Call to Arms Read online

  IV

  In the morning I sat quietly for some time. Old Chen brought in lunch: one bowl of vegetables, one bowl of steamed fish. The eyes of the fish were white and hard, and its mouth was open just like those people who want to eat human beings. After a few mouthfuls I could not tell whether the slippery morsels were fish or human flesh, so I brought it all up.

  I said, “Old Chen, tell my brother that I feel quite suffocated and want to have a stroll in the garden.” Old Chen said nothing but went out, and presently he came back and opened the gate.

  I did not move, but watched to see how they would treat me, feeling certain that they would not let me go. Sure enough! My elder brother came slowly out, leading an old man. There was a murderous gleam in his eyes, and fearing that I would see it he lowered his head, stealing side-glances at me from behind his glasses.

  “You seem very well today,” said my brother.

  “Yes,” said I.

  “I have invited Mr. Ho here today to examine you.”

  “All right,” I replied. Actually I knew quite well that this old man was the executioner in disguise! Feeling my pulse was simply a pretext for him to see how fat I was; for this would entitle him to a share of my flesh. Still I was not afraid. Although I do not eat men my courage is greater than theirs. I held out my two fists to see what he would do. The old man sat down, closed his eyes, fumbled for some time, remained motionless for a while; then opened his shifty eyes and said, “Don't let your imagination run away with you. Rest quietly for a few days, and you will be better.”

  Don't let your imagination run away with you! Rest quietly for a few days! By fattening me of course they'll have more to eat. But what good will it do me? How can it be “better”? The whole lot of them wanting to eat people yet stealthily trying to keep up appearances, not daring to do it outright, was really enough to make me die of laughter. I couldn't help it, I nearly split my sides, I was so amused. I knew that this laughter voiced courage and integrity. Both the old man and my brother turned pale, awed by my courage and integrity.

  But my courage just makes them all the more eager to eat me, to acquire some of my courage for themselves. The old man went out of the gate, but before he had gone far he said to my brother in a low voice. “To be eaten at once!” My brother nodded. So you are in it too! This stupendous discovery, though it came as a shock, is no more than I might expect: the accomplice in eating me is my elder brother!

  The eater of human flesh is my elder brother!

  I am the younger brother of an eater of human flesh!

  I, who will be eaten by others, am the younger brother of an eater of human flesh!

  V

  These few days I have been thinking again: suppose that old man were not an executioner in disguise, but a real doctor; he would be nonetheless an eater of human flesh. That book on herbs by his predecessor Li Shizhen states explicitly that men's flesh can be boiled and eaten; how then can he still deny that he eats men?

  As for my elder brother, I have also good reason to suspect him. When he was teaching me, he told me himself, “People exchange their sons to eat.” And once in discussing a bad man he said that not only did the fellow deserve to be killed, he should “have his flesh eaten and his hide slept on.” I was still young at the time, and for quite a while my heart beat faster. That story our tenant from Wolf Cub Village told the other day about eating a man's heart and liver didn't surprise him at all—he kept nodding his head. He is evidently just as cruel as before. Since it is possible to “exchange sons to eat,” then anything can be exchanged, anyone can be eaten. In the past I simply listened to his explanations and let it go at that; now I know that when he gave me these explanations, not only was there human fat at the corner of his lips, but his whole heart was set on eating men.

  VI

  Pitch dark. I don't know whether it is day or night. The Zhaos'dog had started barking again.

  The fierceness of a lion, the timidity of a rabbit, the craftiness of a fox....

  VII

  I know their way: they are not prepared to kill outright, nor would they dare, for fear of the consequences. Instead they have banded together and set traps everywhere, to force me to kill myself. The behaviour of the men and women in the street a few days ago and my elder brother's attitude these last few days make it quite obvious. What they like best is for a man to take off his belt and hang himself from a beam; for then they can enjoy their hearts' desire without being blamed for murder. Naturally that delights them and sets them roaring with laughter. On the other hand, if a man is frightened or worried to death, though that makes him rather thin, they still nod in approval.

  They only eat dead flesh! I remember reading somewhere of a hideous beast with an ugly look in its eye called “hyena,” which often eats dead flesh. Even the largest bones it crunches into fragments and swallows; the mere thought of this makes your hair stand on end. Hyenas are related to wolves, wolves belong to the canine species. The other day the Zhaos' dog eyed me several times: it is obviously in the plot too as their accomplice. The old man's eyes were cast down, but that did not deceive me.

  The most deplorable is my elder brother. He's a man too, so why isn't he afraid, why is he plotting with others to eat me? Does force of habit blind a man to what's wrong? Or is he so heartless that he will knowingly commit a crime?

  In cursing man-eaters, I shall start with my brother. In dissuading maneaters, I shall start with him too.

  VIII

  Actually such arguments should have convinced them long ago....

  Suddenly someone came in. He was only about twenty years old and I did not see his features very clearly. His face was wreathed in smiles, but when he nodded to me his smile didn't seem genuine. I asked him, “Is it right to eat human beings?”

  Still smiling, he replied, “When there is no famine how can one eat human beings?”

  I realized at once he was one of them; but still I summoned up courage to repeat my question:

  “Is it right?”

  “What makes you ask such a thing? You really are... fond of a joke.... It is very fine today.”

  “It is fine, and the moon is very bright. But I want to ask you: is it right?”

  He looked disconcerted and muttered, “No....”

  “No? Then why do they still do it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What am I talking about? They are eating men now in Wolf Cub Village, and you can see it written all over the books, in fresh red ink.”

  His expression changed. He grew ghastly pale. “It may be so,” he said staring at me. “That's the way it's always been....”

  “Does that make it right?”

  “I refuse to discuss it with you. Anyway, you shouldn't talk about it. It's wrong for anyone to talk about it.”

  I leaped up and opened my eyes wide, but the man had vanished. I was soaked with sweat. He was much younger than my elder brother, but even so he was in it. He must have been taught by his parents. And I am afraid he has already taught his son; that is why even the children look at me so fiercely.

  IX

  Wanting to eat men, at the same time afraid of being eaten themselves, they all eye each other with the deepest suspicion.

  How comfortable life would be for them if they could rid themselves of such obsessions and go to work, walk, eat and sleep at ease. They have only this one step to take. Yet fathers and sons, husbands and wives, brothers, friends, teachers and students, sworn enemies and even strangers, have all joined in this conspiracy, discouraging and preventing each other from taking this step.

  X

  Early this morning I went to find my elder brother. He was standing outside the hall door looking at the sky when I walked up behind him, standing between him and the door, and addressed him with exceptional poise and politeness:

  “Brother, I have something to say to you.”

  “Go ahead then.” He turned quickly towards me, nodding.

  “It's nothing m
uch, but I find it hard to say. Brother, probably all primitive people ate a little human flesh to begin with. Later, because their views altered some of them stopped and tried so hard to do what was right that they changed into men, into real men. But some are still eating people—just like reptiles. Some have changed into fish, birds, monkeys, and finally men; but those who make no effort to do what's right are still reptiles. When those who eat men compare themselves with those who don't, how ashamed they must be. Probably much more ashamed than the reptiles are before monkeys.

  ” In ancient times Yi Ya boiled his son for Jie and Zhou to eat; that is the old story. But actually since the creation of heaven and earth by Pan Gu men have been eating each other, from the time of Yi Ya's son to the time of Xu Xilin, and from the time of Xu Xilin down to the man caught in Wolf Cub Village. Last year they executed a criminal in the city, and a consumptive soaked a piece of bread in his blood and sucked it.

  “They want to eat me, and of course you can do nothing about it singlehanded; but why must you join them? As man-eaters they are capable of anything. If they eat me, they can eat you as well; members of the same group can still eat each other. But if you will just change your ways, change right away, then everyone will have peace. Although this has been going on since time immemorial, today we could make a special effort to do what is right, and say this can't be done! I'm sure you can say that, Brother. The other day when the tenant wanted the rent reduced, you said it couldn't be done.”

  At first he only smiled cynically, then a murderous gleam came into his eyes, and when I spoke of their secret he turned pale. Outside the gate quite a crowd had gathered, among them Mr. Zhao and his dog, all craning their necks to peer in. I could not see all their faces, some of them seemed to be masked; others were the old lot, long-toothed with livid faces, concealing their laughter. I knew they were one gang, all eaters of human flesh. But I also knew that they did not all think alike by any means. Some of them thought that since it had always been so, men should be eaten. Others knew they shouldn't eat men but still wanted to, and were afraid people might discover their secret; so although what I said made them angry they still smiled their cynical, tight-lipped smiles.

  Suddenly my brother's face darkened.

  “Clear off, the whole lot of you!” he roared. “What's the point of looking at a madman?”

  Then I realized part of their cunning. They would never be willing to change their stand, and their plans were all laid: they had labelled me a madman. In future when I was eaten, not only would there be no trouble but people would probably be grateful to them. When our tenant spoke of the villagers eating a bad character, it was exactly the same device. This is their old trick.

  Old Chen came in too in a towering temper. But they could not stop my mouth, I had to warn those people:

  “You should change, change from the bottom of your hearts. You must realize that there will be no place for man-eaters in the world in future.

  “If you don't change, you may all be eaten by each other. However many of you there are, you will be wiped out by the real men, just as wolves are killed by hunter—just like reptiles!”

  Old Chen drove everybody away. My brother had disappeared, Old Chen advised me to go back to my room. It was pitch dark in there. The beams and rafters shook above my head. After shaking for a while they grew bigger and bigger. They piled on top of me.

  The weight was so great, I couldn't move. They meant that I should die. However, knowing that the weight was false I struggled out, dripping with sweat. But I had to warn them:

  “You must change at once, change from the bottom of your hearts! You must know that there'll be no place for man-eaters in future....”

  XI

  The sun has stopped shining, the door is never opened. Just two meals day after day.

  Picking up my chopsticks, I thought of my elder brother. I know now how my little sister died: it was all through him. My sister was only five at the time. I can still remember how sweet she looked, poor thing. Mother wept as if she would never stop, but he begged her not to cry, probably because he had eaten our sister himself and so this weeping made him rather ashamed. If he had any sense of shame....

  My sister was eaten by my brother, but I don't know whether Mother realized it or not.

  I think Mother must have known, but when she wept she didn't say so outright, probably because she also thought it proper. I remember when I was four or five, sitting in the cool of the hall, my brother told me that if a man's parents were ill he should cut off a piece of his flesh and boil it for them, if he wanted to be considered a good son; and Mother didn't contradict him. If one piece could be eaten, obviously so could the whole. And yet just to think of the weeping then still makes my heart bleed; that is the extraordinary thing about it!

  XII

  I can't bear to think of it.

  It has only just dawned on me that all these years I have been living in a place where for four thousand years human flesh has been eaten. My brother had just taken over the charge of the house when our sister died, and he may well have used her flesh in our food, making us eat it unwittingly.

  I may have eaten several pieces of my sister's flesh unwittingly, and now it is my turn....

  How can a man like myself, after four thousand years of man-eating history—even though I knew nothing about it at first—ever hope to face real men?

  XIII

  Perhaps there are still children who haven't eaten men? Save the children....

  April 2, 1918

  ■ Kong Yiji

  The layout of Luzhen's taverns is unique. In each, facing you as you enter, is a bar in the shape of a carpenter's square where hot water is kept ready for warming rice wine. When men come off work at midday and in the evening they spend four coppers on a bowl of wine—or so they did twenty years ago; now it costs ten—and drink this warm, standing by the bar, taking it easy. Another copper will buy a plate of salted bamboo shoots or peas flavoured with aniseed to go with the wine, while a dozen will buy a meat dish; but most of the customers here belong to the short-coated class, few of whom can afford this. As for those in long gowns, they go into the inner room to order wine and dishes and sit drinking at their leisure.

  At the age of twelve I started work as a pot-boy in Prosperity Tavern at the edge of the town. The boss put me to work in the outer room, saying that I looked too much of a fool to serve long-gowned customers. The shortcoated customers there were easier to deal with, it is true, but among them were quite a few pernickety ones who insisted on watching for themselves while the yellow wine was ladled from the keg, looked for water at the bottom of the wine-pot, and personally inspected the pot's immersion into the hot water. Under such strict surveillance, diluting the wine was very hard indeed. Thus it did not take my boss many days to decide that this job too was beyond me. Luckily I had been recommended by somebody influential, so he could not sack me. Instead I was transferred to the dull task of simply warming wine.

  After that I stood all day behind the bar attending to my duties. Although I gave satisfaction at this post, I found it somewhat boring and monotonous. Our boss was a grim-faced man, nor were the customers much pleasanter, which made the atmosphere a gloomy one. The only times when there was any laughter were when Kong Yiji came to the tavern. That is why I remember him.

  Kong Yiji was the only long-gowned customer who used to drink his wine standing. A big, pallid man whose wrinkled face often bore scars, he had a large, unkempt and grizzled beard. And although he wore a long gown it was dirty and tattered. It had not by the look of it been washed or mended for ten years or more. He used so many archaisms in his speech that half of it was barely intelligible. And as his surname was Kong, he was given the nickname Kong Yiji from kong, yi, ji, the first three characters in the old-fashioned children's copybook. Whenever he came in, everyone there would look at him and chuckle. And someone was sure to call out:

  “Kong Yiji! What are those fresh scars on your face?”

&
nbsp; Ignoring this, he would lay nine coppers on the bar and order two bowls of heated wine with a dish of aniseed-peas. Then someone else would bawl:

  “You must have been stealing again!”

  “Why sully a man's good name for no reason at all?”Kong Yiji would ask, raising his eyebrows.

  “Good name? Why, the day before yesterday you were trussed up and beaten for stealing books from the Ho family. I saw you!”

  At that Kong Yiji would flush, the veins on his forehead standing out as he protested, “Taking books can't be counted as stealing.... Taking books...for a scholar... can't be counted as stealing.” Then followed such quotations from the classics as “A gentleman keeps his integrity even in poverty,” together with a spate of archaisms which soon had everybody roaring with laughter, enlivening the whole tavern.

  From the gossip that I heard, it seemed that Kong Yiji had studied the classics but never passed the official examinations and, not knowing any way to make a living, he had grown steadily poorer until he was almost reduced to beggary. Luckily he was a good calligrapher and could find enough copying work to fill his rice bowl. But unfortunately he had his failings too: laziness and a love of tippling. So after a few days he would disappear, taking with him books, paper, brushes and inkstone. And after this had happened several times, people stopped employing him as a copyist. Then all he could do was resort to occasional pilfering. In our tavern, though, he was a model customer who never failed to pay up. Sometimes, it is true, when he had no ready money, his name would be chalked up on our tally-board; but in less than a month he invariably settled the bill, and the name Kong Yiji would be wiped off the board again.

  After Kong Yiji had drunk half a bowl of wine, his flushed cheeks would stop burning. But then someone would ask: