A Journey of Death

When he was released ahead of schedule from his prison sentence of nearly twenty years, Jiao Zhimin was in his early forties. On his way to his father’s house, his heart was tangled with emotion. Someone else his age would have had his own home to go back to. But the home he was going back to was the one he had left when he was young, just past twenty, because he had killed someone in a brawl and was sentenced to life imprisonment. In prison, he had never lived a day without wishing for a reduced sentence.

He was worried that he might not do well when he was set free at his age, as a few of his jail mates had been in and out of jail quite a few times already, simply because they took to the old road of crime again when the bottom fell out of their lives. Jiao Zhimin vowed that once he was out of the prison he would never do anything against the law again. He lived in fear of being imprisoned again, as he would become an old man there, and even if he regained his freedom he would lead a miserable life, with no one to bury him if he died of illness or hunger. He regretted, too, that he had not treasured the time of his youth when he flaunted his superiority as if he could bid wind and rain to come if he was bold and wild enough. When everyone else let him have his own way, he felt as if he had achieved something. But that was a thing of the past now. If he had not been sentenced to life imprisonment, he might have become successful, but now he did not even have a home to return to.

When he finally reached his father’s house, he was sad to find that his father had become an old man. His father put a few things on the table: a bowl of congee, a few pieces of steamed bread and some pickled vegetables. It was certainly not Jiao Zhimin’s wish to have a sumptuous meal prepared for him. But it didn’t feel good to be sitting and eating alone at the table.

His father had few words to say. He didn’t look healthy, either. Jiao Zhimin wanted to say something. But what was there to talk about? He knew nothing about the outside world and he didn’t want to talk about what life was like in prison. When his father asked how he was, he said, “Just so-so,” and there was nothing more to be said. Then he wondered about his older brother when his father told him that he was “not busy with anything”. His father lit a cigarette.

He thought of his childhood when his mother was still alive and his family was dirt poor. Sometimes he would fight with his older brother but his mother would always criticise his older brother behind his back.

Just as he put down his bowl and chopsticks, his older brother came home. Jiao Zhimin was surprised to find that he too had turned into an old man, bald, and, like their father, he looked unhealthy. He did not want to talk much, either.

Jiao Zhimin felt very tired but, gathering himself together, went out for a look around. Too embarrassed to ask if there was a place for him to sleep, he told them he was going out to look for friends and see if anyone had anything he could do. His older brother said, in a scolding manner, “Don’t ever go back to your dubious friends. It’s no fun if you get in there again.” He took a look at his older brother and thought: Even if I get back in again, it’s better than you because you, in your old age, just eat and do nothing at home. But he didn’t say anything as another thought came to him: If only Mother were alive! His instinct told him that he was not welcome at home unless he had money.

He went back to his friends of the old days. One of them, Jin Changyun, who worked in the transport business, treated him to a meal in a small restaurant. They had been childhood playmates. When he saw that Jin had been successful, he couldn’t help admiring him. “Let me tell you honestly that this is the first time in twenty years that I have a good meal like this,” he said, sighing. “When I have money, I’ll invite you to dinner. Is there anything that I can do for you in your company at all so long as I can make a living?”

“As you just came out, you can’t work as a driver. But you can work with a driver as a porter. I’ll pay you fifteen hundred yuan a month,” Jin Changyun said.

Jiao Zhimin was overjoyed. He didn’t care what job it was. As long as he got a job and was able to feed himself, he could always make more money down the track.

Jiao Zhimin was out with a driver daily, working till late at night. When he returned home, on tiptoes and very tired, he had to knock on the door for his older brother to get up and open it for him. He would have liked his own key, but his older brother didn’t give him one. Each time his brother opened the door he was full of resentment, blaming Jiao Zhimin for getting back so late and making it impossible for others to have a normal rest.

He sensed the coldness towards him at home. After all, he was someone released from prison. It seemed that people outside the home were kinder. Perhaps his brother was concerned that he might want a share of their property. If he had been in prison and his father had died, all of the property would have gone to his brother. Tears came to his eyes when he thought of that. He shouldn’t have come home in the first place. What was the point of coming home? Would they ever give him any financial support? If he didn’t come home, there at least was a home in his heart, a home that used to be there. If there was not much warmth, it was at least something to go back to in one’s heart. He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible, never to return, not even when he died. He would not be bothered with them, either, alive or dead. When they died, he would not go to their funerals.

He left home, and did not return. Sometimes he stayed in someone else’s home for the night. At other times he slept in his truck. Because of the irregular lifestyle and the long hours of physical work, his health deteriorated. Much of his wages went on cigarettes, with little left for meals. Meanwhile, he could see that Jin led a comfortable life and, although a married man, had beautiful young women for company. Jiao Zhimin thought he would have done a lot better if he had not always tried to flaunt his superiority when he was young, and that he would not have had to live under someone else’s roof.

Suffering pain, he went to see a doctor. An examination revealed that he was suffering from a serious kidney infection. The doctor advised a good rest. But he dared not rest. His life was worth nothing. If he died, he’d die a death that would cause no one else any trouble. With a good brain and nimble hands, he had quickly learnt to drive a truck. But because Jin did not want him driving without a licence, he had to work alongside a driver. Soon, he was unable to do any more work because of his back pain, for which he could not afford any treatment, until the helpless thought suggested itself to him: I have to die. He felt it was ignominious to live like that, having to get fed by watching people’s faces, and all the while the pain worsening.

Once again he went home, knowing that this was his last time. He found the way they lived deplorable. He learnt that they were both suffering from the same kidney condition, relying on dialysis to keep alive, his own condition being hereditary. As he had brought them something to eat, the three sat down and ate. Then he said goodbye. He had borrowed three thousand yuan. Before he left, he put down one thousand at his father’s bedside and carried what was left, thus beginning his journey of death.

He had a feeling that a burden had been lifted off him. He no longer had to worry about having to make a living. He no longer had to worry about his illness. Once he had the courage to give up on his own life, he had no more worries. If one truly had a soul after one died, it would fly freely. His own body, it seemed, was always in a cage. Even when he left the prison, neither his body nor his heart was ever free. But now he was finally carefree, even though he wasn’t completely resigned, having never fulfilled his desire to live a decent life.

Wandering, he came to a deserted place, where he sat thinking under a big tree, trying to put his life in order. He wondered what his life was all about. It was like a continual process of satisfying one’s own desire, without an end. Might he have kept on making money or borrowed a large sum of money in order to buy a house? Maybe not. He might have led a freer and more relaxed life. The problem is that one lives too long and hopes to live longer, which is why there is no end to desire. He had spent so many years in jail, his only hope being freedom, as if he’d get anything once he was set free. But freedom had brought him nothing, except more physical and spiritual fatigue. Well, no more thinking. No use thinking. He had to get something to eat and then go to a hair salon to find a woman before he ended his life.

There was enough money in his pocket to last a few good days. He went to a restaurant in the centre of town and ordered what he liked best: prawns and roast duck, along with some liquor. He had a beautiful meal. It was the first time he had ever ordered food without looking at the price. He was happy and sad at the same time. After all, this was like what was served to the condemned prisoners in jail.

He left the restaurant and went in search of a hair salon. On one street there were quite a few salons, each with two or three women, some of them no longer young. Then he found one with many young and beautiful women. As soon as he entered it he set his sights on one and chose her. He followed the girl upstairs and they entered a room where the girl took off her clothes without a word and lay in a bed waiting for him. He took off his clothes, went up to her and held her tight in his arms. He looked her up and down and thought to himself: Such a beautiful girl! He wished that he could take her away and die together with her.

Later he found a hotel, booked a room and went in. He locked the door, sat down on the bed and took out the sharp knife he had been carrying. He looked at the knife, dazed, and felt the pain again, so he lay down, his right hand holding the handle, and slashed his left wrist hard. Blood spurted. He let go of his hand and closed his eyes.

When he was found, he was lying in a coma. He was quickly taken to hospital, just in time to save his life. But he was left in debt, owing more than ten thousand yuan in hospital expenses. He did not know if he should feel thankful to those who had saved him or damn them. There was no freedom when he was alive and there was no freedom when he died. But could they really stop him from wanting to die? Now that he had survived his suicide attempt, he wondered what to do.

He got in touch with some of his former inmates. When they got together, they sighed a lot, wondering why there seemed no way ahead and why the best they could do was work as cheap labourers, determined to risk everything if ever there was an opportunity. In the end, after much discussion, they took up Jiao Zhimin’s idea to kidnap Jin Changyun.

Jiao had no difficulty in getting Jin out, and the three of them kidnapped him. Because they knew that the crime of kidnapping would incur heavy penalties, worse for people who had already been convicted, they killed him as soon as they got his money and abandoned his body.

When the body was found, the police went to work, sampling and investigating till they zeroed in on the suspects. Soon the three were back in prison again. Jiao Zhimin knew that he would be soon executed and, whether free or not, he would always have come to this end.