A Low-life Old Man In the late autumn in 1970, when was the fifth year of the Cultural Revolution in China, I was transferred to a village named Dong’an to do labor work. In fact, I was a doctor in the clinic in a commune in the suburb of Beijing. Carrying my luggage and guided by the leader of the production team, I arrived at a house on the threshing ground. I realized that I would live here until the day when I would be called back by the leader of the clinic.“You can sleep here,” he said, pointing to the Kang. And then he continued: “Since the threshing ground keeper is out, you should be a temporary threshing ground keeper instead of him, besides living here. We do hand half of the property of our productive team in your hands. You should stay more alert. ” Then he said that he was busy and left.I looked around the house and its environment. It was located at a place where a way from the village was far. It was said that there had been the clan grave of most of the villagers who have the same surname Zhang. The house stood lonely. In front of the house, it was a big and flat threshing ground, around which there were various kinds of reaped but not processed grist, such as the corn, rice, bean and others. Behind the house, it was a piece of vegetable field. Since the season, there were only failed sprouts of egg plant. It was getting darker and darker. The houses and trees far away looked dark, as were painted with black ink, as ghosts. In the situation, suddenly, I got a feeling of trembling with fear, though I was not a cowardly. Then I was calmed by myself and entered the house. The house was divided into two parts by a wall. The inner was a small cabin with a Kang (a heatable brick bed); the outer was much bigger, which was used for cooking for the pigs and stacking the sundries. The kitchen stove was close linked with the Kang inside. As a result, the heat produced from the kitchen stove passes under the surface of the Kang and then goes out from the chimney. I untied and unfolded my luggage on the Kang. The out part of the house was bid and untidy. Different kinds of vegetables, grains, leaves, hay and other things were carelessly stacked on it. My room was too small to put my things in order. I felt upset. So, after a simple dinner of Wotou (a kind of steamed bread made from corn), water and salted vegetables, I went to sleep. In fact, the light from the kerosene lamp was too weak for me to do anything, anyway.It rained at night. The cold rain beat against the window-paper, which woke me up and from then on I found it difficult to get back to sleep.About four o’clock I heard the sound of continuous coughing coming towards the house. Soon, a man entered into the room．‘Who are you？’l asked him loudly． “I am Zhang，the pig-feeder,” he answered．‘Are you old Shi？’He used the word ‘old’ to express his respect for me although was young．I wondered how he knew my surname．”l heard about you from our team leader，’he said．I understood that he had come there to boil the pigwash． He lit the lamp and sat on a bag of grain with his body bent．His face was dirty，wrinkled and unshaven with two strings of dilute snivel running along the two sides of his nasolabial groove．I thought that he must suffered from bronchitis and asthma，at the very least． “Why don’t you have a rest and see the barefoot doctor？” I asked him sympathetically．You are badly ill．” “It doesn’t matter．” he replied．“I always cough and breathe heavily. And I am used to it. Besides, I can’t stop working．And I haven’t money to see a doctor. I have a big family to support.” As he spoke．he coughed continuously．When I asked him if he wanted some water to help him to stop the cough，he asked: “Can I have an egg plant?” I knew that there were some egg plants in the corner of the room．So I said: “Certainly!” He picked one up and ate It greedily as If he had not eaten anything for days． What I heard and saw made me feel sad and uneasy．Therefore I was always wanting to ask somebody why he was so miserable and had nobody to take care of him． Over several months, I gradually became familiar with the villagers. I learned that he had six children, most of them were blockheads, and a few of them had problems in mind, because his wife suffered from a mental illness. There was story about him: one day a man asked him: “which sequence he is in your children?” pointing a child of his. He answered: “I am not sure.” From then on, “I am not sure” became an idiom being popular in the village. Anyone who wanted to express the idea of “I don’t know” would always rallyingly use “I am not sure” imitating his intonation. One day, when I was talking with a man who had graduated from middle school and had been a worker, in the factory of the commune, I told him my impress about the old man, and my heartedly sympathy to him. “Don’t worry about him; he is suffering from his own actions. This is retribution.” He said. “Why do you say that?” I asked in perplexity. “He seems a good man.” “If he were a good man, there would be no bad man in the world,” he said. “If you knew his stories, you would say the same as I do.” Then he began to tell me the story of the old man. He was about sixty as most of his same clan seniority in the village and his name was Zhang Jingui. In 1958, during the Great Leap Forward, the country was in a strong emotion, even crazy. In industry, the production of iron and steel was commanded to reach 1,070,000 tons in the very year. For making 1,070,000 tons of iron and steel, every unit – school, institute, and village – should do steel-making. And for providing the materials, everyone should collect scrap iron.In agriculture, the production of foodstuffs was said to reach unbelievable quantity. It was said the highest production of rice was 13 tons per Chinese acre (about 60 squire miters) in a village. At the same time, the people’s commune was established. The families, productive teams no longer existed. A people’s commune was a big family. Both men and women in young and middle ages should work at the place where pointed by the leaders of the people’s commune. The children went to school. And only the aged people could stay at home but they were not allowed to cook by themselves. All the people should have their meals at the dining hall. It was claimed that we had entered the communist society. At that time, Zhang Jingui was the team leader. And also it was his gold time. He was a go-getter of Great Leap Forward, with the born gift of flattering the upper and being not afraid of offending others. He controlled everything and everybody in the village. If anyone dared to disobey him, the mildly disobedient would be punished lightly and the seriously disobedient would be hung up and beaten. He was a local tyrant. Once a man was sent to plough with an ox but he didn’t finish the task, because the ox was ill. Therefore, he was punished by having to kneel on the ground facing the ox for two hours. And this was only one of his “great achievements.” Almost, all of the iron had been collected except the tools made by iron and steel, such as the plough and spade. Some people even stole iron or broke machines to get scrap iron to complete their tasks. In the village, Zhang Jingui was a “hero” for collecting scrap iron. He got an initiative – to collect iron and steel family by family. One day, he came into the man’s house with some other people, asking for scrap iron. The hostess was an old woman. She said to Zhang Jingui: “All the iron in my house has been handed in. You can search.” Zhang Jingui walked around her house and said: “Your family hasn’t completed the task. You must hand in more.” “My nephew,” the old woman entreatingly said. She called Zhang Jingui “nephew” wanting to relax the tension; in fact, the clan relation between them was very close. But he replied: “You shouldn’t say that. Father and mother are close but not as close as Chairman Mao. You must listen to the Chairman’s teaching about handing in iron.” “We really have none,” the old woman said. But Zhang Jingui asked: “Isn’t that scrap iron?” pointing to the pan on the wood stove. “It’s in good condition,” said the old woman. “Who said that it is a good one?” replayed Zhang Jingui. While he said this, he threw cheng tuo (a large piece of iron used for the shifting weight in steelyards) down onto the pan and it was immediately broken. “Who says that there is no scrap iron in your house? Here it is,” he said, laughing grimly. He ordered his men to pick up the pieces of the pan and he stalked off. The old woman was so angry that she couldn’t speak a word. And from then on she tool ill and lay in bad until she passed away. After listening to this, what could I say?
Copyright 2008 Peter
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