"I have a more important duty to carry out; I'm the safety officer."
It was Zhang Lobsang who asked the question. Now he had an opinion to share:
"Even so, you could still be carrying something."
Actually, Zhang Lobsang's comment wasn't only directed at the blue-suit—it was for the benefit of everyone who heard it. In Ji village society, he was considered an experienced and knowledgeable person, so whenever he got the chance, he was only too happy to flaunt the authority his experience and knowledge afforded him.
This didn't seem to bother the blue-suit, who said:
"This is just how the revolution divides labour," he shrugged, "anyway, it's all for the cause of protecting the state's forest assets."
Kelsang Wangdu gave Zhang Lobsang a nudge in an effort to make him shut up. It didn't work—Zhang Lobsang was more full of things to say than ever. His eyes widened, and he intentionally raised his voice as he protested to Kelsang Wangdu:
"What? Aren't we bringing their people food?"
The blue-suit stopped, his expression stern suddenly:
"You're wrong, brother peasant. If you insist on drawing lines between people, wouldn't it also be fair to say that we only came here to help you, to protect your forest? We're here to help you fight the fire, so shouldn't you, ethnic brother, be acting as gracious host? Wouldn't you say? We even brought all our own food and bedding with us, and now you're grumbling just because we ask you to carry some food?"
Zhang Lobsang had nothing to say to this great barrage of reason. This was because, firstly: there was the question of where the ownership of the forests lay; first it belonged to the state, then suddenly it was back in the hands of Ji village. And secondly: though Zhang Lobsang was one of Ji village's best Mandarin speakers, he wasn't fluent to the point where he could engage in complex, not to say circular, reasoning and still be smooth about it. So, he played mute. Of course, no one else said anything either, since they might as well have been real mutes when it was the Han language that was being spoken. For a moment, the villagers wallowed in the kind of silence that people often feel in the world outside the mountains.
"Let's go," the blue-suit said.
Everyone picked up their heavy loads and began panting up the slope after him, still in silence.
The whistle piped up again, clear, ear-splitting, and immensely proud of itself.
Very soon, they could see the workers who were no longer working, standing up on top of the slope and peering down at them. But for some reason, this was the moment the blue-suit chose to sit down on the grass:
"Wow, the grass is all hot from the sun! It feels so good on my butt! Let's sit down and rest a while."
The people above began yelling anxiously when they saw that the food-runners had stopped. But the blue-suit gestured at them to sit down, so they leaned their loads up against the incline of the slope, and sat down to rest. Sunlight fell over the deep blue of the forest, which was a forest of fir trees. It fell between the trees, on grassy fields, and it fell on a trickling stream. The tranquillity was profound. The warmth of the sun as it fell on the resting loads of food brought out their fragrances. There was the smell of flat-cakes, steamed bread, boiled eggs, and for those with a keen sense of smell, salt, sugar, and ground meat. At the bottom of the mountain, food was arriving by the truckload, in a constant flow. In the crop fields down by the spring, steam billowed from the dozens of cooking pits that burned insistently from dawn till dusk.
Once the yells from above stopped, the blue-suit stood up, and tucked the little green flag inside his waistband:
"Now they're really tired," he said, "not from working, mind you, but from yelling for their food. My, oh my. Let's get going."
Eleven
The workers channelled half of their energy into complaining about how monotonous the food was, and the other half into shovelling flat-cakes into their mouths. The opening of food cans provided some background noise. Apart from beef and mutton, the Ji villagers had never in their lives seen the food that these cans contained—there was fruit, and fish, and all kinds of prepared vegetables. Suopo was bent over his food like a ravaging whirlwind, but the rest of the villagers belched and felt nauseous just looking at food by this point. These days, though it was ahead of schedule, Communism was being fully implemented in Ji village. Everyone ate together in mess halls, and when each meal was done, the diners took leftovers home with them. The most prized of these leftovers were the cans, which were treasured as a rare commodity. Their contents were all people ate outside of the mess halls.
Ingdzin's cheeks bulged as she chewed, but she didn't forget to attend to her fellow villagers:
"How are you all not eating? Come on, eat something," she urged.
Everyone shook their hands, warding her away. They'd all volunteered to come up the mountain because their stomachs were so bloated from over-eating; they'd hoped the climb would help them digest and relieve some of the discomfort, but actually, it just made the trek harder than it ever had been before. Seeing people eating with such gusto now only made their own stomachs feel fuller.
Zhang Lobsang was the only person who replied:
"Don't worry about us, worry about your big brother Suopo."
But Suopo fended off the flat-cake she tried to offer him, and stormed angrily over to where Kelsang Wangdu was sitting. Suopo sat down next to him.
聚合中文网 阅读好时光 www.juhezwn.com
小提示:漏章、缺章、错字过多试试导航栏右上角的源