The Four Books Read Online Free Page B

as snow, as white as fog. The Musician was sitting in the very back of the crowd. Everyone else turned around to look at her. The Musician lowered her head, and the Child turned his gaze elsewhere, to an overweight, middle-aged professor. He said, “You told the higher-ups that you don’t return home on weekends, and instead you go to the theater and watch old costume dramas. You claim that only in this way can you be productive. But all of the books you have hidden under your pillow are old thread-bound volumes. There is one that is particularly lewd and reactionary. It’s called Story of the Stone . I hear that you’ve even memorized all the poems in it.”
    He then pointed to a thin woman, and said, “You wrote a letter to the highest of the higher-ups in the capital, saying that the current higher-ups are all bad. But you are not bad, and in your drawer there are no books. Instead, there is a lot of foreign candy. Every month your family sends you a package of clothing, and hidden inside each shipment there is a jin of candy. Every day, you wake up, go to work, then return to your room. Before bed, you secretly eat some candy. Every day, you eat at least five pieces, meaning each month you eat at least a hundred and fifty pieces. Did you know that most of the nation’s people have never seen a piece of imported candy in a foreign wrapper?”
    The Child appeared to be omniscient. Wherever he claimed someone had hidden books, there turned out to be books; and wherever he claimed people had hidden valuables, there turned out to be valuables. The Child stood before the crowd, and as he was speaking he kept kicking the growing pile of books. The pile rose higher and higher until it was like a small mountain, and the Child walked around it from the back to the front. The sun shone onto the pile. Dust motes flickered, dancing in the light. Everyone was pale with fear. With a look of astonishment, they stared at the Child as though he were a deity. They stared at the deity. They stared at that deity. Birds were flying overhead, and as their feathers floated down, rustling in the wind, the Child picked one up and examined it, then threw it aside and said loudly,
    “I won’t continue with this. You and I both know where you have hidden your books, as does God above. Everyone must go retrieve those reactionary books you shouldn’t be reading, and hand them over. In this way everything will be resolved.”
    Everyone went back to their houses to retrieve those books that they ordinarily read. Most of them did this voluntarily, and the crowd became very animated. Others initially hesitated, but they too scurried away when the Child glared at them. The Musician was about to go look for her books, but the Child turned to her and said, “You don’t have any books, and therefore don’t need to get them.”
    The Musician sat back down facing the Child, so that she might have a good memory of him.
    Everyone went home. Only the Musician stayed behind.
    They brought their books as though they were old shoes, and tossed them onto the pile. The pile grew higher. The sun was also higher. The pile grew bigger, and the sun also grew bigger. The musty smell of the books’ paper wafted out, mixing with the scent of the autumn fields.
    The pile of books grew larger and larger.
    The pile of books grew larger still, until it was like a towering mountain.
    The Child grabbed several volumes, including Call to Arms , Faust , and The Hunchback of Notre Dame , and lit them on fire. He took a copy of The Phenomenology of Spirit , and set it on fire. He took copies of The Divine Comedy and Strange Tales of the Liao Zhai Studio , and set them on fire as well. The Child burned many books. As he was about to burn Balzac’s novels, however, he threw them back onto the pile. And when he was about to burn Tolstoy’s novels, he also tossed them onto the pile. He tossed back a copy of Crime and Punishment , and said to those two youngsters, “Keep