Humming a country air, Grandpa Tung led his little donkey away from the mill for a stroll. They took two turns around the yard in front of the cottage and the little donkey had his usual rolls on the ground. The old man tied the rope to the trunk of an ancient elm tree before he went back to the mill.
The sun's rays reached the tree but had not yet melted a thin layer of frost that covered the little purple flowers growing in the shade near the trunk. Sparrows were chirping high in the branches; here and there, a rooster could be heard crowing. The little donkey licked at the wild flowers. They tasted odd. He didn't want to eat them really; he was just licking them for fun.
A clod came hurtling through the air and struck the donkey in the back. A burst of childish laughter followed. Needless to say, it was the son of the grocer, a boy named Chang-Keng. He was only nine but very, very naughty! Each time he had a chance, he teased the donkey. Throwing something was his way of saying "Hello! "
"Ha, ha, ha! Tulu!" He skipped over to the animal. "I scared you, didn't I?" He had nicknamed the donkey Tulu.
The little donkey had, indeed, been startled, but only a little. His rolling eyes and agitated ears quieted down and, recovering his composure, the donkey began swishing his tail. Too bad the little donkey couldn't laugh; he would have chuckled and chuckled.
Chang-Keng had come to do his exercises. One gnarled branch of the elm tree twisted down and then straightened itself out again to form a natural horizontal bar. The boy came several times a day to work out on the branch. He always said he would be a general when he grew up and kill bandits. He took a quick glance around him. Seeing no sign of Grandpa Tung, the boy swung himself from the branch right onto the donkey's back. Pretending he was the greatest of generals riding the noblest of steeds, he sat up straight and tall, using a small branch to pummel the rump of the donkey. He had begged his father to buy him a horse, but his father went right on refusing. So he had to make do with the little donkey.
Grandpa Tung came out of the mill to lead the donkey in to turn the grindstone. Catching sight of the boy on the donkey's back, he cried out:
"Chang-Keng! Get down! If you don't, I'll get my gun and shoot you!" Of course, the old man had no gun. He was just trying to frighten Chang-Keng. Long before he could get to the donkey, the boy had slipped off and run away.
Actually, Grandpa Tung, and Chang-Keng were good friends—except when the old man lost his temper about illicit rides on the donkey. Man and boy shared some good times together, joking and laughing. But Chang-Keng could never resist trying to ride Tulu.
The old man came over to untie the rope. He stroked the donkey gently, as if to make up for the boy's profanation. He muttered complainingly all the while. None of his words came through very clearly, but you could tell he was cursing. The little donkey really liked Chang-Keng and didn't mind the mild whippings. If any other boy had climbed on its back the donkey would have bucked him right off.
Chang-Keng hadn't run far. He had been hiding behi'nd the elm tree, and now he came stealing back. He knew the old man took only a little whi!e to forget. Sure enough, Grandpa Tung was sitting on a wooden pole beside the sieve. He was hum ming the simple tune and tapping his feet in a rhythmic "pa-ta, pa-ta". The little donkey, now blindfolded, was walking around and around, turning the millstone.
The boy came to the gate and looked cautiously at the old man. Grandpa Tung gave him a disinterested glance and went on with his humming. The boy came in, stood there for a while, and then asked:
"Grandpa Tung, when are you going to die?"
"I'm not, and I'll shoot you if you don't stop bothering my donkey!"
Long ago, the boy had come to the old man and asked: "Grandpa Tung, how about letting me have your Tulu?"
"Nobody's going to get my donkey!" the old man had answered. "Not until I'm dead. That little donkey's my life."
"Then, when will you die?"
'Soon...." the old man sighed. "I'm almost eighty now. Even if Father Death doesn't come to get me, I'll be going of my own accord."
So the boy kept waiting for the day the old man would die. He didn't really want to see Grandpa Tung dead; he just wanted to have the donkey for his very own.
Another time, Chang-Keng asked the old man:
"Grandpa Tung, do you know how to shoot a gun?"
"Of course!" the old man said proudly. "Got perfect aim, too!"
"Can you handle any kind of gun? Just like a big general?"
"Naturally! I can even handle guns that aren't invented yet. The big generals have to take lessons from me!"
This won the boy's admiration. Never again did he dare bring up the subject of the donkey. Whenever he was so full of longing that he just couldn't keep quiet another minute, he would ask when the old man expected to die. But the answer had changed. Grandpa Tung now said he would never die.
Grandpa Tung loved the little donkey too much. It was his sole companion. He often said the donkey understood everything he said, even if it couldn't talk. The little donkey was not yet three years old, and turning the millstone was hard work. So the old man never let it work too long. He mixed beans and corn with the donkey's fodder, and whenever the old man ate fruit or squash, he would always share them with the donkey.
The mill stood in an isolated area behind the village. It had mud walls and a thatched roof. The windows were two square holes without frames or curtains. In the chill of the evening wind, the old man would cover the holes with boards for the little donkey's sake. He claimed that he himself was never bothered by the wind. He'd been a farmer for more than sixty years and he would be eighty next year. Though he had set aside his farming tools for two years, he kept busy in the mill all day long. His wife died ten years ago and he had no children. All he had was the little donkey.
Tulu was as perverse as a spoiled child. But the little donkey never lost its temper with Grandpa Tung or Chang-Keng. At the worst, he played naughty tricks on them once in a while.
The old man often loaded corn and millet onto the donkey's back and set off to market. The little donkey loved market days. With his head bobbing up and down, Tulu would trot off at a brisk pace. If he looked back and saw the old man lagging behind, he would jupilantly step up the pace. Grandpa Tung just couldn't keep up. Grandpa would cry out anxiously: "Hey! Hey!" The old man would take off his hat and Tulu could see the steam rising from his head even when the weather was cold. The donkey would be so pleased at this that he would slow down and wait for the bid man.
At other times, the donkey would deliberately pick his way very slowly. Sometimes, Tulu would even stop halfway to the market. The old man, afraid of being late, would cry out in agitation: "Get going! Get going!" and would flourish his whip. The little donkey would be elated at this spectacle and soon would be on his way again, tail swishing happily.
The happiest time of all was the New Year's festival. At this time, the farmers set aside the tools of their daily toil and enjoyed themselves. Grandpa Tung always dressed the little donkey up for this occasion. He would put a string of jungly bells around Tulu's neck and fasten a huge red silk ribbon into a bow on top. The coat of grayish hair gleamed with grooming and brushing until the little donkey looked as if he were ready to go on the stage. Then the old man would take Tulu to the village where firecrackers hissed and popped and the people were full of laughter and good cheer. He would take the little donkey to see the dragon lanterns, the lion dancing, the stilt show, the boat show .... And in town Tulu also saw many of his fellow donkeys, also dressed up and letting the children ride them. All the youngsters liked to ride the donkeys and it only cost twenty cents for a ride up and down the length of the street. The donkeys sped up and down; ding-dong, ding-dong, ting-a-ling went their bells. The children would be laughing and shouting, imitating the donkey drivers call of "Hey! Hey! Get going! Get going!"
Tulu liked this game, too, but he wouldn't let just anyone ride. He would rub a rider he didn't like against the wall. Some naughty boys would light firecrackers under Tulu. And that really made Tulu angry! If one of these boys climbed on his back, Tulu would buck and buck until the boy was thrown to the ground. The boy got a mouthful of mud and Tulu would swish his tail and look rather smug! What fun it all was!
Two snowstorms came and went, and New Year's drew near once more. The little donkey was dressed up and ready to go, waiting for the old master to start for town. Chang-Keng wanted to ride the donkey but didn't dare ask the old man. He had his father ask for him. Grandpa looked at the donkey a while and then said, "All right." Then the father told the boy, "It's all right."
Chang-Keng was overjoyed as he climbed onto the donkey. They followed the sound of gongs and drums coming from the dragon lanterns and the stilt performers ....Tungku-lung, tung-chiang! They had a wonderful time and didn't start for home until very late. It was cold on the road and the wind was penetrating and bitter cold. The old man pulled his woolen cap down until only his eyes were exposed. The little boy pulled his hat down, put both hands into his sleeves, and hummed to himself all the way home.
The old man lit the lantern at the mill and put his money under the mattress. He took a: jar to the grocer's and bought himself some wine. He was ready to enjoy his drink and go to bed when he saw two shadowy forms heading toward the mill. Before he could see who they were, they had hidden themselves in the hayloft beside the mill. Then came the sound of galloping horses. The two men on horseback looked like policemen. They searched the grounds until their attention was diverted by the barking of a dog in the distance. Then they rode off.
Grandpa Tung was puzzled. Before he could even begin to figure it out, the two men had crept out of the hayloft and entered the mill.
"Old man, get us something to eat!"
Now the old man knew who they were - the most notorious n'er-do-wells of the neighboring village. One was a cripple, short and fat; the other was tall, thin, and pockmarked. Grandpa Tung had had trouble with them before, and he had a feeling they were up. to no good this time either. With a prayer in his heart, he said tremulously:
"Take whatever you want."
The old man was very poor. He had nothing-nothing but the donkey. They saw the donkey and started to lead it away.
"No! No! You can't do this!" The old man was beside himself. "Please! Don't take the donkey! Take anything, but leave the donkey!"
The stout rascal caught up a heavy stick and hit the old man on the head. Grandpa Tung didn't even have a chance to put up a struggle. He fell to the ground, motionless.
"Damn! He's dead," the stout one said. "Now what're we going to do?"
"What're we going to do? We're going to make a good job of it!" The tall, thin one took up the oil lantern as he spoke and threw it into a corner of the cottage. Dry hay caught fire and the whole mill was soon in flames.
Tulu panicked, brayed loudly, broke away from the bad men, and ran away as fast as he could. The farmers in the neighborhood were still celebrating New Year's Eve. By the time they discovered the fire and came to put it out, the cottage had burned to the ground.
The little donkey had never been so frightened. He ran on and on, intent only on getting away. The night was dark and the wind whistled ominously. Little Tulu slowed to a walk. It was lonely. Besides the wind, the only sound to be heard was the clump, clump, clump of his own hoofs.
Finally he came to another village, another mill, and another donkey. The little donkey brayed softly. From inside the cottage came an answering call—from a bigger donkey. From that night on, little Tulu stayed with the big black donkey.
In the morning, Elder Son Chang, the young owner of the mill, saw the second donkey and was pleased with the unexpected gift. He had no idea where the donkey belonged. Two days later, he heard about the fire and the death of the man. So he kept the homeless donkey.
Tulu started life anew but without spirit. Elder Son Chang didn't let him pull the millstone. He was allowed only to carry loads.
The fifteenth day of the first month came around. It was the Lantern Festival. Elder Son Chang took the two donkeys to market. Pushing crowds filled the marketplace, buying food at the stalls or watching the streets side shows. Chang tied the donkeys to a tree in front of the food and wine shop and went in. The little donkey stood patiently. Suddenly, he pricked up his ears. He had seen two men sitting at nearby stall eating noodles; one was pock-marked, one was a cripple; one was short and fat, the other tall and thin. Only their clothes were different.
Chang came reeling out of the shop to find the little donkey gone. He called and peered left and right, but there wasn't a trace of a little donkey. He thought: well, it wasn't my own donkey anyway. Then he went home, leading his big black donkey.
Tulu had been pulled into the woods by the two rascals. Both wanted to ride him but neither would give in to the other for the privilege of being first. Words led to blows. The cripple brought his cane down on the head of the thin man, who fell and lay still. The fat cripple climbed on the donkey and dug his heels into Tulu's side-spitting on his pock-marked former partner in crime.
They rode on in the dim light of the evening until they came to a bridge. The little donkey seemed to see the shadow of his old master, Grandpa Tung at the other end of the span. He wanted to get to Grandpa as fast as he could. Suddenly he had a feeling of revulsion for the misshapen figure on his back. Throwing his hindquarters into the air, he flipped the cripple into the river.
The little donkey trotted on. It was dawn when he arrived in his old village. Grandpa Tung's cottage was gone; only ashes remained. Tulu looked around, then stood under the old elm tree, braying softly.
The sun rose until its beams warmed the tree; the sparrows began to chirp and the roosters to crow. Chang-Keng ran toward the tree to swing himself onto the horizontal bar. He caught sight of the little donkey and stopped.
"Oh! Tulu! Tulu! You've come back!" Tulu's ears stood up and then flopped. His tail swished to and fro until it seemed to be drawing large circles in the air.
Now Tulu really and truly belonged to Chang-Keng. The little boy had no reason to fear Grandpa Tung's rebukes now. He was happy .... but a little sad, too, when he thought of the Grandpa Tung who was also his friend.
Chang-Keng can often be seen on Tulu's back these days. And as he rides, he sings a little song:
"Oh, I had a little donkey that I'd never ridden;
One day I climbed upon its back and went to market. I waved the whip and was so happy; Hey! Hey! Get going! Get going!
Crash! Flash! and lackaday, I landed in the mud!"
Translated by Sanjia Wu