storehouse. He did sense an annoying light when I switched on the bulb at the entrance, though, and he immediately scolded me with an angry Shhh! as if he were shooing a chicken away. In my haste to turn the light out, and in the darkness, and because I was still worked up after my proclamation to my mother, I caught the frayed heel of my straw sandal on the sill at the entrance and tumbled onto the dirt floor about two steps lower and rolled across it head over heels and finally cracked my rear against the raised wooden floor of the room where
a certain party
had installed his chair. But this time
a certain party
didn’t even hiss, it was as if he had fallen asleep the minute I had turned off the light, he held his large, looming head perfectly upright in the darkness and didn’t move a muscle. I opened my mouth wide and exhaled a ton of breath to keep from crying out, the bayonet on myhip had dug into my stomach and it hurt so much I could hardly stand it, and I wept truly forlorn tears and wet my scraped cheeks and the dry dirt of the floor. For quite a while I stayed just as I was, unable to get up. But from that night on I had a place to sleep in the storehouse. To make
a certain party
think I’d chosen to roll across the dirt floor as a way of locating the best place to sleep, and not simply fallen, I made a bed of straw and boards and old blankets directly on the floor where I had come to rest, and that’s where I slept. After that I only went back to the main house to get the meals I brought to
a certain party.
My mother was isolated, and not just at home, either. From the day those ashes returned, as if the only temporary bond between the outsider she was and the valley had been maintained through her stepson gone off to war on the Chinese mainland, she began to ignore every man, woman, and child in the valley even when they were right under her nose, and effectively vanished from society. Which left me, a kid, to run around the valley, with my grandfather’s bayonet on my hip, collecting our rations and keeping my small eyes peeled for extras and making sure that my family, and particularly
a certain party,
who was gradually becoming obsessive about his food, had enough to eat. Now that I think about it, there has never been a time since when I’ve taken so much responsibility for my own family’s daily welfare. On my own initiative I went down to the village office and received the plaque that said “A son lost in battle” and nailed it up with old nails, not to the main house but to the fire door of the storehouse. With the bayonet rattling at my side, I stood on my tiptoes and swung a large, heavy hammer, and when the kids from the valley who had followed me fromthe village gathered around in curiosity I waved them away with my hammer as if it were a scepter, “he” says.]]
V
[[Claiming sudden physical exhaustion, “he” spends the entire day either sleeping or looking at animal picture books. At the same time “he” tries to demonstrate to the “acting executor of the will” that “he” has not lost interest in narrating his “history of the age.” Look at this wild boar in Ceylon charging down a valley of dry brush with half a dozen baby boars, even though the parent in front is a female in this case, these little ones with their heads lowered as if they were lost in thought but their legs churning as they try to keep up remind me perfectly of myself in the days when I was at
a certain party’s
side. Do you suppose the Ceylonese wild boar has long hair growing around its eyes? This bunch is running at such terrific speed the picture is out of focus, maybe that makes it look all the more like hair—anyway, fierce as these characters are they have deeply shadowed, mournful eyes that don’t really fit them, and look how hard they stare at the ground just in front of their flying hooves, doesn’t it give them a solemn, fussy look? A human being never looks this intelligent when he’s
a certain party
had installed his chair. But this time
a certain party
didn’t even hiss, it was as if he had fallen asleep the minute I had turned off the light, he held his large, looming head perfectly upright in the darkness and didn’t move a muscle. I opened my mouth wide and exhaled a ton of breath to keep from crying out, the bayonet on myhip had dug into my stomach and it hurt so much I could hardly stand it, and I wept truly forlorn tears and wet my scraped cheeks and the dry dirt of the floor. For quite a while I stayed just as I was, unable to get up. But from that night on I had a place to sleep in the storehouse. To make
a certain party
think I’d chosen to roll across the dirt floor as a way of locating the best place to sleep, and not simply fallen, I made a bed of straw and boards and old blankets directly on the floor where I had come to rest, and that’s where I slept. After that I only went back to the main house to get the meals I brought to
a certain party.
My mother was isolated, and not just at home, either. From the day those ashes returned, as if the only temporary bond between the outsider she was and the valley had been maintained through her stepson gone off to war on the Chinese mainland, she began to ignore every man, woman, and child in the valley even when they were right under her nose, and effectively vanished from society. Which left me, a kid, to run around the valley, with my grandfather’s bayonet on my hip, collecting our rations and keeping my small eyes peeled for extras and making sure that my family, and particularly
a certain party,
who was gradually becoming obsessive about his food, had enough to eat. Now that I think about it, there has never been a time since when I’ve taken so much responsibility for my own family’s daily welfare. On my own initiative I went down to the village office and received the plaque that said “A son lost in battle” and nailed it up with old nails, not to the main house but to the fire door of the storehouse. With the bayonet rattling at my side, I stood on my tiptoes and swung a large, heavy hammer, and when the kids from the valley who had followed me fromthe village gathered around in curiosity I waved them away with my hammer as if it were a scepter, “he” says.]]
V
[[Claiming sudden physical exhaustion, “he” spends the entire day either sleeping or looking at animal picture books. At the same time “he” tries to demonstrate to the “acting executor of the will” that “he” has not lost interest in narrating his “history of the age.” Look at this wild boar in Ceylon charging down a valley of dry brush with half a dozen baby boars, even though the parent in front is a female in this case, these little ones with their heads lowered as if they were lost in thought but their legs churning as they try to keep up remind me perfectly of myself in the days when I was at
a certain party’s
side. Do you suppose the Ceylonese wild boar has long hair growing around its eyes? This bunch is running at such terrific speed the picture is out of focus, maybe that makes it look all the more like hair—anyway, fierce as these characters are they have deeply shadowed, mournful eyes that don’t really fit them, and look how hard they stare at the ground just in front of their flying hooves, doesn’t it give them a solemn, fussy look? A human being never looks this intelligent when he’s
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