Selected Works of Li Rui - 60th Century Literary Masters

Author: Li Rui
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-05-01
Features:
"Hey, the dad of the kid! The dad of the kid!" The stones, big and small, cut and chopped like knives and axes, scraped past from beneath his body: "Damn your mom, drag it to death, let it die clean!" The thought flashed only for a moment, and his entire muscles tightened. He bent his legs, and his body followed, arching up. But the cart slid down too fast, and he struggled but couldn’t resist, being pulled into a straight line once again. The dusty black wool swayed wildly to his eyes. The two square-mouthed shoes rolled forward and backward onto the roadside. In the chaos, the driver in front, who was whipping the reins, gripped the brake and fiercely pulled the reins, shouting wildly. After much effort, he finally managed to stop the cart on the slope. The yoke mule frothed at the mouth, its two hind legs bent under its belly, resisting the heavy load rushing down with its entire body. The driver, furious, tightened the reins and cursed the assistant who was pulling the brake from behind: "Damn your mom! You damn bastard, have you never pulled the brake? Making a mistake on this road is a joke? The people on this cart aren’t your wife and kids? What about your damn family, did they get hit by a ghost?" The black wool on the ground writhed and stood up, then retreated to put on his shoes, silently returning to his post to tighten the brake rope. The driver scolded, "Hold it!" He loosened the brake, eased the reins, flicked the whip tip in front of the yoke mule, and cheerfully said, "Let’s go, Red Mule." The cart shook again. The rubber wheels hit a sharp stone corner sticking out from the roadside with a dull crack, followed by a loud bang as the cart hit the ground, and a pungent white smoke billowed out. With the sound, the driver painedly corresponded with his rubber wheels: "Ouch-ouch—, my rubber! The flower cloth tied at the back of my head swayed again. His eyes only saw the flickering red patches and the white-bright mountain path. As the mountain path twisted and turned, a dizzying cliff followed, either to the left or the right. The river below the cliff churned with white waves, but the sound that came was distant, as if separated by something. The driver was too cruel, the cart was too full, even with the (guardrails) still overflowing. The overflow was covered with broken hair cloths, and on the cloths, a woman in a floral dress flickered vaguely. She held a baby in her arms, sucking on a teat. With the cart’s sway, the tight dress would expose the pale, tender belly. But the night before, this belly had been rubbed by others.