Free Old Land, New Tales: Twenty Short Stories by Writers of the Shaanxi Region in China by Chen Zhongshi, Jia Pingwa

in her mind and stubbornly stayed there. During Mu Du’s fifteen days in jail, his old father brought him meals. Once, on his way to visit his son, the old man had stumbled over a stone and fallen. The food pot was broken, and the porridge spilled on the ground. Knowing that an old man of his age had sat on the ground crying, Darky felt like a knife had stabbed into her heart.
    On the day Mu Du was released, she went to see him and was startled at his thick beard and pale face. He told her, “Darky, I didn’t mean to do you any harm.”
    But since she’d moved into the cowshed, Mu Du had not visited. Did he still feel that he had let her down and felt too ashamed to visit? Or had he begun gathering alpine rush from the deep mountain instead of carrying charcoal?
    During one of Lai Shun’s visits, while Darky was lost in her thoughts, he cleverly heaved a sigh and said, “That heartless bastard abandoned you; he is blind in his eyes and his heart! He saidyou were ugly, but he was wrong; you are a wonderful woman. You needn’t worry about forming a new family.”
    Darky’s face changed. She smiled but cut Lai Shun short. He left soon after, indulging in fantasy. Lai Shun wore old and shabby clothes, but he was always washed and clean-shaven. He’d even chatted and traded jokes with Darky’s ex-husband a few times.
    As the autumn rain fell, Darky’s newfound vigor began to wilt. Sitting on the edge of the kang, she watched bubbles appearing and vanishing in the puddles outside. Darky pictured, farther away, the river and then the range upon range of mountains. She had just a smattering of education and no knowledge of things like poetry, but there was a touch of poetry in her heart. A gloomy mood consumed her. It made her nostalgic for the autumn rains of her childhood at her parents’ house, and even for the days she’d spent in her small husband’s home. Thinking about how wretched and miserable her life was now, she buried her face in her hands and sat that way for some time as dusk fell.
    Listening to the harsh sound of raindrops falling relentlessly on the roof, she recalled what had happened after her divorce. She remembered all the matchmakers and so many men, including Lai Shun. At the time they had all been just illusions, nuisances she hoped would not return.
    In the rain, Darky ventured out to check on a plot of land near the river that she’d just begun to cultivate. She had planted radishes there; would the seedlings be washed away by the flooding river? The rain was letting up, but the wind was still strong.
    Darky looked carefully. The radishes were well rooted, and the river had not risen too much. But the surging water flew by shiny and rapid. Suddenly, in the distance, a fire glittered and then extinguished in a wink. Darky stared and saw a light-reddish spot on the other side of the river. It looked like a fox’s eye, appearing one second and disappearing the next. She heard the rushing of the water and, after a moment of silence, a slight creaking sound over the sands.
    Fearing a ghost, Darky held her breath. She watched a shadow approaching, and she could eventually make out a man wading across the river, carrying alpine rush on his shoulders. From the sturdy build and clumsy steps, Darky recognized him and shouted, “Mu Du!”
    Mu Du, startled, nearly fell. The cigarette butt between his lips streaked dark red and disappeared. Once he saw it was Darky, Mu Du laughed while he put on his trousers. But his laugh had a strange ripping sound.
    “You brave the river on such a stormy day?” Darky asked. “The current could sweep you away!”
    Mu Du replied, “I’ve collected a full load of alpine rush. I have to hurry home through the night—otherwise I’d be trapped and starve to death in the mountains. How daring you are to come here at night by yourself! Why don’t you stay safely at home?”
    “I’ve come to check on the radishes, to make sure they aren’t washed away by the