DONG JUN

DRUNKEN APOSTLES: OLD WEI’S “FREE COUNTRY”

translated by Cao Qitong, Ru Jia, and Remington Gillis

Many people who can drink do so after they eat half a bowl of rice, and their bellies are warm and full. It’s said that, in this way, the liver and stomach are protected. There are also people who drink liquor first, and then beer, which is considered a palate cleanser of sorts. Then they drink tea, to dilute the smell of alcohol bit by bit. Old Wei was not like this. He liked drinking on an empty stomach, a free mix of yellow rice wine and liquor. After he had drunk his fill, there was no need for meals.

Old Wei liked drinking liquor, at least a jin each time. As to how much he could drink, no one knew the answer. Rumor had it that he could drink ten jin of yellow rice wine in one sitting. Was it true or not? Many people would seek answers from him out of curiosity when they met him. Indeed, he’d say, but only if you include the weight of the bottles. He also never showed off his alcohol tolerance to others. When drinking with others, he neither urged them to drink more nor competed with them. It was their business whether they wanted to drink or not. If they didn’t drink, he would drink on his own. The smell of alcohol emanated from him, surrounding his body. 

Old Wei lived in Winery Alley. Once upon a time, there was a winery there. Old Wei's grandfather was a pretty well-known wine-maker, and his handicraft was passed on to Old Wei's father. It was in the 1950s, when public-private joint ventures sprang up, that the brewery struggled for several years, and then closed. Old Wei did not inherit his father's career, and instead developed his own craft as a wine taster without guidance.

People say that because Old Wei liked wine, he arranged a child marriage between his daughter and the son of a famous brewery owner in town. The son of this brewery owner was named Zou Tongtong, and was a classmate of Old Wei’s daughter. On New Year's Day or other festivals, Zou Tongtong would bring two jars of good wine to meet his future father-in-law.

Classmates had asked Zou Tongtong about this, to which he answered: This is simply a joke between the adults. Stop taking it so seriously.

Old Wei and Zou Tongtong's father, Old Zou, were childhood friends. Together they had herded cattle, worked the lands, made a wayward living, and fought side by side. What's more, they had been in prison together. This was caused by Old Wei, or rather, by a drunken slip of the tongue. When the Cultural Revolution broke out that year, Old Wei and Old Zou went drinking in a pub. After getting excitably drunk, they talked about the news they had heard from “enemy broadcasts” the night before as if nobody else was in the room. They talked about Mao Zedong and Lin Biao without shying away from the topic at all. Turned out the walls had ears, and they were reported to the Revolutionary Committee. Soon afterwards, the boozy Old Wei and Old Zou were led out one after the other. However, Old Wei had a strong sense of brotherhood, and took the blame for the anti-revolutionary crime of listening to enemy broadcasts during the interrogation. So Old Zou got out after only half a month's detention, while Old Wei remained in prison. Old Wei spent his sentence facing the wall of his cell, thinking about his mistakes. He concluded that drinking too much was not good; talking too much was even worse. In this life, the wine tastes good, but words are hard to say. So, from that point on he would be quiet. The next winter, Old Wei came out of prison. He did not go straight home but knocked on the door of Old Zou's house. Old Zou opened the door and asked, have you been yet to see your wife at home? No, Old Wei said. You must want to borrow rice then, Old Zou said. I’ve already got it ready for you. Old Wei replied, I want to borrow one more thing too. Old Zou asked, what? Cotton trousers, answered Old Wei. It’s so cold, I feel like my balls are broken, and my cock’s freezing. Old Zou has faith in brotherhood too. He immediately took off his own cotton trousers and gave them to Old Wei, with a pot of wine as well. Old Wei knew Old Zou's family was also poor—this pot of wine was the only thing left. Old Wei first downed a few mouthfuls of wine and then said, smacking his lips, that the wine had warmed his hands and feet, same as a pair of cotton trousers. The two men drank around the stove and felt a nice warmth creep over them. Old Wei took off his shoes and socks, and a white fog rose from his feet. Old Zou waved his hands, disgusted by the smell. Old Wei chortled and said, I walked on clouds to get here. Old Zou replied, when you finish drinking this pot of wine, your feet will be even lighter. Put on your shoes and get out of here. Your wife is still waiting for you at home.

After the drinks, Old Wei took a bag of rice and stepped into the street, mounting clouds, riding fog. Seeing the red scrolls lining the doors and lanterns on the street, he felt a panic. Counting on his fingers, he realized that New Year's Eve was approaching, the wintersweet flowers already bursting loudly into bloom on their branches. Reminded of his family’s poverty, he had no interest in appreciating the flowers. Still, he broke a branch of wintersweet from the roadside to take home and put in a pot, accounting for holiday spirit.

When Old Wei got home, he found that his wife had already returned to her parents’ home with their children. Though it was at the end of the year and every family was buying New Year's goods and drinking longevity wine, in Old Wei’s home the celebratory atmosphere was absent. Even his coughs echoed. Old Wei couldn't stand still. He put on a sweater and ran out as if he was fleeing, into an old alley where the sunshine could not get to. Only a few pedestrians stood, and the sound of cold wind and stamping feet resounded off the bluestone slabs. From the cold alley, he ran to the larger street and headed somewhere with more sunlight. At a street stall, he saw a country woman in the sunshine pull out a mound of white shining flesh from under her shirt to nurse a child, and he rubbed his gurgling stomach, staring obsessively at the woman's exposed flesh. When the woman finally noticed him, she immediately pulled down her shirt and gave him a fierce glare. He too got a little shock, and walked away. Because of the cold, he walked fast in the sunshine. After awhile, he met Old Zou again. Old Wei grinned and said, come to my house and have a drink if you are free tomorrow.

The next day was New Year’s Eve. When Old Zou arrived, he came to a bare table, nothing on it except dust. Through a hole in the window-shade, he could just about see the warm lights of the next house over, could smell the perfume of a feast carried over by the wind. He didn’t even sit, as the only chair had just three legs. Old Wei said, the others are living a new year, and I’m just living the days. Since you’re here, I’ll treat you to a quick and dirty drink. Old Zou asked, what are we drinking? Old Wei opened the window and said, the northeast wind, obviously. The northeast wind. I’ve already had half a ton of the stuff, it’s pretty filling.

Old Zou, disappointed, acted as if to put a glass down. Said, I’m full too. He wiped his mouth, and left.

Over the next few decades, Zou Tongtong's father, after a couple drinks, tirelessly repeated these old stories. Even Old Wei got tired of it.

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On Zou Tongtong's birthday, Old Wei invited him and several of his classmates to drink. As usual, it was in the Drunk Philosopher’s Mansion, a known drinking establishment.

Old Wei called himself “Old Beast” (others would add a “drunk” to this nickname), and he called Zou Tongtong “Little Beast”.

Zou Tongtong was indeed a little beast. His soul was not yet fully grown, but he terrified the adults by how much he drank. Old Wei said, this kid is going to be a hell of a man when he grows up.

Although only two dishes of broad beans and peanuts were served with the wine and tea, the group managed to have a good chat, and Old Wei told his drunken stories. Some people said that he was an alcoholic, which made Old Wei extremely unhappy. In his view, the difference between him and an alcoholic was that an alcoholic was just an alcoholic, nothing more, whereas when he drank, he invented worlds. Zou Tongtong's classmates asked Old Wei how many jin of wine he could drink. It doesn’t matter how many pitchers of wine I drink, Old Wei said. What matters is how many years I can drink. The classmates asked again whether Old Wei had ever been drunk. Never, Old Wei answered. He’s full of it, Zou Tongtong cut in. My dad told me that he once got blackout drunk, wandered into the train station, and caught a train to another province. Yeah, that happened, Old Wei nodded. I was sleeping sound when a ticket inspector found out that I had got on without a ticket and kicked me off the train halfway.

There was another time, Old Wei went on to say, I got drunk and was shoved into the back of a trolley. I barely heard someone asking if I was going to Beijing. I counted on my fingers, it was more than two thousand li away, so I just said no. But he kept asking, where are you going? Old Wei told him, to Hangzhou, I’m gonna take a nap beside Yue Fei’s tomb. Then he dreamed that he had traveled a long way across the provinces and prefectures. But when he woke up, he found himself in bed at home. Old Wei said, it was very interesting. I walked hundreds of miles in my dreams, but what really happened? I was just pulled across two streets on the back of a trolley.

When Old Wei spoke like this, it often felt like it was less drunk talk than dream talk. Zou Tongtong and his classmates also seemed to be talking in dreams, and they were all equals.

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Between sunset and sunrise, Old Wei had to drink at least once. His habits never changed even after his life got better. What’s interesting is, whether he was coming from or heading to a banquet, he would never say he had been drinking wine, but tea. Why? It's probably something to do with fear of his wife.

One time, Old Wei suddenly declared that he would quit drinking.

And changed to drinking tea. Once, he drank several bowls of strong tea. When he finished, the bowl fell to the ground, and he fell asleep on the table. Some people thought he was sick, but later they realized that he was drunk. Several drinking buddies took him home on a scooter. When his wife saw him, she started nagging. You said you wouldn’t drink again, she said. And now here you are drinking again anyway. His friends tried to explain that he was drunk on tea this time, not on wine, but his wife didn't believe it. I could smell the alcohol all over him from a mile away, she snarled. You think I’m stupid? His friends said that the smell of wine was passed on to him when they helped lead him inside, and that there was never a smell of tea on tea-drinkers. When they put Old Wei on the bed, he sat up suddenly and vomited tea all over the ground. Only then did his wife believe that her husband was drinking tea.

Old Wei said that nothing in the world was more painful than drinking tea, and from that moment on, never drank tea again. Though, of course, he continued to drink wine. In order to please his wife, he often brought home some food after drinking. But even though his old wife nagged a lot, she would still make him a bowl of ginger soup to soothe his stomach once she had said her piece. Out of fear that her husband would drink too much and get into trouble, his wife laid down the law: you can drink, but only at home.

There was a big wine vat in his house. There was a board on top of the vat, which served as a tabletop. When the guests arrived, they sat around the big wine vat and drank. This was standard in the northern way of drinking. The big vats in the north are just substitutes for tables, and there’s no actual wine in them. In the wine vat at Old Wei’s home, however, there was not only wine, but good wine. Some people said that Old Wei drank too fast, as if he was swallowing something solid, but when he got down a mouthful of wine, his throat made no sound. Usually, some inappropriate words would follow.

His wife had miscalculated. There were still times when Old Wei drank too much and got into trouble. When his wife wasn't looking, he'd slip outside and wander from one street to another, chatting with whoever he could catch, trading gossip as well as national news. At that time, the “Gang of Four” had already fallen, and he would critique them along with other officials he disliked, often getting into some harsh clashes. When his wife found out that he had gone out and had a drunken episode again, she would scour the streets for him everywhere with a broom in hand. Later, when his wife decided she couldn't deal with him anymore, she had only one thing to say: Drinking and talking carelessly, sooner or later, will bring disaster, before letting him leave.

Old Wei had a belly full of wine, as well as a belly full of inopportune ideas. Every time he finished drinking, the universe became smaller in front of him. The mountains shrank, becoming a few stones; the trees turned small, like clovers; all living beings were just ants. At times like this, he couldn't stay at home. When he felt himself a giant, he thought the house was too small to accommodate him. That was probably why he liked to walk in open spaces and speak loudly. When someone urged him to go home, he would mostly ignore them. Sometimes, he sat on a mound by the roadside and compared himself to the clever Zhu Geliang, echoing: “I was once the recluse of the distant Wolong Hills.”

The last time Old Wei drank, it was in the Drunk Philosopher’s Mansion on our street. 

On that day, an old friend had invited him out. Old Wei told his wife he was going to Wenchang Pavilion to hide his real reason for leaving the house. It was a little windy outside. His wife reminded him that it looked like rain, and to take an umbrella. Old Wei pointed to the top of his head and said, this is my umbrella. He had a nice gentleman's cap, and was always at ease on cloudy and rainy days.

The day was black, as black as a coffin. People who knew Old Wei later recalled that on the last day Old Wei drank, the color of the sky was strangely dark.

When Old Wei came through the bar’s doors, the first thing he wanted was a pot of yellow rice wine. The pot was a tin pot, which could hold one and a half cups of wine. After sitting down, he asked for two bowls and two sets of chopsticks. Nobody knew who Old Wei had invited to drink with him this time. Old Wei sipped his glass of wine, slowly raised his head, called the shopkeeper over, pointed to a piece of red paper on the wall, and asked why the shopkeeper had suddenly thought of writing the six words: "No political talk. No sex talk.” The shopkeeper immediately pulled out a newspaper from behind the counter and put on his glasses, explaining: you see, it's been tense recently, I heard there’s a “crackdown campaign” going on. Old Wei said, you can eat noodles in a noodle restaurant without talking about politics, but you can't not talk about politics when drinking wine. The shopkeeper sneered and said, even if you wanted to talk about that, no one here would speak to you. Old Wei shook his head and said, then, what’s wrong with talking about sex? The shopkeeper said, that’s not okay either. Why not? He explained that a few days ago, a gasman had drunk a little wine in the pub across the street, and bragged to several friends that he had slept with a dozen women in the past six months, including even the mayor's daughter. He was basically salivating, and his listeners were intoxicated. He said what he had to say, but no one expected that someone would go to the town to report it. The police immediately sent someone to take the gasman away. Old Wei said that he also knew the diesel seller at the street corner. He often liked to talk dirty, but he was not a bad person. Does anyone really take what he says seriously? The shopkeeper turned around and walked away, throwing his last words over his shoulder, what’s bad is that mouth of his.

During this conversation, someone pushed through the door into the bar, bringing a gust of wind with him. The heavy curtain of rain was stirred up into clouds of fog that flew up from under the eaves. The newcomer appeared to be from out of town and had an old canvas bag. He walked straight to Old Wei, nodded, and sat down, paying no attention to his surroundings. He just drank with Old Wei, glass after glass, as if they were the only two in the whole bar. A while later, the man got up and said, come with me. Old Wei waved him off and said, you go first, I need some more wine.

When the man left, the shopkeeper asked Old Wei who he was. I don’t know who he is, Old Wei said. I only remember this one time, I drank a lot with him, and he took me on a walk into the mountains and told me that there was a country on the other side of the mountains, called the Free Country. The shopkeeper was a little curious, and asked, what is the Free Country like? Old Wei grinned to show his teeth and said, if you treat me to a half pot of wine, I'll tell you. The shopkeeper laughed, and really did pour him a half pot of wine.

At the Drunk Philosopher’s, Old Wei drank a great many jin of Shaoxing wine, getting drunk. So he gave some of his own opinions about the so-called “Free Country,” and gave a famous declaration. The Free Country has no monarchs and no ministers. Everyone is an anarchist, everyone drinks a lot, having wine instead of meals. People there don’t care about dignity or dishonor. Household registration isn’t divided into residents or farmers; freedom of belief allows people to believe in all kinds of gods. Freedom of speech enables people to say crazy things, bizarre things, false things, nonsense things. And so on. Old Wei, deep into his wine, had a face red as a cockscomb, proudly swinging. The people in the pub were shocked at what he said. They never knew that Old Wei had so many strange ideas in his mind. It was 1983 that year, and the "Crackdown Campaign” was gaining momentum. Not long after Old Wei announced his “Manifesto for the Free Country” that night, it was reported to the police. 

That night, the stranger who had drunk with Old Wei was arrested by the police at a guesthouse. He was said to be a leader of a cult guilty of “anti-revolutionary history” and “anti-revolutionary practice” crimes. Old Wei had a relationship with him, so it was only a matter of time before he got tied in. Early the next morning he was asked to go to the county courthouse. Soon after Old Wei left the house, he turned around and went back to fetch the gentleman’s cap that he often wore and tugged it down tightly onto his head. Old Wei told his colleagues that he wasn’t wearing the cap because he wanted to be a gentleman, but because he felt that there was a rainstorm coming.

The trial lasted from the late hours of the night to noon the next day. After the sentencing, the cult leaders were escorted to the provincial capital by local police, while Old Wei stayed behind. At that time, the county had not reached their “crackdown quota,” so Old Wei was arrested to make up the numbers. At that, Old Wei started to panic and asked the guards what crime he had committed. No one answered him, but neither did anyone with authority come to give him his sentence. Old Wei then sat in prison, waiting anxiously for the verdict. The inmates were a complex mix of con artists, rapists, drifters, and murderers. Every so often, Wei found that his fellow prisoners were either transferred to another prison or shot. Old Wei began to feel uneasy. He sent a message to be delivered his family: if there was news that he would be shot one day, no matter what, he was to be sent wine—with a bowl of wine in his stomach, he would not be afraid, even of death.

One day, Old Zou suddenly brought a pot of wine to visit Old Wei in the prison. From across the table, Old Zou made a drinking gesture as if to say, I came to deliver your wine. A shock flashed in Old Wei's eyes. Am I going to die?! Old Zou said, I haven't heard anything about you being sentenced to death. Old Wei turned around and asked the guard by his side, who also shook his head and said, no news. Old Wei let out a sigh, and said, I’m really done for this time—oh, I know. You are both hiding the news from me. Old Zou said, I came to see you just to give you a pot of wine, nothing else. Old Wei asked, where’s the wine? Old Zou pointed to the guard, said, it was confiscated. Old Wei turned to the guard and said, since I am going to die, can I have a few sips? The guard said, no. Old Wei wasted a load of sweet talk for a long while, but still got no wine to drink. No is no. Old Wei took off his plastic glasses, and stared blankly at a point in the distance. Then he stuck out his pale tongue and said, my Free Country was built and destroyed on my tongue. If there is sin, it is the sin of the tongue, not of the wine.

When Old Wei finished his statement, he returned to his cell in a foul mood.

Without wine, Old Wei could wax poetic no longer. Sometimes, a few of his fingers quivered for no reason at all, and his whole body would shake as he tried to hold them still with his other hand. Somebody asked, are you afraid of death? Yes, Old Wei said. There are two beasts in my body—one is a drunkard, and the other is afraid of death. Now that the drunkard is dead, the other one is out. There was really no resolution for Old Wei.

The verdict did not arrive for a long time, and Old Zou spent many days waiting nervously. After a week, the news came from the detention center that Old Wei had died —he slit his own throat, his tongue lolling out. A gruesome image.

Old Wei left no final words before he died.

The man was gone, but the dozen jars of wine he had stored in the cellar were shared amongst the mourners—as if they had come not to mourn, but to cheer with glasses in their hands. For the next few days there was a smell of wine in the street in front of Old Wei’s house. On the day of the funeral, Zou Tongtong and his classmates also came. Zou Tongtong asked his father. have you ever been to the “Free Country” that Old Wei spoke about? Old Zou said, there is no free country in the world, It's just his drunken nonsense. No, Zou Tongtong said. Uncle Wei once took us there. When Old Zou heard this, his face turned white, and he immediately covered Zou Tongtong's mouth, and looking around, said: from now on, when someone asks you if you have ever been there, you must close your mouth and say no. Got it? Zou Tongtong seemed to understand and nodded, but Old Zou was still uneasy—he called Zou Tongtong's classmates to the corner and repeated to them what he had said to his son.

When Old Wei was buried, his family purposefully buried a pitcher of wine in the earth with him (they seemed afraid that Old Wei's hands could not reach it, so they buried it very deep). It was a rainy day, with only a few white birds flying in the wind. The distant mountain, hazily grey, left dizzying specks in the people’s eyes. Apart from the guns and drums sounding from Longmen, there were almost manmade noises to be heard in the mountains. At the foot of the mountain, Old Zou stopped suddenly, looking at the gloomy and cold sky, and muttered: Old Wei finished his wine, he's probably heading to the Free Country now. . .