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Hut on the Mountain

(excerpt, translated by Ronald Janssen and Jian Zhang)

On the bleak and barren mountain behind our house stood a wooden hut. Day after day I busied myself by tidying up my desk drawers. When I wasn’t doing that I would sit in the armchair, my hands on my knees, listening to the tumultuous sounds of the north wind whipping against the fir-bark roof of the hut and the howling of the wolves echoing in the valleys.

“Huh, you’ll never get done with those drawers,” said Mother, forcing a smile. “Not in your lifetime.”

“There’s something wrong with everyone’s ears,” I said with suppressed annoyance. “There are so many thieves wandering about our house in the moonlight, when I turn on the light I can see countless tiny holes poked by fingers in the window screens. In the next room, Father and you snore terribly, rattling the utensils in the kitchen cabinet. Then I kick about in my bed, turn my swollen head on the pillow and hear the man locked up in the hut banging furiously against the door. This goes on till daybreak.”

“You give me a terrible start,” Mother said, “every time you come into my room looking for things.” She fixed her eyes on me as she backed toward the door. I saw the flesh of one of her cheeks contort ridiculously.

One day I decided to go up the mountain to find out what on earth was the trouble. As soon as the wind let up, I began to climb. I climbed and climbed for a long time. The sunshine made me dizzy. Tiny white flames were flickering among the pebbles. I wandered about, coughing all the time. The salty sweat from my forehead was streaming into my eyes. I couldn’t see or hear anything. When I reached home, I stood outside the door for a while and saw that the person reflected in the mirror had mud on her shoes and dark purple pouches under her eyes.

“It’s some disease,” I heard them snickering in the dark.

When my eyes became adapted to the darkness inside, they’d hidden themselves-laughing in their hiding places. I discovered they had made a mess of my desk drawers while I was out. A few dead moths and dragon flies were scattered on the floor-they knew only too well that these were treasures to me.

“They sorted the things in the drawers for you,” little sister told me, “when you were out.” She stared at me, her left eye turning green.

“I hear wolves howling,” I deliberately tried to scare her. “They keep running around the house. Sometimes they poke their heads in though the cracks in the door. These things always happen after dusk. You get so scared in your dreams that cold sweat drips from the soles of your feet. Everyone in this house sweats this way in his sleep. You have only to see how damp the quilts are.”

I felt upset because some of the things in my desk drawers were missing. Keeping her eyes on the floor, Mother pretended she knew nothing about it. But I had a feeling she was glaring ferociously at the back of my head since the spot would become numb and swollen whenever she did that. I also knew they had buried a box with my chess set by the well behind the house. They had done it many times, but each time I would dig the chess set out. When I dug for it, they would turn on the light and poke their heads out the window. In the face of my defiance they always tried to remain calm.

（Source: chinaculture.org）