marsh. I’m going to kill myself! So there!”
“Ah, don’t go!”
“I have to! Let go of me. ”
He bent down and began licking the back of her hand. His tongue was as quick as a serpent’s. Nauseated, Mrs. Yun loosened her grip at once. The boy slid away like a billiard ball and ran off into the distance. After a while, he disappeared.
A motorcade appeared at the end of the road — foot-pedaled flat-bed trucks, with two or three people in each one. Not until the motorcade reached her did Mrs. Yun see that all of those people were tied up, and their faces were ashen. The drivers were all alike — rough, robust, heavily bearded guys from the countryside. Mrs. Yun immediately remembered what Wumei had told her. So this motorcade had come from the marshland. Mrs. Yun drew closer to get a better look at them; she wanted to see the prisoners’ faces. She noticed that these prisoners were also very much alike; even their expressionless gazes were similar. You could say this expression was composed, or you could say it was indifferent. Suddenly she saw a familiar face. It was the vet. His expression was different from that of the prisoners: extreme yearning showed through his composure. He was also tied up, but he seemed to like this punishment: his face was as red as if he’d been drinking. As Mrs. Yun ran several paces after his truck, a jeer suddenly flashed out from his eyes. Mrs. Yun stood still. She craned her neck to see if Youlin was in the motorcade. He wasn’t. He wasn’t there.