Authors: Carlos Rojas
As they saw the town, everyone slowed down. The houses resembled a pile of weeds, a gray mass above the ground. There was a deathly silence, and everyone in the town seemed to have vanished like a cloud of smoke. It was noon when they arrived, and the sun was so bright they could barely keep their eyes open. They came to a halt, and it was suggested that they send someone ahead to investigate. Two young people ended up going—they snuck forward like thieves, but then came running back, their faces as pale as death. Everyone asked what was wrong, and they replied that the teacher and the associate professor—who had stolen everyone’s pentagonal stars five days earlier—were lying dead on the side of the road leading to town. Moreover, they said that the two corpses were surrounded by the small blossoms and pentagonal stars that the Child had issued. They also reported that at the end of that road there were two thatched houses, with a rifle leaning against the door frame and a wooden sign that read: “National Inspection Station.”
“We should divide up, and after it gets dark we can sneak past the town on either side,” the Author suggested.
They divided into two groups, and when the moon came out, they tried to pass the town on either side. They continued along a small road, including places where there wasn’t even a road. At times they were hunched over, and at times they were literally crawling forward. As they got farther away, they straightened up and walked faster. No one said a word. Some of them threw away their bedding and pots and pans so as not to be left behind. Eventually the sky began to grow dark, as clouds covered the moon, and it eventually became so dark that they couldn’t even see the road under their own feet. When the sun came up the next day, the two groups reunited in a ditch beyond the road. They had thought that all they needed to do was make it past that national inspection station. They discovered, however, that the place where everyone reunited was actually the same location where they had separated the night before. The clothes that some people had tossed to the side of the road were still lying there, and the leather belts and strips of cloth they had hung from a pagoda tree were also still there.
After a full day of frustration, the following night the Author had everyone divide into two groups again and set off toward the town from different directions. When the sun came up, the two groups again reunited in a sheltered ravine beyond the main road, but it turned out that this was still the same place they had bid each other farewell the previous two days. The clothes they had left on the side of the road were still lying there, and the leather belts and strips of cloth they had hung from the pagoda tree were still hanging there. Everyone was bewildered by why they couldn’t manage to make it past these two fields on either side of the town. For the next day, they sent someone to scout out a path through the field and plant sticks to serve as signs. That night they would follow these signs to their destination on the other side of the town. They sent several young people ahead, who snuck through the undergrowth and saw that on either side of the town there lay the banks of the Yellow River. By this point it was spring, and the Yellow River was full of water from all the melted snow, and the low-lying areas on either side of the river were flooded for hundreds of
li
.
The town was surrounded by graves and mounds of earth that had sprouted up recently, like mushrooms after a storm. There were thousands upon thousands of them extending forever in every direction, connecting the earth to the sky. The graves belonged to criminals who had either starved to death in their Re-Ed district, or else had managed to escape only to die in the town. The graves were so fresh that no grass had yet begun to grow on them, and they were surrounded by unburied corpses lying out in the open. Some people had not even been wrapped in grass mats when they died, and instead their bodies were simply left to be eaten by wolves and vultures. Piles upon piles of bones could be seen lying there rotting.
They were all emitting a nauseating smell.
One of the criminals who had been sent to scout ahead wandered among those graves for a long time until, terrified, he wiped the sweat from his brow and followed the trail of sticks back to the group. Another criminal who had set out in the opposite direction also returned. Wiping his sweat in terror, he squatted down in the group. “It is full of graves,” the first criminal said, “and bodies that were never buried lie rotting in the fields.” The second added, “There are as many graves as grains of sand. It turns out that we’ve spent the past two nights wandering through an endless graveyard.”
Everyone just looked at each other.
They all turned to the Author.
“We must proceed past these graves,” he said. “We must pass through these graves and piles of dead bodies in order to get home.” They ate some wild vegetables and also found a mouse burrow, from which they dug up a field mouse and ate it. That night, they planned to go around the town and through the endless field of graves. The clouds receded and the moon came out. When the moon was shining brightest across the land, everyone gathered together and walked out in two different directions. Hand in hand, they headed into the field of graves, following the path they had staked out during the day. The Author and the person who had planted the sticks led the way, and the others followed. The moonlight and the glow from the water illuminated the ground under everyone’s feet, allowing them to see the graves and the corpses, together with the sticks lining the path. When they reached the two fields on either side of the town, they assumed they had made it through. Everyone let go of each other’s hands, and someone shouted and rushed forward. He fell down, got back up, and continued forward, shouting, “Motherfucker, motherfucker!” over and over again. Up in front, the Author turned around and shouted, “Lower your voices . . . lower your voices . . . you must keep holding each other’s hands.” But no one listened to him, and instead they continued rushing forward. After they made it across the field, however, the people suddenly stopped. They saw that in front of them there was another field full of graves and corpses, piled high in the moonlight. As far as the eye could see, graves sprouted up like mushrooms. Everyone gathered together, and then again began following the Author. He stood on the largest grave and looked around in all directions, and in the distance he could see the town and the headquarters. After confirming the direction, he told everyone to hold hands again and walk through the swamp, past the graves, and toward that road in front of the town.
Once the sun came up, however, everyone found that they had somehow returned yet again to that same road behind the town. The clothes they had left on the side of the road were still there, as were the leather belts and strips of cloth they had left hanging from the pagoda tree.
The sun rose in the east, its bright rays pressing everyone down into the field. They felt a sense of despair. Before them there was only the shadow of death. Some people simply went to sleep, saying that if they died right there then at least they would no longer have to keep climbing over those graves. Many collapsed in the grass, their faces greenish yellow, while others went to ask the Author, “Why did you lead us to the back of this town, such that we can’t make our way to the front?” They spit in his face.
“Can it be that we simply cannot come up with a way to cross over to that road? And if not, then what was the point of your leading us here?”
The Author decided to go over to that inspection station himself.
Everyone removed the red blossoms and pentagonal stars they had hidden in their pockets, so that in the event that the Author were to be interrogated, they would be able to help save his life. In the sunlight, they handed the Author the dozens of small blossoms, medium blossoms, and pentagonal stars they had received from the Child. He shook his head, thanked everyone, then removed a small cardboard box from his pocket. He opened it, revealing more than a dozen red grains of wheat, each of which was larger than a bean or peanut. “I’m going to present the higher-ups with these blood wheat seeds. With these seeds, a
mu
of land will be able to yield several thousand, or even tens of thousands,
jin
of wheat . . . but I’ll only give them the seeds on the condition that I be permitted to take all of you to the county seat with me.”
The Author left, carrying a cane in case he got tired. Everyone else lay down in a hidden area in the grass facing the entrance to the town, hoping that the Author’s blood wheat seeds could help get him past this juncture and to the main road on the other side of town. They hoped the seeds would get him to the bus station in the county capital. They could see that when the Author reached the inspection station, the sentries detained him and took him inside.
Time slowed, to the point that a second seemed like a year. Everyone lay on the ground and waited, digging up wild roots as they gazed at the entrance to the town. The Author finally emerged and went back to them.
“This is not the only place with one of these patriotic inspection stations—they can be found all over the country,” the Author said. “The highest of the higher-ups decreed that in the areas affected by the famine, everyone has to remain in their original villages. They are not permitted to go anywhere else, nor are they permitted to reveal to others how many people have starved to death in their area.”
Everyone was silent.
The Author added, “There are only two kinds of people who are permitted to go back and forth: those who have a letter of reference from the higher-ups, and those who have a red star on their soldier’s cap or a paper star stamped with the stamp that the higher-up issued the Child.”
4.
Heaven’s Child
, pp. 434–40
Several days later, everyone finished eating wild grass and crawled back to the ninety-ninth. When they left, there had been fifty-two of them; but when they returned, there were only forty-three. The remaining nine died on the road. When everyone returned to the compound, no one said a word. They were careful to make no mention of the possibility of leaving. Instead, when they had a chance they would gaze out at the main road, hoping that either the Child or a higher-up would appear.
By mid-spring, the roadside was full of wild grass. Some people came out of their rooms and headed to the courtyard to take a look. They saw that the iron locks on the Child’s room were now gone. The door was unlocked, and the cobwebs that had been covering it were also gone. After a moment of surprise, people began running over. Everyone ran out of their rooms and stood in the doorway of the Child’s building. They all stood there solemnly, in absolute silence. The Child was woken by their footsteps and noisily opened his door. Then, he himself appeared before them. The Child had returned quietly at around noon, and then had promptly gone to sleep. His face, legs, and torso were simultaneously swollen and emaciated. The sun shone down on him, revealing a look of exhaustion, ennui, and excitement. At the same time, in his figure there also appeared traces of what everyone recognized to be adulthood. The Child had grown bigger and taller, and now had black facial hair on his chin and over his lip. He was still as thin as a tree sprout though, and his disheveled hair was about two inches long and had a couple pieces of straw stuck in it.
Like the sunlight, the Child appeared sturdy, confident, and full of accomplishment. The Scholar was standing in front, and asked carefully, “How are you?” The Child whispered solemnly, “It turns out that there is a steel-smelting furnace in Zhongnanhai after all. And in Tiananmen they planted an experimental field designed to produce ten thousand
jin
of grain per
mu
.” No one said a word, and the Author turned pale. At this point, the Child squinted and looked up at the sky, which was filled with bright light and propitious clouds. There was a flock of doves that had flown in from somewhere. As the doves flew overhead, the Child rubbed his eyes. Smiling brightly, he softly said something astounding,
“You are all free to return home.”
The Child’s voice was rough and firm, and as strong as that of a grown man. As he was speaking, he turned around and went back into his room, where he took a cloth sack and, with a bright smile that we had never seen before, said, “There is no need for you to go hungry here while undergoing your re-education.” As he lifted the cloth sack, it made a clanging sound. It was a pounding from a small iron implement, and seemed to be providing a musical accompaniment to his words. The Child stood on the steps in front of his door, and from the sack he removed a handful of red iron stars each the size of a copper coin. “Each of you should take one of these iron stars, which will permit you to proceed openly from the main road to the town. If you show this star at each inspection station, you will be allowed to pass. You’ll be able to go wherever you wish. You’ll be able to proceed to the county, the district, and the provincial seat, and even to Beijing. You’ll be able to go anywhere in the country, and will be able to return to your family and your work unit.” The Child held a handful of stars as though clutching a bundle of fire, and as he was speaking he waved his hand through the air, producing a streak of red. “Go back and get your things ready!” he shouted. “Sleep well tonight, and tomorrow I’ll issue each of you one of these stars and a bag of fried soybeans for you to eat on the road.” The Child spoke in a resonant voice that bore no resemblance to the timid voice he had had just a few months earlier.
He didn’t say whom he had seen or what he had done during the month he spent in Beijing. Instead, he shouted casually but firmly,