THE LATE TRAVELER
Part One
1
In southwestern Shandong, there is a place called Heze. Legend has it that in ancient times, a great battle was fought here between heavenly beings, turning the land into a vast marshland. The name "Heze" derives from this very origins.
Of course, all of this is nonsense. I don't believe in battles between heavenly beings. As a sociology graduate student, I only believe in "tribal warfare"—even if you dress up those ancient clan conflicts in various mystical terms, you can't mask the fact that they were really just primitive brawls.
Having studied under my advisor Colin Jarvis for over two years, I had learned how to analyze problems calmly and objectively. In my academic career, Colin Jarvis had been my idol—serious, diligent, unsmiling, a firm historical materialist who explained everything through psychology and behavioral science. This trip to a remote village in Heze was another practical application of his theories.
The road was so terrible that by the time we reached the village entrance, it was already dusk. The village head, who had been waiting for us, greeted us with enthusiastic smiles: "Professor Qiu, look how late it's gotten—shall we go to the village committee first and sort out your accommodations?"
His words carried a thick local accent, but we could make out the gist. Colin Jarvis waved his hand and said: "No rush on accommodations. Let's go to Tanya's house first."
Tanya—this woman was the sole purpose of my trip. Before this, three psychiatrists had already been unable to help her, and her family couldn't afford the cost of long-term treatment at a psychiatric hospital. The township government wanted to prioritize treatment, so they reached out to us through their connections.
Colin Jarvis said to the village head, who was leading the way: "Could you give me a brief overview of Tanya's situation first?"
"Her?" The village head frowned and thought for a long while, finally shaking his head. "I don't even know how to describe it. She was perfectly fine before, and then suddenly she just became like this. It's nothing else—just that no one can understand a single word she says. The township has sent people over several times too, and they couldn't do a thing."
Tanya's house was on the western edge of the village—three dilapidated red-brick rooms. Her husband was crouching by the road with a group of men, eating dinner. In the southwestern Shandong countryside, it was customary for men to eat their evening meals outdoors by the road, chatting while they ate. When he saw us coming, her husband quickly set down his bowl, stood up, wiped his hands on his clothes, and gave an awkward smile: "You've... you've come."
He was the picture of a typical peasant—burly, somewhat hunched, with wrinkles that spread like irrigation ditches whenever he smiled. We followed him toward the gate, trailed by a crowd of onlookers—old folks, children, and even a few people still holding their dinner bowls, shuffling along as they ate.
At the gate, the village head turned around and waved them off: "Go on, go on! Nothing to see here! Go about your business!"
A few children scampered away laughing, but no one actually left. They all gathered at Tanya's doorway like an audience waiting for a movie to start. Some women craned their necks, looking impatient. Before we went inside, her husband muttered a warning: "Don't push her too hard with questions. If you do, she'll cry and start throwing things..."
Colin Jarvis nodded to indicate not to worry, and led me inside. The village head stayed by the door, preventing any onlookers from entering.
The lights were off inside, and the thin evening light, as though diluted with water, wove together faintly across the room. Seated alone at the table was a woman—I figured this must be Tanya. She was somewhat stout, dressed no differently from any other peasant woman—unkempt hair, faded coarse-cloth clothing, and rough hands from years of manual labor. She sat there holding an enamel bowl, eating congee with pickled vegetables in absent-minded spoonfuls, paying us no attention whatsoever.
"You go ahead and try talking to her first. Just guide the conversation," Colin Jarvis whispered to me.
I nodded. This was his usual approach—have someone else engage with the subject first while he sat to the side, calmly observing the subject's expressions and body language, analyzing from the perspective of a detached observer. In professional terms, this was called "behavioral profiling."
I sat down across from Tanya, with only a greasy square table between us. She glanced up, her eyes somewhat vacant.
I said: "Hello."
She lowered her head and went back to eating her congee, ignoring me.
I continued: "We came all the way here specifically, hoping to talk with you."
She still ignored me. Many mentally ill people are like this—completely unresponsive to questions from others. This is because they are perpetually immersed in a subjective world of their own creation, unable to effectively respond to the outside world.
I wasn't discouraged. I tried approaching from various angles, hoping to find a topic that would catch her attention. Just as I was starting to ramble on, she suddenly looked up at me.
"The township told you I'm a mental patient, didn't they?"
I was taken aback—her Mandarin was surprisingly standard.
I said: "No, the township hasn't issued any diagnosis. Don't overthink it. I just want to have a casual conversation with you. Sometimes psychological stress can be hidden—you might not even realize it yourself. But we can talk and try to find a way to understand the problem."
She wiped her bangs off her forehead with a rough hand and said: "So you still think I have a mental illness."
Me: "That's not what I mean. I just want to communicate with you."
Her: "How do you want to communicate?"
Me: "How about I ask you a few questions first—just ordinary ones. Feel free to answer however you like."
She set down her chopsticks, looked at me for a moment, and said: "Fine, go ahead."
I tried the first question: "How old are you?"
Her: "Year of the dog—forty-six."
Me: "What's your name?"
Her: "Right now, my name is Tanya."
Me: "Right now? Then what was your name before?"
Her: "My previous name was just a designation too—it doesn't really mean anything."
I looked at Colin Jarvis with confusion. This was clearly not the kind of language one would expect from a peasant woman. Colin Jarvis nodded, signaling me to continue.
Me: "Have you ever been anywhere outside this place?"
Her: "No."
Me: "That can't be right. How do you speak Mandarin so well?"
She smiled: "Is that really so hard for you people?"
"You people"? That phrasing was strange indeed. I paused, then said: "Setting aside the designation aspect of the name Tanya—who are you, really?"
She smiled again: "You've asked a smart question. Different from those people the township sent over."
Me: "Then can you tell me?"
She sighed, her expression like someone lamenting a poor harvest: "Alright, I'll tell you. I came from very, very far away—so far you couldn't imagine. I came here to carry out a mission. Unfortunately, I arrived too late—the mission had already been completed a long time ago. I am a late traveler."
Me: "What kind of mission?"
She shook her head and picked up her enamel bowl again: "That's enough for today. I can't think too much about the past—it gives me a headache. I've been lost in this journey for too long."
2
I stood up helplessly and saw Tanya's husband standing at the door, looking at me with some surprise. After we came out, he said to me: "That's strange—Jinhua talked with you for so long. That's a first. When those people from the township came, she'd throw plates and bowls after barely two sentences."
I scratched my head, still processing what Tanya had said. Colin Jarvis handed me his notebook and asked her husband: "When did Tanya first become like this?"
"Just last month—it hasn't even been a full month yet," her husband thought for a moment.
"So it was sudden?"
"All of a sudden. She came back from working in the fields and just wasn't right anymore. No one provoked her or anything—she just sat in the main room, staring into space. First she cried, then after crying for a while she laughed, and after laughing she became like this, saying things none of us could understand."
"Where did she learn to speak Mandarin so well?"
"Who knows? Nobody had ever heard her speak it before."
"Do you have children?"
"Yes, our son works in Guangzhou. He only comes back once a year at the end of the year."
"Has Tanya ever gone to Guangzhou to visit him?"
"No, never. She's never even left the county in her entire life, let alone been to Guangzhou."
"Does she like to watch the news broadcast on TV?"
"Heh, what would a farmer watch that for?" Her husband looked a bit sheepish, scratching his head. "The antenna's been broken for years. We can only pick up two local channels, and even those are so fuzzy nobody really watches them."
By now the village head had shooed away all the onlookers. He came over, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and asked: "How did it go, Professor Qiu?"
"We've got a general understanding of the situation. Let's head back to the village committee first. Some details will have to wait until tomorrow." Before leaving, Colin Jarvis reassured her husband: "Don't worry—this case is a bit unusual, but it's not insurmountable. I'll need to think it over tonight."