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

relatives and neighbors to enjoy the wedding feast and drink in the courtyard. After several drinks with his guests, Mu Du grew unsteady. He was not a good drinker. He wildly urged his guests to eat and drink more, shouting, “How can three bowls be enough? I take two bowls for a snack! Have some more!”
    Darky, sitting as custom demanded inside on the kang, could do nothing but wait, listening to the noisy feast in the yard and the cheerful chatter and hearty laughter of the guests teasing Mu Du. Looking out through the window lattice, she saw the wall that reminded her that she had once been part of the neighboring family. Mu Du had handed her a hot potato over that wall. She thought of the strange meanderings of human lives.
    She scanned the group of guests, but did not see Lai Shun. Her heart grew heavy. Mu Du came inside, muttered, “Headache,” and fell onto the bed and immediately into drunken sleep.
    Soon Mu Du’s hunchbacked father came in and repeatedly called his son, trying to wake him. “You should take care of your guests!” he said loudly. “How could you get so drunk while everyone’s still here?” He left and came back with a pillow for his son. Darky was amazed to see that it was the stone pillow she had given the father many years ago.
    When night fell, Mu Du woke and saw Darky in her bridal clothes sitting under the light. His heart was filled with the passion of a new bridegroom. Shyly he spoke her name, but could find no other words. Too timid to approach her, he just rubbed his hands restlessly like a bashful, naughty boy.
    Darky took pity on him; Mu Du was plain looking, poor, inarticulate, inexperienced, and still a virgin. Today I marry him, she told herself, and I will be his woman from now on. So she combed her smooth, bright hair and pretended to be a bit shy, but a seductive passion showed in her eyes. Mu Du blew out the candle and pounced like a hungry tiger.
    When Darky awoke at dawn, the scene looked completely different. The arm around her body was as strong and hard as an iron stick, with protruding veins and muscles and overgrown yellow hair. Her eyes fell on the shiny mulberry carrying pole leaning against the bedroom gate. That pole had had to feed two mouths in the family, and now there was a third. Her husband, strong as an ox, would exert his energy and life with her body as with the carrying pole—day in and day out, year in and year out. Her body tingled.
    When Mu Du finally awoke, he spoke vehemently about new experiences and feelings. About how he would love her and dote on her. He could kill a dog with a punch, but he would never lay his fist on her; he would live only with her, perfectly content for the whole of his life, never even looking at other women. He also spoke of theloneliness he’d felt, as a bachelor, when he saw two dogs in heat in a cornfield.
    Darky asked, “Mu Du, why didn’t you invite Lai Shun to the feast yesterday?”
    “I did,” Mu Du replied. “He promised to come, but he never showed up.”
    “He’s a nice guy; don’t appear too proud in front of him. Find an opportunity, and treat him to a hearty drink.”
    “Sure,” Mu Du agreed.
    On the third day after the wedding, as Mu Du was passing by a wheat field after selling his alpine rush, Lai Shun popped out from behind a wheat stack. He had grown thinner, his eyes bleary. He said to Mu Du, “You’re living a happy life now! With a wife, you are a somebody!”
    Mu Du cupped his hand in salute and complained that he had missed Lai Shun on his wedding day.
    “Since I didn’t go that day,” Lai Shun said, “would you make up for it today?”
    “Absolutely! I just sold some alpine rush, so I have money in my pocket. You just wait here—I’ll fetch the wine!”
    Mu Du rushed into town and back like a gust of wind, returning to Lai Shun with a bottle of wine. Mu Du suggested they go to his home, where they could drink out of glasses, but Lai Shun said, “No need. It’s OK to drink