Dream of Ding Village Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Yan Lianke
in as a substitute.
That afternoon, when the county director arrived at the school, Grandpa was out sweeping the courtyard. When he learned that the director had come to see him personally, he flushed with excitement, tossed aside his broom and hurried to greet him. At the sight of the director standing at the school gate, grandpa’s face turned an even deeper shade of autumn.
‘Hello, chief! Come on in and sit down.’
‘No time for a sit down,’ the director answered. ‘Professor Ding … every committee in the province has been ordered to go into the villages and get the peasantry to sell blood. My department has been assigned fifty villages. That is why I’m here today. I called a meeting to mobilize the villagers, but before I could say more than a few words, I ran into a bit of a snag.’
‘Sell blood, did you say?’
‘You’re respected throughout the village, and everyone looks up to you. Since Ding Village doesn’t have a mayor right now, it is time for you to step up,’ said the director.
‘My God … you want them to sell blood?’
‘The Department of Education has been ordered to mobilize fifty villages as blood plasma resource centres. Ding Village is one of them. If you won’t take the lead in this, who will?’
‘But good heavens, you’re asking people to sell their blood?’
‘Professor Ding, you’re an educated man. Surely you must know that the body’s blood is like a natural spring: the more you take, the more it flows.’
Grandpa stood before the director, the colour draining from his face.
What had been autumn crimson was now as barren as a winter plain.
‘Professor Ding,’ the director continued. ‘May I remind you that you’re a caretaker and bell-ringer at this school, not a teacher. But every time you were nominated as a model teacher, I gave my seal of approval. And as a model teacher, you received award certificates and cash bonuses. Now I’m giving you one small assignment and you refuse to carry it out. Are you trying to show me disrespect?’
Grandpa stood at the school gate in silence. He remembered how every year, when it came time to nominate a model teacher, the maths teacher and the language teacher would vie for the honour. So intense was the competition between them that there could be no consensus, so the school always nominated Grandpa instead. After the county director had approved the nomination, Grandpa was summoned to receive his award certificate and cash bonus. Although the bonuses never amounted to much, just enough to buy two sacks of chemical fertilizer, he still had the bright-red certificates of merit hanging on his walls.
‘Other provinces have developed at least seventy or eighty villages as blood plasma resource centres. If I can’t even come up with forty or fifty, I’m going to lose my job,’ the director pleaded.
Grandpa made no answer. By now, students were leaning out of their classrooms to stare at Grandpa and the director, their heads filling the doorways and windowsills of the school.
The two instructors who had never been chosen as model teachers were watching from the sidelines, with odd expressions on their faces. Both seemed eager to have a few words with the director, but he didn’t even acknowledge their presence.
The only person the director was interested in was Grandpa.
‘Professor Ding, I’m not asking for much. Just talk to the villagers and explain that selling blood is no big deal. Tellthem that blood is like a natural spring: the more you take, the more it flows. That’s all you need to say, just a few words on behalf of myself and the Department of Education. Won’t you do this for me?’
‘All right,’ Grandpa mumbled at last. ‘I’ll give it a try.’
‘Just a few words, that’s all I ask.’
Grandpa rang the bell, signalling everyone to gather in the village square for another meeting. The Director of Education reminded him to keep his speech short and to stay focused on the topic: the
That afternoon, when the county director arrived at the school, Grandpa was out sweeping the courtyard. When he learned that the director had come to see him personally, he flushed with excitement, tossed aside his broom and hurried to greet him. At the sight of the director standing at the school gate, grandpa’s face turned an even deeper shade of autumn.
‘Hello, chief! Come on in and sit down.’
‘No time for a sit down,’ the director answered. ‘Professor Ding … every committee in the province has been ordered to go into the villages and get the peasantry to sell blood. My department has been assigned fifty villages. That is why I’m here today. I called a meeting to mobilize the villagers, but before I could say more than a few words, I ran into a bit of a snag.’
‘Sell blood, did you say?’
‘You’re respected throughout the village, and everyone looks up to you. Since Ding Village doesn’t have a mayor right now, it is time for you to step up,’ said the director.
‘My God … you want them to sell blood?’
‘The Department of Education has been ordered to mobilize fifty villages as blood plasma resource centres. Ding Village is one of them. If you won’t take the lead in this, who will?’
‘But good heavens, you’re asking people to sell their blood?’
‘Professor Ding, you’re an educated man. Surely you must know that the body’s blood is like a natural spring: the more you take, the more it flows.’
Grandpa stood before the director, the colour draining from his face.
What had been autumn crimson was now as barren as a winter plain.
‘Professor Ding,’ the director continued. ‘May I remind you that you’re a caretaker and bell-ringer at this school, not a teacher. But every time you were nominated as a model teacher, I gave my seal of approval. And as a model teacher, you received award certificates and cash bonuses. Now I’m giving you one small assignment and you refuse to carry it out. Are you trying to show me disrespect?’
Grandpa stood at the school gate in silence. He remembered how every year, when it came time to nominate a model teacher, the maths teacher and the language teacher would vie for the honour. So intense was the competition between them that there could be no consensus, so the school always nominated Grandpa instead. After the county director had approved the nomination, Grandpa was summoned to receive his award certificate and cash bonus. Although the bonuses never amounted to much, just enough to buy two sacks of chemical fertilizer, he still had the bright-red certificates of merit hanging on his walls.
‘Other provinces have developed at least seventy or eighty villages as blood plasma resource centres. If I can’t even come up with forty or fifty, I’m going to lose my job,’ the director pleaded.
Grandpa made no answer. By now, students were leaning out of their classrooms to stare at Grandpa and the director, their heads filling the doorways and windowsills of the school.
The two instructors who had never been chosen as model teachers were watching from the sidelines, with odd expressions on their faces. Both seemed eager to have a few words with the director, but he didn’t even acknowledge their presence.
The only person the director was interested in was Grandpa.
‘Professor Ding, I’m not asking for much. Just talk to the villagers and explain that selling blood is no big deal. Tellthem that blood is like a natural spring: the more you take, the more it flows. That’s all you need to say, just a few words on behalf of myself and the Department of Education. Won’t you do this for me?’
‘All right,’ Grandpa mumbled at last. ‘I’ll give it a try.’
‘Just a few words, that’s all I ask.’
Grandpa rang the bell, signalling everyone to gather in the village square for another meeting. The Director of Education reminded him to keep his speech short and to stay focused on the topic: the