To Live by Yu Hua Read Free Book Online

said, “Fengxia, don’t you ever forget I’m your daddy.”
    Upon hearing this, Fengxia was all smiles and replied, “And don’t you forget I’m Fengxia.”
    When Fugui’s story got to this point, I couldn’t help but let out a
giggle. This scoundrel of forty years ago was today sitting bare-chested on the grass, the sunlight filtering through gaps between
the tree leaves and into his squinting eyes. His legs were covered
with mud, and patches of white hair sprouted from his shaven
head. Sweat trickled down over the wrinkles on his chest. At
that moment his old ox was in the golden water of the pond,
with only its head and back exposed. I saw the water slapping
against the ox’s long black back, just as water crashes on the
shore.
    This old man was the first person I had bumped into after
beginning my life of carefree travel. I was young and without
troubles or worries. Every new face filled me with excitement
and joy, and I was deeply attracted by anything I didn’t know. It
was just at this time in my life that I came upon Fugui. Never
before had anyone so completely confided in me the way he did
when he vividly recounted his story. For as long as I was willing
to listen, he was willing to talk.
    My chance meeting with Fugui filled my later days of collecting folk songs with happiness and anticipation. I imagined that
this rich, flourishing land was full of people like Fugui. And in
later years I did meet a lot of old men like him. They wore their
pants just like he did, with the crotch area drooping down near
their knees. The wrinkles on their faces were filled with sunlight
and dirt. When they smiled at me, I noticed only a handful of
teeth left in their empty mouths. Although they would often cry,
it was not because they were unusually sad. Sometimes they
would cry even when they were happy and perfectly at peace.
Their hands were as coarse as a dirt road. Raising their hands to
wipe away the tears from their eyes was as common a gesture as
flicking a piece of straw off one’s clothes.
    But I never again met anyone as unforgettable as Fugui. Never
did I meet anyone who was not only so clear about his life experiences, but also able to recount them so brilliantly. He was the
kind of person who could see his entire past. He could clearly see
himself walking as a young man, and he could even see himself
growing old. It’s very rare to meet this kind of old man in the
country. Perhaps the difficulties and hardships of life destroy the
others’ memories. They often face the past with a kind of numbness. Not knowing what to do, they simply dismiss the past with
an awkward smile. They lack interest in their own experiences.
Just like gossip or hearsay, they remember only fragments—
which often are not even related to their own experience. One or
two sentences is enough to express everything they stand for. I
often hear the younger generation mocking them: “Once they hit
old age, they start living like dogs.”
    But Fugui was completely di ferent. He liked thinking about
the past. He liked talking about his life. It seemed that in this
way he could relive his life again and again. His story grabbed
me in the same way the talons of an eagle clutch the branches of a
tree.
    After Jiazhen left, my mother would often sit off to one side, secretly wiping her tears. At first I tried to think of something to say to comfort her, but as soon as I saw her expression, the words just wouldn’t come out. In the end, she was the one who often tried to cheer me up. “Jiazhen doesn’t belong to anyone but you. No one can take her away.”
    Hearing this I could only swallow a sigh. What could I say? A strong and healthy family had been smashed apart like a clay jar. When night came, I would often lie in bed unable to sleep. I carried inside of me hatred for so many things, but when it came down to it I hated myself most. At night I worried too much, and during the day my head ached. All day I had no energy to harvest the crops.