After Death
by Lu Xun, translated from the Chinese into English by Matt Turner
I dreamt I was dead on the road.
Where I was, how I arrived there, how I died, I understood none of it. In short, by the time I knew I was dead, I was lying there, dead.
I heard magpies cry, and then a black crow. The air was brisk, with the flavor of dirt. It must have been about dawn. I wanted to open my eyes, but they wouldnโt move a bit. It was like they werenโt my eyes at all. I tried to lift a hand, the same thing.
Terror shot through my heart like an arrow. When alive, I once imagined, as a joke, that even if a man died and his motor movement was exhausted, he could still perceiveโa state more fearful than death itself. Who could know that what I imagined then would come to be, and that I myself would confirm what I once imagined.
I heard footsteps on the road. A wheelbarrow pushed past my head. Probably a heavy load. Its sound made me sick, set my teeth on edge. I saw everything in crimsonโthe sun must have risen. So, I was facing east. But none of that matters. The sounds of voicesโthe spectators. They kicked up the earth, it flew into my nostrils and I wanted to sneeze. I was unable to, though I really wanted to.
One after another the footsteps kept coming, and all stopped by my side. Then there were more low voices: a lot of people had come. I suddenly wanted to hear their commentaryโbut at the same time, I thought, when I was alive Iโd say critics were beneath contempt. Though that was probably insincere: having just died, this flaw lay exposed in me. Anyway, I listened. But I couldnโt come to a conclusion. Not much more than this:
โDead?…โ
โUh… yeah!…โ
โHmmm…โ
โAhem!… well…โ
I loved it, because I never heard a familiar voice. Otherwise, it might have made them sad, or maybe it could have made them happy, or maybe it would have given them material for conversation after dinner, wasting their precious free time; this all made me feel very sorry. No one had seen me, so no one could be affected. Okay. I really do treat everyone fairly!
But then there was an ant or something on my back, crawling, itching. I couldnโt move even a little, and I couldnโt get rid of it! Normally, if I turned over Iโd be able to knock it off, and then my thigh had one crawling on it! What are you all doing? Bugs!
Things went from bad to worse: a buzz, and a fly paused on my cheek- bone, took a few steps, then flew and landed again. It mouthed and licked the tip of my nose. I thought, annoyed: Iโm not an important person, you donโt need to look to me for commentary…. But I was unable to speak. He scurried from my nose on down, using his cold tongue to taste my lips. I donโt knowโwas this was an expression of love? Then many more landed on my eyebrows, taking steps, my eyebrows shaking. Tired of this, unable to endure it. Unable to any longer.
There was a gust of wind, and from above a piece of something covered me. And together they flew off, saying as they left:
โAlas!…โ
I nearly passed out from anger.
Suddenly I came to. Wood was breaking on, and shaking, the ground, and I could feel strands of reed matting on my forehead. Then the reed mat was lifted, and I felt burning sunlight. I heard someone askโ
โWhy should he die here?…โ
The sounds were near me, he was bending over me. But where should a man die? I used to think that although no man truly has the privilege to live how he pleases, he could at least die in the way he wanted. Now I know this isnโt soโitโs so very hard to suit the needs of the public! Itโs too bad I didnโt have paper and pen, but if I had I wouldnโt have written; and even if I could write Iโd have nowhere to publish it. Itโs best to let it go.
Men came and carried me, but I donโt know who. Based on the sound of blades being drawn, there were police there, at my โwhere I shouldnโt die.โ I was turned around and around several times, felt like I was raised up and then set down, the cover was covered, the nails nailed. But, weirdly, there were only two nails. Itโs hard to say whether or not the coffins here only use two nails.
I thought: Knock on six walls, Iโm nailed in. All is over now, oh, Iโm dead and gone!
I thought: โItโs stuffy!โ
But, compared to before, I was much calmer. I still didnโt know if I was buried or not. The back of my hand could feel the strands of the reed matting, and the shroud didnโt seem bad at all. Only I didnโt know who paid for itโwhat a pity, and how I loathe those fuckers who stuck me in here! Under my back a corner of my shirt had bunched up, and since no one had straightened it for me, I was now uncomfortable. Do you all think the dead donโt think, so you can be careless in how you do things? Ha!
My bodyโs dead weight made lying on my shirt uncomfortable. That said, I could get used to itโor just rot. It shouldnโt be much trouble. Now I should do as the quiet do: meditate.
โHello? Are you dead?โ
A familiar sound. When I opened my eyes it was the purchasing clerk from Boguzhai Bookstore. We hadnโt met for probably twenty years; he still looked the same. I looked at the six sides of my coffin, they were really crude: unsanded and, simply put, stark.
โIt doesnโt matter, it doesnโt matter,โ he said, unwrapping a dark blue bundle. โThis is a Ming edition of the Gongyang Commentary, itโs a Jiajing- era blackthread edition. Here, itโs for you. Keep it. This is…โ
โYou!โ I looked into his eyes with amazement and said: โIs it possible youโre that stupid? Look at my conditionโdo you think I want to see Ming editions?โ
โTake a look, itโs not a big deal.โ
I closed my eyes because I was tired of what was in front of me. I stopped. No sounds. He had surely gone. But then it felt like an ant was on my neck, climbing up, up, up to my face, circling my eye socket.
Never in manโs imagination does man change after death. Although some sort of force smashed what peace was in my heart, many dreams also unfolded before my eyes. Some friends wished me happy, some enemies wished me ruin. I never achieved happiness or ruin in any way during my life, and was unable to align with either sideโs expectations. Now that Iโve died like a shadow, the enemy still doesnโt knowโIโm unwilling to give them even the slightest pleasure.
I want to cry tears of satisfaction. These will be my first tears after death.
But in the end, no tears fall. A flash appears before my eyes, and I sit up.
July 12, 1925
ๆญปๅพ
้ญฏ่ฟ
ๆๅคข่ฆ่ชๅทฑๆญปๅจ้่ทฏไธใ
้ๆฏ้ฃ่ฃ๏ผๆๆ้บผๅฐ้่ฃไพ๏ผๆ้บผๆญป็๏ผ้ไบไบๆๅ จไธๆ็ฝใ็ธฝไน๏ผๅพ ๆ่ชๅทฑ็ฅ้ๅทฒ็ถๆญปๆ็ๆๅ๏ผๅฐฑๅทฒ็ถๆญปๅจ้ฃ่ฃไบใ
่ฝๅฐๅนพ่ฒๅ้ตฒๅซ๏ผๆฅ็ๆฏไธ้ฃ็่้ดใ็ฉบๆฐฃๅพๆธ ็ฝ๏ผโโ้็ถไนๅธถไบๅๆฐฃๆฏ๏ผโโๅคง็ดๆญฃ็ถ้ปๆๆๅ็ฝทใๆๆณ็้็ผ็ไพ๏ผไปๅป็ตฒๆฏซไนไธๅ๏ผ็ฐก็ดไธ่ฑกๆฏๆ็็ผ็๏ผๆผๆฏๆณๆฌๆ๏ผไนไธๆจฃใ
ๆๆ็ๅฉ้ๅฟฝ็ถ็ฉฟ้ๆ็ๅฟไบใๅจๆ็ๅญๆ๏ผๆพ็ถ็ฉ็ฌๅฐ่จญๆณ๏ผๅไฝฟไธๅไบบ็ๆญปไบก๏ผๅชๆฏ้ๅ็ฅ็ถ็ๅปขๆป ๏ผ่็ฅ่ฆบ้ๅจ๏ผ้ฃๅฐฑๆฏๅ จๆญปไบๆดๅฏๆใ่ชฐ็ฅ้ๆ็้ ๆณ็ซ็ไธญไบ๏ผๆ่ชๅทฑๅฐฑๅจ่ญๅฏฆ้้ ๆณใ
่ฝๅฐ่ ณๆญฅ่ฒ๏ผ่ตฐ่ทฏ็็ฝทใไธ่ผ็จ่ผช่ปๅพๆ็้ ญ้ๆจ้๏ผๅคง็ดๆฏ้่ผ็๏ผ่ป่ปๅฐๅซๅพไบบๅฟ็ ฉ๏ผ้ๆไบ็้ฝ้ฝผใๅพ่ฆบๅพๆปฟ็ผ็ท็ด ๏ผไธๅฎๆฏๅคช้ฝไธไพไบใ้ฃ้บผ๏ผๆ็่ๆฏๆๆฑ็ใไฝ้ฃ้ฝๆฒๆไป้บผ้ไฟใๅๅๅๅ็ไบบ่ฒ๏ผ็็ฑ้ฌง็ใไปๅ่ธน่ตท้ปๅไพ๏ผ้ฃ้ฒๆ็้ผปๅญ๏ผไฝฟๆๆณๆๅดๅไบ๏ผไฝ็ตๆผๆฒๆๆ๏ผๅ ๆๆณๆ็ๅฟใ
้ธ้ธ็บ็บๅฐๅๆฏ่ ณๆญฅ่ฒ๏ผ้ฝๅฐ่ฟๆๅฐฑๅไธ๏ผ้ๆๆดๅค็ไฝ่ช่ฒ๏ผ็็ไบบๅค่ตทไพไบใๆๅฟฝ็ถๅพๆณ่ฝ่ฝไปๅ็่ญฐ่ซใไฝๅๆๆณ๏ผๆ็ๅญๆ่ชฌ็ไป้บผๆน่ฉไธๅผไธ็ฌ็่ฉฑ๏ผๅคงๆฆๆฏ้ๅฟไน่ซ็ฝท๏ผๆๆญป๏ผๅฐฑ้ฒไบ็ ด็ถปไบใ็ถ่้ๆฏ่ฝ๏ผ็ถ่็ข็ซๅพไธๅฐ็ต่ซ๏ผๆญธ็ด่ตทไพไธ้ๆฏ้ๆจฃโโ
โๆญปไบโฆโฆโ
โๅกใโโ้โฆโฆโ
โๅผ๏ผโฆโฆโ
โๅใโฆโฆๅ๏ผโฆโฆโ
ๆๅๅ้ซ่๏ผๅ ็บๅง็ตๆฒๆ่ฝๅฐไธๅ็่ญ็่ฒ้ณใๅฆๅ๏ผๆ่ ๅฎณๅพไปๅๅทๅฟ๏ผๆๅ่ฆไฝฟไปๅๅฟซๆ๏ผๆๅ่ฆไฝฟไปๅๆทปไบ้ฃฏๅพ้่ซ็ๆๆ๏ผๅค็ ด่ฒปๅฏถ่ฒด็ๅทฅๅคซ๏ผ้้ฝๆไฝฟๆๅพๆฑๆญใ็พๅจ่ชฐไน็ไธ่ฆ๏ผๅฐฑๆฏ่ชฐไนไธๅๅฝฑ้ฟใๅฅฝไบ๏ผ็ธฝ็ฎๅฐๅพ่ตทไบบไบ๏ผ
ไฝๆฏ๏ผๅคง็ดๆฏไธๅ้ฆฌ่ป๏ผๅจๆ็่ๆจไธ็ฌ็๏ผ็ข็ข็ใๆไธ้ปไนไธ่ฝๅ๏ผๅทฒ็ถๆฒๆ้คๅปไป็่ฝๅไบ๏ผๅๅจๅนณๆ๏ผๅชๅฐ่บซๅญไธๆญ๏ผๅฐฑ่ฝไฝฟไป้้ฟใ่ไธ๏ผๅคง่ ฟไธๅ็ฌ็ไธๅๅฉ๏ผไฝ ๅๆฏๅไป้บผ็๏ผ่ฒ่ฑธ๏ผ
ไบๆ ๅฏๆดๅฃไบ๏ผๅก็ไธ่ฒ๏ผๅฐฑๆไธๅ้่ ๅๅจๆ็้กด้ชจไธ๏ผ่ตฐไบๅนพๆญฅ๏ผๅไธ้ฃ๏ผ้ๅฃไพฟ่ๆ็้ผปๅฐใๆๆๆฑๅฐๆณ๏ผ่ถณไธ๏ผๆไธๆฏไป้บผๅไบบ๏ผไฝ ็ก้ ๅฐๆ่บซไธไพๅฐๅ่ซ็ๆๆโฆโฆใไฝๆฏไธ่ฝ่ชฌๅบไพใไปๅปๅพ้ผปๅฐ่ทไธ๏ผๅ็จๅท่้ ญไพ่ๆ็ๅดๅไบ๏ผไธ็ฅ้ๅฏๆฏ่กจ็คบ่ฆชๆใ้ๆๅนพๅๅ่ๅจ็ๆฏไธ๏ผ่ทจไธๆญฅ๏ผๆ็ๆฏๆ นๅฐฑไธๆใๅฏฆๅจไฝฟๆ็ ฉๅญๅพไธๅ ช๏ผโโไธๅ ชไน่ณใ
ๅฟฝ็ถ๏ผไธ้ฃ้ขจ๏ผไธ็ๆฑ่ฅฟๅพไธ้ข่ไธไพ๏ผไปๅๅฐฑไธๅ้ฃ้ไบ๏ผ่จ่ตฐๆ้่ชฌโโ
โๆๅ๏ผโฆโฆโ
ๆๆคๆๅพๅนพไนๆๅฅ้ๅปใ
ๆจๆๆๅจๅฐไธ็้้็่ฒ้ณๅ็ๅฐ้ข็้ๅ๏ผไฝฟๆๅฟฝ็ถๆธ ้๏ผๅ้กไธๆ็่่็ๆข็ดใไฝ้ฃ่่ๅฐฑ่ขซๆๅปไบ๏ผๅ็ซๅปๆๅฐไบๆฅๅ ็็ผ็ฑใ้่ฝๅพๆไบบ่ชฌโโ
โๆ้บผ่ฆๆญปๅจ้่ฃ๏ผโฆโฆโ
้่ฒ้ณ้ขๆๅพ่ฟ๏ผไปๆญฃๅฝ็่ ฐ็ฝทใไฝไบบๆ่ฉฒๆญปๅจ้ฃ่ฃๅข๏ผๆๅ ๅไปฅ็บไบบๅจๅฐไธ้ๆฒๆไปปๆ็ๅญ็ๆฌๅฉ๏ผๅป็ธฝๆไปปๆๆญปๆ็ๆฌๅฉ็ใ็พๅจๆ็ฅ้ไธฆไธ็ถ๏ผไนๅพ้ฃ้ฉๅไบบๅ็ๅ ฌๆใๅฏๆๆไน ๆฒไบ็ด็ญ๏ผๅณๆไนไธ่ฝๅฏซ๏ผ่ไธๅณไฝฟๅฏซไบไนๆฒๆๅฐๆน็ผ่กจไบใๅชๅฅฝๅฐฑ้ๆจฃๆ้ใ
ๆไบบไพๆฌๆ๏ผไนไธ็ฅ้ๆฏ่ชฐใ่ฝๅฐๅ้่ฒ๏ผ้ๆๅทก่ญฆๅจ้่ฃ็ฝท๏ผๅจๆๆไธๆ่ฉฒโๆญปๅจ้่ฃโ็้่ฃใๆ่ขซ็ฟปไบๅนพๅ่ฝ่บซ๏ผไพฟ่ฆบๅพๅไธไธ่๏ผๅๅพไธไธๆฒ๏ผๅ่ฝๅพ่ไบ่๏ผ้็้ใไฝๆฏ๏ผๅฅๆช๏ผๅช้ไบๅ ฉๅใ้ฃ้้่ฃ็ๆฃบๆ้๏ผๆฏ้ๅ ฉๅ็้บผ๏ผ
ๆๆณ๏ผ้ๅๆฏๅ ญ้ข็ขฐๅฃ๏ผๅคๅ ้ๅญใ็ๆฏๅฎๅ จๅคฑๆ๏ผๅๅผๅๅไบ๏ผโฆโฆ
โๆฐฃๆถ๏ผโฆโฆโๆๅๆณใ
็ถ่ๆๅ ถๅฏฆๅปๆฏๅ ๅๅทฒ็ถๅฏง้ๅพๅค๏ผ้็ถ็ฅไธๆธ ๅไบๆฒๆใๅจๆ่ไธ่งธๅฐ่่็ๆข็ด๏ผ่ฆบๅพ้ๅฑ่กพๅไนไธๆกใๅชไธ็ฅ้ๆฏ่ชฐ็ตฆๆๅ้ข็๏ผๅฏๆ๏ผไฝๆฏ๏ผๅฏๆก๏ผๆถๆ็ๅฐๅญๅ๏ผๆ่ๅพ็ๅฐ่กซ็ไธ่ง็บ่ตทไพไบ๏ผไปๅไธฆไธ็ตฆๆๆๅนณ๏ผ็พๅจๆตๅพๆๅพ้ฃๅใไฝ ๅไปฅ็บๆญปไบบ็ก็ฅ๏ผๅไบๅฐฑ้ๆจฃๅฐ่็๏ผๅๅ๏ผ
ๆ็่บซ้ซไผผไนๆฏๆดป็ๆๅ่ฆ้ๅพๅค๏ผๆไปฅๅฃ็่กฃ็บไพฟๆ ผๅค็ไธ่ๆใไฝๆๆณ๏ผไธไน ๅฐฑๅฏไปฅ็ฟๆ ฃ็๏ผๆ่ ๅฐฑ่ฆ่ ็๏ผไธ่ณๆผๅๆไป้บผๅคง้บป็ ฉใๆญคๅป้ไธๅฆ้้ๅฐ้็ๆณใ
โๆจๅฅฝ๏ผๆจๆญปไบ้บผ๏ผโ
ๆฏไธๅ้ ็บ่ณ็็่ฒ้ณใ็็ผ็ๆ๏ผๅปๆฏๅๅค้ฝ่ๆธ้ช็่ทๅค็ๅฐๅคฅ่จใไธ่ฆ็ดๆไบๅๅคๅนดไบ๏ผๅ้ๆฏไธๅฏ่ๆจฃๅญใๆๅ็็ๅ ญ้ข็ๅฃ๏ผๅงๅฏฆๅคชๆฏ็ณ๏ผ็ฐก็ดๆฏซๆฒๆๅ ้ไธ้ปไฟฎๅฎ๏ผ้ธ็ตจ้ๆฏๆฏๆฏฟๆฏฟ็ใ
โ้ฃไธ็คไบ๏ผ้ฃไธ่ฆ็ทใโไป่ชฌ๏ผไธ้ขๆ้ๆ่่ฒๅธ็ๅ ่ฃนไพใโ้ๆฏๆๆฟใๅ ฌ็พๅณใ๏ผๅ้้ปๅฃๆฌ๏ผ็ตฆๆจ้ไพไบใๆจ็ไธไป็ฝทใ้ๆฏโฆโฆโ
โไฝ ๏ผโๆ่ฉซ็ฐๅฐ็ๅฎไป็็ผ็๏ผ่ชฌ๏ผโไฝ ่ซ้็ๆญฃ่กๅกไบ๏ผไฝ ็ๆ้ๆจกๆจฃ๏ผ้่ฆ็ไป้บผๆๆฟ๏ผโฆโฆโ
โ้ฃๅฏไปฅ็๏ผ้ฃไธ็คไบใโ
ๆๅณๅป้ไธ็ผ็๏ผๅ ็บๅฐไปๅพ็ ฉๅญใๅไบไธๆ๏ผๆฒๆ่ฒๆฏ๏ผไปๅคง็ด่ตฐไบใไฝๆฏไผผไนไธๅ้ฆฌ่ปๅๅจ่ๅญไธ็ฌ่ตทไพ๏ผ็ตๆผ็ฌๅฐ่ไธ๏ผๅช็น็็ผ็ถ่ฝๅๅญใ
่ฌไธๆไบบ็ๆๆณ๏ผๆฏๆญปๆไนๅพไนๆ่ฎๅ็ใๅฟฝ่๏ผๆไธ็จฎๅๅฐๆ็ๅฟ็ๅนณๅฎ่ก็ ด๏ผๅๆ๏ผ่จฑๅคๅคขไน้ฝๅๅจ็ผๅไบใๅนพๅๆๅ็ฅๆๅฎๆจ๏ผๅนพๅไปๆต็ฅๆๆป ไบกใๆๅป็ธฝๆฏๆขไธๅฎๆจ๏ผไนไธๆป ไบกๅฐไธไธไธไธๅฐ็ๆดปไธไพ๏ผ้ฝไธ่ฝๅฏไปปไฝไธ้ข็ๆๆใ็พๅจๅๅฝฑไธ่ฌๆญปๆไบ๏ผ้ฃไปๆตไนไธไฝฟ็ฅ้๏ผไธ่ฏ่ด็ตฆไปๅไธ้ปๆ ่ไธ่ฒป็ๆญกๆฌฃใโฆโฆ
ๆ่ฆบๅพๅจๅฟซๆไธญ่ฆๅญๅบไพใ้ๅคงๆฆๆฏๆๆญปๅพ็ฌฌไธๆฌก็ๅญใ
็ถ่็ตๆผไนๆฒๆ็ผๆทๆตไธ๏ผๅช็่ฆ็ผๅๅฝทๅฝฟๆ็ซ่ฑไธๆจฃ๏ผๆๆผๆฏๅไบ่ตทไพใ
ไธไนไบไบๅนดไธๆๅไบๆฅ
Matt Turner is the author of the full poetry collections Slab Pases (BlazeVox, 2022), Wave 9: Collages (Flying Islands, 2020) and Not Moving (Broken Sleep, 2019), in addition to the prose chapbooks City/Anti-City (Vitamin, 2022) and Be Your Dog (Economy, 2022). He is co-translator, with Weng Haiying, of work by Yan Jun, Ou Ning, Hu Jiujiu and others. He lives in New York City, where he works as a translator and copy editor.
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