Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [37]
He slowly crawled out of the tent. Outside it was a dull day, the sun so weak you could only tell where it was by looking at the shade. Before the snow on the trees had had time to melt, it froze again, forming icicles on the branches that swayed in the wind. They had exhausted the supply of firewood and the charcoal fire sputtered into extinction. No one had the energy to go and cut more fuel.
Ah-Fat felt something nudge the small of his back and, turning round, he saw Ginger. The dog walked soundlessly, making as little disturbance as a puff of wind. Ah-Fat reached out and felt his belly. Ginger wearily raised a hind leg, pissed a few drops of urine, then stopped. When Ah-Fat had been at work in the camp, it was so unbearably cold he used to put his hands in the urine whenever Ginger pissed, to warm them up. The dog came to understand what Ah-Fat was doing and would hold back until Ah-Fat reached out his hands. But Ginger had not eaten for many days. The dog’s belly was empty and he hardly had any urine left. There were deep cracks all over Ah-Fat’s hands and the urine hurt like hell. Ah-Fat shook his hands dry and kicked the dog away with his foot. Ginger whimpered and shook the snow off his coat. Then he crept back to Ah-Fat and pushed his head against his chest.
By now Ginger was nothing but skin and bones, and his sagging belly hung down to the ground like a wrung-out cloth bag. His ribs showed. Ah-Fat stroked her head, flattening a few stray hairs. Then his heart skipped a beat. He had an idea.
He stood up and fetched the axe he used for chopping down trees.
“Ginger, you’re gonna die anyway,” he said quietly, “you might as well save us.”
As he raised the axe to strike, he saw a flicker of fear in Ginger’s eyes. But the dog made no move to run away. Instead, he made a slight movement and sank down on the ground, as if to sleep off a good dinner.
Ah-Fat checked the axe for a moment, then struck the dog’s neck. The blood spurted out, spattering a line of drops over the snow. The dog’s eyes opened wide. In them Ah-Fat saw the mountains, the trees, the sky. He knelt down and pushed the lids down. The dog’s tongue quivered and he licked Ah-Fat’s hand one last time. The dog’s eyes had opened again but the image of the mountains, the trees and the sky gradually faded. Ah-Fat felt something prickling his face. He rubbed it with the back of his hand and was surprised to find it wet with tears.
A couple of hours later, the forest was filled with the smell of cooked meat. Ah-Fat ladled out a bowlful of soup with two slices of lean meat floating on top and carried it to Red Hair. Red Hair’s wounds had not healed and still wept blood and pus. The flesh had begun to smell. Ah-Fat propped him up and helped him eat the soup. Unsalted and without any oil in it, it tasted rank. Red Hair forced himself to swallow a mouthful but, like a hydra-headed snake, it fought its way back up and spurted out of his nose, mouth and throat. He was shaken by a violent cough which pulled at the wound on the side of his face. The excruciating pain made him howl in agony. “Ah-Fat!” he shouted suddenly. “Why’s it got dark so quickly? Light the lamp!” “It’s broad daylight! What d’you want a lamp for?” The chopsticks fell from Red Hair’s hand. “It’s got dark. I can’t see anything…” Red Hair’s eyes had a glassy stare. Ah-Fat realized that he had just gone blind.
Ah-Fat hurriedly helped Red Hair to lie back down again.
Red Hair tried to cough but was so weak that the breath caught in his throat and he seemed about to choke. Ah-Fat thumped his chest hard a few times, and his breathing eased a little.
Suddenly,