The Four Books by Carlos Rojas Read Free Book Online Page B

scythes, so instead he simply reported a hundred thousand jin .
    The Child stared in bewilderment, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before his eyes.
    The Child sat with the third brigade, and when everyone rushed onto the stage to report their production targets, he was pushed off. The Child seemed ready to burst into tears, but at that moment the county chief leapt onto the stage, jumped up onto a table, and shouted for everyone to quiet down. He shot two flares into the air. Bang, bang! They sounded like two gunshots, and the assembly hall fell silent. The county chief stood on the table, his face lit up. He praised everyone’s enthusiasm and self-awareness, and said that no one, absolutely no one, could exceed ten thousand jin . If they did, it would be considered a false report. The county chief said that some people reported ten thousand jin , others eight thousand, and some only a few thousand. Who would report the most, and who would report the least? The county chief told everyone to return to their seats below the stage, explaining that in a little while the air would be filled with red blossoms, which would tell them how much they could report. Everyone went back to their seats. Suddenly, the auditorium was indeed filled with red blossoms that fluttered down like red rain. The blossoms were cut from red paper—bright red, dark red, pinkish red, and purplish red. Each of them had a ribbon attached, on which was written a number.
    Someone tossed the red blossoms into the air, and they fell like rain.
    Everyone stood on the benches and grabbed at the blossoms.
    Everyone grabbed a blossom.
    If the blossom had 5,000 written on it, it meant you could report a production target of five thousand jin of grain per mu , and you could claim your hoe, pickax, and scythe, together with a lot of cloth. If it had 10,000 written on it, you were truly in luck, because it meant that your award would be enough muslin fabric to last your entire family for five years—so much fabric that you would need a shoulder pole to carry it home. Everyone took their red blossoms up onstage to claim their awards. When the blossoms fell on the Child’s head, he was only able to grab one that was as large as a fist. The number on the blossom was a measly 500 , which meant that he would have no honor and receive no award.
    The Child stood onstage still looking as though he were about to cry. He stood in the crowd of people, like a lamb separated from its flock.
    The Child appeared as though he would burst into tears.
    Someone went to collect their award, and carried it past him. The Child asked, “Can one mu really yield ten thousand jin of grain?”
    The person laughed. Smiling, he stroked the boy’s hair, squeezed his shoulder, and patted the back of his head with his fist.
    The Child went in search of the higher-up from the district headquarters, who had brought him there. He looked everywhere, even in the assembly hall’s bathroom. The bathroom was new, and had a light and a cement floor. The higher-up was in the process of kicking at that hard, slick, and radiant floor, saying, “When I go back, I’m going to install a cement floor like this one in the headquarters’ bathroom, so I won’t have to worry about it getting splattered with urine.”
    The Child said hesitantly, “I want to report grain production of ten thousand jin per mu .”
    The higher-up stared in surprise.
    The Child said, “If I can’t report ten thousand, you may take a scythe and slice off my head.”
    The higher-up opened his mouth and stared in astonishment.
    “In fact.” The Child paused, then continued. “It would be best if I could report a number even higher than ten thousand.”
    The higher-up lifted his pants and retied his belt. He stopped staring at the new cement floor under his feet, and instead accepted the blossom from the Child and looked at it. After a moment, he took out a pen and wrote a 1 in front of the 500 , and added a 0 at the