Into this noisy crowd the young girl was elbowing her way. The stench of the rubbish heap made her feel dizzy. It revived the nausea that had lingered in her throat since the previous day, though she had tried to drown it down with a farina candy. The sweet flavour of sugar still stuck in her teeth though the candy had completely melted away. She could speak as loudly as she liked without the feeling of having something entangled in her mouth.

She first greeted an old lady who was selling rolls of dry leaves of cigarettes displayed on a flat winnowing basket. The old lady’s reply was inaudible above the noise of the crowd. She only heard the loud voices of a few people who, standing next to her, were shouting their wares, including the obscenities of a few nearby youths. On their arms hung several pairs of Western trousers of different fabrics and colours. Most were the khaki of the bo doi [soldiers]. A few passers-by stopped to have a look, felt this side and that, then left without making any offer. Since the morning nobody had succeeded in selling anything, because people had had to flee whenever public security men were on patrol. The whole place had a disorderly air compared with the main Dong Xuan Market nearby. The problem with the main market was that most of the displayed articles could only be sold to people with books of stamps; there were always more sales assistants than customers. Most people withdrew from the main market to form a ‘society on the margin of society’. All the members of this society were ragged and dirty; all were jostling each other in the chaos. On rainy days the roads became muddy.

Rubbish was scattered everywhere, making it difficult to walk. Now and then the whole crowd would be bottled up by a bicycle with a saddle loaded with merchandise. Curses were exchanged. Words that were forbidden at agencies, that could not be used or fully expressed to one’s heart content at conferences, were let out here without any fear of being condemned as a person who had compromised his political standing.

Youths cursed more often than anybody else. For some time the girl had heard this young man shouting out his vulgarities. She was not vexed at his words but his shouts were so loud that they hammered at her temples. She felt sick again. As she was about to take out of her pocket another farina candy, she remembered her task. She held out the coat in her hand to a few passers-by.

The coat did attract people’s attention. It was a Western coat made out of golden-coloured khaki. Its long and roomy sleeves were so skilfully sewn to the two shoulders that no wrinkles were to be seen. Down the two lapels that left bare the front part of the wearer’s chest ran two rows of three carved copper buttons on either side. The coat must have belonged to a prosperous person who a few decades ago had certainly been fashion-conscious. Because it had been well-cared-for it still looked quite new.

The girl held the coat over her head as high as she could. To a youth who was approaching her, she said, ‘This coat fits you very well, buy it.’

He stopped, looked indifferent. Though she knew that he was merely curious, she added all the same, ‘Thirty piastres, you can wear it over your sweater this winter. How warm you will be!’

The young man, who had intended to try it on, changed his mind when he heard the price. He looked at the girl with his laughing eyes. The young girl understood that it was far too expensive for him.

Another wave of customers passed and she showed them the coat, but she had lost interest in selling it. She felt sick again. She took another farina candy from her pocket and put it in her mouth. Then she discovered the cause of the nausea she had been having since the day before. It wasn’t that she had eaten the bowl of stale wheat noodles left unfinished by her sibling the afternoon before, nor that she had caught a cold after exposing herself to the nightly frost the night before. She remembered that while using a pick she had hit a toad onto its back. The animal had died immediately. She felt a chill running through her body as she thought about it. A toad, though small, is life itself. It was she that had smashed that life and reduced it to a formless mass. That night she had wandered vaguely from one thought to another as she dug up the earth. Now the stench rising from the pile of garbage at the edge of the market increased her nausea — she wanted to vomit.

She was on the point of leaving her place when she noticed a woman standing just in front of her. The woman gazed at the coat as if attracted by some extraordinarily powerful force. Then her face turned pale. Stretching her hand out, she took hold of the coat while she stared furiously at the girl’s face. The girl didn’t like being stared at like that. Nor did she like this woman’s pale countenance. She looked fifty but could have been younger. The girl was disturbed by the woman’s muddy eyes under her thick eyebrows.

The woman succeeded in taking the coat off the girl’s hands. The girl knew immediately that she did not intend buying it. She wanted to grab back the coat and run away with it, but holding it firmly with her two bony hands the woman asked in an authoritative manner, ‘Where did you get this coat?’

The girl felt a chill again. She was intimidated by the woman’s aggressive manner. She knew what she had to do to overcome this difficult situation. She said, ‘I bought it to sell it again,’ then tried to snatch back the coat. Her arm was seized by the woman. She felt her skin being pinched by the woman’s sharp fingernails. She realised she had made a mistake. She should have run away when she had the opportunity. It was too late now. The woman held her firm with her claws. In spite of her slender body the woman had an extraordinary strength. The girl struggled hard to break free but to no avail.

Frowning, the girl asked angrily, ‘What are you doing?’

The woman demanded, ‘I ask you — where did you get this coat?’

‘I bought it, to sell it again.’

‘What a liar! Come to the public security post with me.’

The girl struggled furiously to escape. The woman held firm and started to drag her along, making a disturbance in this corner of the market. People gathered around and started asking questions:

‘Is she a thief?

‘A looting?’

‘Beat her. Doesn’t like working! Just wanted to be a parasite!’

A few ‘comrades’ who worked as security agents in the market were on the spot within a minute. One rushed forward and helped the woman by holding the girl’s other arm. Her hair came loose, as did her vest, but she saw nothing, could distinguish nothing in the melee in front of her. She thought of her two siblings at home, she thought of the woman’s furious eyes, of the yellow coat, of the crushed toad. Everything was rushing so quickly through her mind that she felt dazzled, stifled and she let herself be dragged away like an animal.

At the public security post the woman said:

‘Dear comrades, my husband has been buried just five days. I remember everything about it. I dressed him in this khaki coat before his burial. This khaki Western coat has been in our possession for a few decades. I can show you the marks on it. While I was at the market today I saw this girl trying to sell the very coat my husband was buried in. Please, dear comrades, find out how this coat has re-appeared in this world? How does this girl come to have it?’

Everyone in the public security office was stunned. The staff at nearby desks stopped working to stare. Never before had anyone come across such a strange story. All eyes were on the girl. She looked tired after being dragged all the way among a hostile crowd, but she had recovered some of her calmness. Her demeanour hid her emotions. She stood like someone ready to stand and fight against anything.

To the woman she said, ‘Yes, this coat’s your husband’s. There’s no need to shout like that.’

That was the confirmation the woman wanted. She pointed her two hands toward the crowd of public security agents standing there as if she would have liked to say, ‘Well, don’t you see? I didn’t make it up, did I?’ Then she sat down, breathing heavily. She had got what she wanted; now it was up to the state. The state should settle the matter for her. If she was not satisfied, she would take it up with the town Committee. The eagerness with which the public security agents had so far dealt with this case had given her a certain satisfaction. Her face relaxed. Then everybody in the office heard her sobbing. She used the belt of her mourning clothes to wipe her face in a deliberate way to draw everybody’s attention. This immediately brought the desired result as the public security agent on duty comforted her, then turned to the girl and said, ‘Be reasonable, tell me everything now, unless you want to spend the rest of your life in prison until the stocks round your neck are eaten by woodworm.’

Glancing up, the girl retorted, ‘Dear comrade, does our regime still use the stocks?’

The agent’s face paled, then turned red. He raised his voice to erase the error he had committed, ‘Don’t try to shy away from it. Tell me, where did you get the coat?

‘Why should I not answer?’ said the girl, ‘I have nothing to deny. And don’t “thou” and “thee” me. I am one of the masses. You serve the masses. You have no right to talk to me like that.’

Struck dumb by these two successive blows, the agent looked at the girl sitting in front of him with surprise and curiosity. Experience had taught him that anyone with such a fearless attitude might have a relative worthy of respect. It was best to remain calm until he knew more about her. He softened and lowered his voice, ‘All right, I withdraw what I said. But I warn you in advance that you have to tell me everything. Where did you get this coat?’

The girl simply said, ‘From the graves’, in her sharp unemotional voice.

Everybody was stunned. Even the woman stopped sobbing, and looked with wide eyes at the girl. Of course it had been taken from a grave, but she couldn’t believe such a terrible deed had been carried out by this slender girl. She suddenly remembered what she had done half an hour before. She’d caught this girl in the middle of the market, brought her through a long street to this public security post — and hadn’t been stabbed by her. She felt she had indeed just escaped a great calamity.

Now there was more seriousness in the atmosphere. This was not a theft or a robbery. It was digging up a grave. It was so rare they had never dealt with it before. Every procedure had to be reconsidered. The matter had to be brought to the attention of the senior official. Files scattered on the desks were rearranged. A packet of white paper was brought for the secretary to write down the defendant’s statement. The agent, who a moment earlier had sat at the desk in the middle of the room, was replaced by another man of higher rank.

The girl’s interrogation lasted all day. She answered all the questions, told the whole truth. She described everything, including the fact that a toad had been crushed and deformed by a pick-axe. The secretary, with his awkward handwriting, used up all his paper in the process.

Now it was known that she had earned her living for two years by digging up graves. Because of his connection with the puppet government, her father had been sent to a re-education camp and there he had died. Her mother re-married, then died a few years later. She herself had two siblings to look after. She had been through a number of jobs, but only digging up graves to strip the dead had proved lucrative enough.

At the request of the woman whose husband’s grave had been dug up, the girl was detained to await trial, but one month later she reappeared at the fleamarket. She looked pale and emaciated. Her health had deteriorated.

She squatted, gathering herself together in one corner of the pavement. In front of her were a few cans of condensed milk and some packets of sugar. Her curriculum vitae, still stainless, allowed her to assume any occupation she liked because, when brought to the Court, she had stated in these terms:

‘We are now living in a socialist country. Materialism is being upheld and idealism being attacked. Only those whose minds are idealistic would think that to dig up a grave is to violate a dead person’s soul. As for me, I earn my living by my own labour. I do not live as a parasite, at somebody else’s expense. I have only taken what was buried in a grave, i.e. what had been discarded by our society. Furthermore I have used the profit I made to bring up my siblings, which means that by this kind of labour I’ve reared two children who belong to the next generation and in whose hands will lie the fate of our socialist country. Therefore, I am totally innocent.