Daughter Mountains, Men's Waters
Daughter Mountains, Men's Waters By Xiong Fumu This fine drizzle seems to be beneath the vast Wuling Mountains, wrapped in white fluffy mist, driving the wind and chasing the waves. The mountain peaks are wrapped in skirts, ribbons flying, standing gracefully like a half-hidden young girl... The mountains of Maogang are the mountains of daughters. Water is what belongs to men. Moving slowly along the steep ridge on the bank of the Maoyan River. The clouds open and the mist clears, and the Maoyan River breaks open one mountain gate after another, lifting muddy waves that rise higher and higher into the sky, in...
Daughter's Mountains, Son's Waters
by Xiong Fumu
This fine drizzle seems to fall for the vast Wuling Mountains, wrapped in downy white mist, pushing wind and chasing waves. The peaks are wrapped in skirts and flying ribbons, standing gracefully like a half-hidden maiden…… The mountains of Maogang are the daughter's mountains.
Water belongs to men.
Slowly walking along the steep ridge by the bank of the Maoyan River. The clouds part and the mist clears; the Maoyan River breaks through one mountain gate after another, lifting muddy waves higher and higher into the sky, and in the dark river valley flows a soul-stirring roar. The river has no beaches, nor broad banks; the hundred-zhang-high cliffs on both sides seem to have come for this violent river. Water is the bone and sinew of the mountains, mountains are the flesh and blood of the water; water has created a vibrant world, mountains have nurtured a vast and pure world.
The daughters of Maogang grew up on ox backs, grew up under the dense forests of Chinese tallow trees on the field ridges, under walnut trees, beside beehives in vegetable gardens; the winding bluestone paths record the history of married women carrying water jars and driving mules to fetch water. The river actually has banks; from the river, the banks look like a shivering mountain sparrow. Places rich in rivers have no water. The women of Maogang stand on the tops of hundred-zhang cliffs, looking at the rushing water, wanting to cry, to shout, to jump off the cliff to block the flow and stop the water. But the water still roars in the river valley, and the women can still only walk the bluestone paths, walk “One-Line Sky”, walk “Broken Mountain Crack”, driving mules and carrying water jars to redeem the water on which all living things depend. The big feet of Maogang women have polished the bluestone paths smooth as mirrors…… Only this vast river flowing forever through the ages deeply knows the source of life that connects Maogang women with the vast mountains and fields!
The women carry water home, use it to feed livestock, to irrigate seedlings in the fields, to water the tallow trees and walnuts, to sprinkle water into the sky to suppress the bees that have chosen another high neighbor. Tallow trees, walnuts, and bees are the “Three Treasures” of Maogang. In autumn, on the long field ridges, rows of abundant tallow trees turn crimson, and the seeds bursting from the black-skinned kernels smile at the autumn fields like white teeth. The open yellow earth grows walnut trees; on fruit-bearing days, all over the mountains and fields, they fill Maogang women with heavy hopes; in September, on the bluestone threshing floors under the yellow mud walls, bright walnut kernels are spread out; pick one up and gently pinch it, the transparent kernel is like a sleeping infant, fragrant everywhere, and then Maogang women surge with a motherly pride. The mountains and fields are vast and boundless; in the dense forest it is hard to tell east from west, no human voices are heard, nor crowing of cocks or barking of dogs; then suddenly one or a swarm of little honey-gathering bees buzzes; at this moment you follow their traces, wandering like a monk roaming the mountains; as the mountain forest gradually thins, you hear human voices, hear cocks crowing and dogs barking, and see an ancient village nestled in a mountain hollow surrounded by bamboo groves, with barrel-shaped beehives arranged in bamboo clearings or in vegetable gardens under stilted houses; the beekeeping woman crouches in front, gazing obsessively at the bees flying in and crawling out of the hive entrances, and then Maogang women are filled with sweetness and dreams…… Such an autumn is undoubtedly tempting; although in the season before autumn, Maogang women shed more sweat than the water they carry, their hopes are so solid, their dreams so sweet, the rice and corn so abundant; the livestock and sons so sturdy—all this is always pleasing, and when Maogang women look around at all these achievements, they cannot help but sigh softly: My love…… Then Maogang women walk the winding mountain paths, descend the high natural chasms, carrying water jars and driving mules to sit on the steep rocks by the river, foolishly gazing at the river valley where the rapids gush…… Quietly, snow begins to fall, whitening the women's waterfall-like black hair, plumping their lovely bodies. In winter, Maogang women go down to the river to carry water, not to irrigate seedlings, but to wait for the sweetheart who makes their hearts itch. The winter bed is so cold; brother, have you forgotten the darling who leans alone on the brushwood gate, holding a candle and shedding tears?
The men of Maogang keep company with log rafts, coal boats, and fishing lights. On days when spring water babbles, the empty valley carries the sound of chopping wood; the sound of falling trees is like overturning mountains and seas, rumbling in the empty valley. Trees are gathered one by one, piled on the riverbank crisscrossed with steep rocks, and the refreshing scent of wood fills the river valley. Then Maogang men cut large bamboos and split them into strips, and begin to tie rafts, three men to a raft, or five men to a raft; the small huts on the rafts are the warm dwellings of the raft workers. When preparations are complete, they choose an auspicious day; the raft workers shout in unison, mountains and valleys echo, and suddenly a dozen or dozens of log rafts surge with the flooding spring water. Among wave crests and troughs, men and rafts, rafts and men, are mixed into one; it is hard to tell whether men fight rafts or rafts fight water, but you can clearly see that at the wave tips at the head of the river valley, raft workers shaped like flies and ants stand on the mountain-like moving log rafts, pulling oars and steering; at this moment what they release is the immense natural force produced by humankind in the life-and-death struggle with the object of its survival. Is it not precisely by relying on this enormously powerful natural force that humankind forever stands above nature? The log rafts in the noisy Maoyan River sail far away; the coal miners on the bank do not wait, carrying coal basket by basket, coming out of the long dark mine, walking on the wooden bridge connecting the steep cliffs and the coal boats, decorating the boats into black flowing light. Then these “black spirits” form long lines, raise sails, and majestically follow the raft workers. When the coal boats leave, the fishermen, holding a lantern in one hand and a cormorant in the other, also sail downstream in a light boat. On summer evenings, at the docks along the Lishui River, when from the coal boats lying on the water like black stone forts you hear a melancholy bamboo flute coming from beside the dotting fishing lights, please take note: that is a Maogang man!
Then Maogang men count out big wads of cash and come arm in arm to a colorful world; the world's rare treasures dazzle these strong men; they tremble as they hold money, not knowing where to start—this is truly harder than punting a boat or steering a raft. They think of Maogang women—those women who silently labor in the mountains and fields, who serve the old and the young on the high cliffs, who feed the livestock—so they buy plows, harrows, hoes, and sickles, oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar, then buy jewelry, silks and satins, cakes and fruits; the coal boat on the way home becomes a dazzling shelf of goods. When Maogang men
return braving the rustling flying snow to the Maoyan River their hearts long for, the Maogang children gathered on the high banks and sheer cliffs by the river cheer and jump, hugging their relatives and frolicking. And Maogang women gaze at the blurred mountain scenery in the distance, a wave of joy sweeps through their whole bodies: My love, you have finally returned.
Cold and heat change seasons, winds go and rains come; water forged the character of Maogang men, mountains forged the feelings of Maogang women. Mountains are vast and enduring; water is unrestrained and heroic. This determines the stream of life that loves mountains and waters and nestles and embraces…… Under the high distant sky, Maogang men roar to the heavens; on the long field ridges, Maogang women run barefoot. Then, the tall and vast mountain range trembles; crying and laughing, shouting and calling, all together beat the mountain's chest and roll past like waves, roll past, and at the end of the sky a thunderclap suddenly startles.