Andao Tian

from THE DEATH OF MY MAD UNCLE

My mother had five sisters, but only two brothers. One was crippled and the other was mad. My mad uncle was called Yunian, and my crippled uncle Wennian. Yunian had died on a cold fall night. My story begins in China a decade after the Cultural Revolution, when people had food on the table and clothes on their bodies.

My crippled uncle, Wennian, had one normal foot and one clubfoot. He was crippled by polio when he was five years old. He lived in West Plain, my mother’s hometown. Feng River ran through West Plain on its east side and cut a natural borderline with East Plain. When the weather became cool in autumn mornings, fog from the Feng River would obscure the dirty and poor village, and somehow made the people living there feel temporarily content with their lives.

One night after midnight, a truck driver named Chunyao came back from Far Peace, a busy county thirty miles away, and stopped at Wennian’s house. This young man owned his truck, doing transportation business, and he brought the latest news for the village. He told Wennian that Yunian had been found dead in Far Peace. Before Wennian had a chance to ask more, Chunyao rushed out of the door, saying that he had to go home, and he was going to give Wennian a ride to pick up Yunian the next day.

Early the next morning, Wennian limped to his third sister’s home at the east corner of the village to inform her of the death. But once he reached there, he decided not to tell her of the tragedy. He didn’t want to hear his third sister’s hysteric reaction; not yet. He knocked and a sleepy voice answered, “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Wennian.”

“What happened?”

The door opened, and he said, “Yunian was found in Far Peace. Chunyao told me. I will go there to bring him back.”

“Oh, usually he comes back by himself. But this time he has been gone too long. You are right. Go bring him back”

A silence fell between Wennian and his sister. She let him into the room, shivering from the chill of the outside air. The room smelled like bad breath and urine. The piss pot was on the floor, so full that urine almost ran over the rim.

Wennian wished to leave. “Sister, I need some money.”

“I thought your fourth sister visited you not long ago . . .”

“The money she gave to me, I paid to the school. My son went back to school in September, almost two months ago.”

On the Kang—a huge brick bed that occupied half of the room—his third sister’s husband and sons were sleeping soundly. His third sister fetched money from under her cotton-padded mattress.

“I just paid for the well drilled in my yard. You know that. I have one hundred Yuan here. You can take that.”

Wennian knew that she had at least one thousand Yuan at home. Her husband had just come back from Taiyuan, the capital city of the province, after selling his bowls and pots there. But Wennian didn’t say anything, and took the money.

“I am going. Chunyao will take me to Far Peace.”

“Don’t scold him. Once he gets home, he will listen to you. Be careful on the way.”

“All right.”

Wennian stepped out of his sister’s home, and breathed in the morning air, cold and damp.

He hated to ask his sisters for money. It made him feel like a beggar. But by their mother’s deathbed, they had promised to help him to take care of Yunian. He hadn’t given birth to Yunian, why should he take the burden all by himself? His sisters talked a lot but did little to help. His fourth sister was better than the others, but she was also reluctant to take part of the responsibility.

Wennian had disliked Yunian for as long as he could remember. He was younger than Yunian, but while he, with his crippled legs, had to go to the well at the back of the street to carry water with a shoulder pole and two buckets, Yunian just lay on the Kang with his strong and healthy legs, doing nothing. His mother would say, “Poor Yunian, his heart aches. He didn’t get to go to college. You go ahead and carry water. Give him a little time.” At the beginning, Yunian had excuses not to do chores around the house, and later, his madness relieved him of all responsibilities from the family.

That bastard was always lucky, thought Wennian. Now he had passed away, and left Wennian with this mess. Wennian sighed, imagining what would have happened if he had been the first to die, leaving his children, his retarded wife, and his mad brother in that broken house. That really would have been a good scene for the whole village.

The fog covered West Plain. Wennian rushed with a limp to the other side of the village to meet Chunyao, who had offered to take him to Far Peace.

Outside, Chunyao was waiting for him. The light at his cigarette’s end gleamed behind the fog. Chunyao started his truck when he saw Wennian approaching, and in the truck’s lighting, his face looked like it was covered with a layer of wax, dull and yellow. He didn’t speak, which was unusual for him. As the villagers liked to say, not even shit and piss in his mouth could stop him from talking.

Wennian struggled to get in Chunyao’s truck and said, “So I finally get the privilege to sit in your brand-new truck.”

Chunyao stubbed out his cigarette and looked into Wennian’s eyes for quite a while. Wennian had never seen Chunyao so serious. There must be something more than Yunian’s death, Wennian thought, but he didn’t speak. He had no desire to know anything more until he had to. He tried not to look at Chunyao.

The truck moved, passing the village. The smell of animal manure was strong in the windless morning. Chunyao rolled up the windows to keep the odor out.

The truck left the dirt road in West Plain and got on the highway to Far Peace. The road ran to the North, leaving Feng River behind. The sun was rising. Trees were becoming bare, and dry branches stretched out against the clear sky.

Wennian had often foreseen Yunian’s death. He had thought that when it finally happened, it would free him of his burden. But that feeling didn’t come. Neither last night, nor this morning.

Yunian was born after one baby boy died, and another baby boy died after he was born. For that reason, he was precious to his parents, occupying their attention entirely for five to six years. By the time Wennian was born, Yunian had already set up his priority in the family.

Wennian became crippled after suffering a terrible fever when he was five years old. But as he grew up, he couldn’t help but think that if the same thing had happened to Yunian, his parents would have got him to the hospital earlier, and the disability could have been prevented. Wennian massaged his crippled leg like a mother caressing her child.

Chunyao stared ahead while driving, biting his lower lip now and then. Wennian considered the ability to drive to be something sacred. He tried to make the least interruption to Chunyao, and asked softly, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to close my eyes to have a rest. Morning dizziness caught me.”

“Go ahead,” Chunyao replied.

[...]