Red Sorghum

by Mo Yan

  ‘Mistress, you sure know how to drink!’ they complimented her.

  ‘It’s the first drink I’ve ever had,’ she replied modestly.

  ‘If that’s how you handle the first one, with a little practice you could finish off a whole crock.’

  By now the wine was gushing from the spouts – one crock, then another, each of which was stacked alongside the pile of firewood. Suddenly Yu Zhan’ao climbed down off the pile, undid his pants, and pissed into one of the brimming crocks. The shocked men numbly watched the steam of clear liquid splash into the wine crock and send sprays over the sides. When he’d finished, he smirked and staggered up to Grandma, whose cheeks were flushed. She didn’t move as he wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss on her face. She paled, stumbled, and sat down hard on the stool.

  ‘That child in your belly,’ he demanded angrily. ‘Is it mine or isn’t it?’

  Grandma was crying. ‘If you say so . . .’

  Yu Zhan’ao’s eyes blazed and his muscles grew taut, as if he were a workhorse standing up after rolling in the dirt. He stripped down to his shorts. ‘Now watch me clean the distiller!’

  Cleaning the distiller is the hardest job of all. Once the wine has stopped flowing through the spouts, the pewter distiller is removed; then the honeycombed wooden lid is lifted from the wooden distiller, which is filled with sorghum mash, dark yellow and scalding hot. Yu Zhan’ao climbed onto a bench, wielding a short-handled wooden spade, and scooped the mash out into the frame. His movements were so slight he seemed to be using only his forearms. The heat turned his skin scarlet, and sweat ran down his back like a river, smelling strongly of wine.

  My granddad Yu Zhan’ao worked with such consummate skill that Uncle Arhat and the other men looked on in awe. Talents hidden for months were now on display. When he’d finished, he drank some wine, then said to Uncle Arhat, ‘Foreman, that’s not all I can do. Now look. When the wine comes down the spouts, the steam dissipates. If you put another, smaller distiller over the spouts, you’d have nothing but the best wine.’

  Uncle Arhat shook his head. ‘I doubt that,’ he said.

  ‘If not,’ Granddad said, ‘you can chop off my head!’

  Uncle Arhat glanced at Grandma, who sniffed once or twice. ‘That’s not my business. I don’t care. Let him do what he wants.’

  She returned to the western compound, sobbing.

  From that day on, Granddad and Grandma shared their love like mandarin ducks or Chinese phoenixes. Uncle Arhat and the hired hands were so tormented by their naked, demonic exhibition of desire that their intelligence failed them, and even though they had a bellyful of misgivings, in time, one after another, they became my granddad’s loyal followers.

  Granddad’s skills revolutionised the operation, giving Northeast Gaomi Township its first top-line distilled wine. As for the crock into which he had pissed, since the men dared not dispose of it on their own, they just moved it over to a corner and left it there. Late one overcast afternoon, as a strong southeast wind carried the aroma of sorghum wine across the compound, the men were suddenly aware of an unusually rich and mellow fragrance. Uncle Arhat, whose sense of smell was keenest, sought out the source, and was astonished to discover that it came from the piss-enhanced crock in the corner. Without a word to anyone, he lit the bean-oil lantern, turned up the wick, and settled down to study the phenomenon.

  First he scooped out a dipperful of the wine, then let it drip slowly back into the crock and watched it form a soft green liquid curtain that was transformed into a multipetaled flower, like a chrysanthemum, when it hit the surface. The unique fragrance was more volatile than ever. He scooped up a tiny bit of the wine, tasting it first with the tip of his tongue, then taking a decisive swig. After rinsing his mouth with cool water, he drank some ordinary sorghum wine from one of the other crocks. He flung down the dipper, rushed out, burst through the western compound gate, and ran across the yard, shouting, ‘Mistress, joyful news!’

  9

  AFTER BEING SENT away by Grandma with a bundle of hot buns, Great-Granddad led his donkey home, cursing all the way. As soon as he arrived, he blurted out to Great-Grandma how my grandma had acknowledged Magistrate Cao as her foster-dad and had disowned her real father. Enraged by the news, Great-Grandma added her fulminations to his, and the two of them looked like old toads fighting over a cicada. After a while, she said, ‘Forget your anger, old man. As they say, “Strong winds eventually cease, unhappy families return to peace.” Go see her in a couple of days. She’s inherited so much wealth that we could live on what slips through her fingers.’

  ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll go see the misbegotten ingrate in a couple of weeks.’

  Two weeks later, he rode up on his donkey, only to find the main gate shut tight. Grandma ignored his shouts. After he’d yelled himself hoarse, he turned and rode away.

  Granddad was already working in the distillery by the time Great-Granddad next returned, and Grandma’s five dogs constituted an impregnable line of defence. His pounding at the gate was met by a chorus of barks, and when, at last, the woman Liu opened the gate, he was immediately surrounded by dogs, content to bark for the moment. Poor Great-Granddad quaked in fright.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ the woman Liu asked him.

  ‘And who are you?’ Great-Granddad fired back indignantly. ‘I’ve come to see my daughter!’

  ‘Just who is your daughter?’

  ‘The woman who runs this place.’

  ‘Wait here. I’ll go tell her.’

  ‘Tell her her real father’s here!’

  The woman Liu returned with a silver dollar in her hand. ‘You there, old man, the mistress says she has no father, but she’s willing to give you a silver dollar to buy some buns for your trip.’

  ‘Misbegotten ingrate!’ Great-Granddad railed. ‘Get your ass out here! Who the hell do you think you are, disowning your own father as soon as you’re rolling in money!’

  The woman Liu flung the silver dollar to the ground. ‘Go on, you pigheaded old man,’ she said. ‘If you make the mistress mad, you’ll get more than you bargained for.’

  ‘I’m her father!’ he insisted. ‘She murdered her father-in-law. Is her own father going to be next?’

  ‘Go on,’ the woman Liu urged him, ‘get going. If you don’t, I’ll have to set the dogs on you!’

  She gave a signal to the dogs, and they crowded up closer. The green dog nipped the leg of the donkey, which brayed, jerked the reins free, and galloped away. Great-Granddad bent over, picked up the silver dollar, and stumbled after the donkey, with the barking dogs on his heels all the way to the edge of the village.

  The third time Great-Granddad came to see Grandma, he demanded one of the big black mules, insisted that her father-in-law had promised him one before he was murdered, and that his death did not invalidate the promise. He threatened to take his complaint to the county government if Grandma reneged on the promise.

  ‘You’re nothing to me,’ she said. ‘I don’t know you. And if you keep harassing me, I’ll report you to the authorities.’

  Great-Granddad found someone to write out a complaint for him, then rode his donkey into town to see Magistrate Cao and bring formal charges against Grandma.

  Following the shock of having his hat shot full of holes by Spotted Neck, Magistrate Cao had returned home and promptly fallen ill. So, when he read the complaint, which was linked to the homicides at Northeast Gaomi Township, sweat dripped from his armpits.

  ‘Old man,’ he said, ‘you’ve charged your daughter with having an illicit affair with a bandit. Where’s your proof?’

  ‘Your honour, County Magistrate,’ Great-Granddad replied, ‘the bandit in question is sharing my daughter’s kang at this very minute. He’s none other than Spotted Neck, the man who shot your hat full of holes.’

  ‘Old man, you know, don’t you, that if what you’re saying is true your daughter’s life is in danger.’

  ‘Magistrate, honour comp
els me to forsake family loyalty . . . but for . . . my daughter’s property . . .’

  ‘Why, you money-grubbing old son of a bitch!’ the magistrate bellowed. ‘You’d sacrifice your own daughter to get your hands on that little property she has! No wonder she disowned you. You’re no ‘father’ in my book. Give him fifty lashes with a shoe sole and send him on his way!’

  Poor Great-Granddad – not only was his complaint rejected, but the fifty lashes left his buttocks in such sad shape he couldn’t even sit on his donkey, and had to lead it behind him as he staggered home. Shortly after leaving town, he heard hoofbeats behind him, and when he turned to look, he recognised the county magistrate’s black colt. Fearing for his life, he fell to his knees.

  The rider was Magistrate Cao’s right-hand man, Master Yan. ‘Old man,’ he hailed him, ‘get up, get up. The magistrate said that, since he’s your daughter’s foster-dad, there’s a certain kinship between the two of you. The whipping was intended as a lesson for you. He wants you to take these ten silver dollars home to open a small business and forget about ill-gotten wealth.’

  Great-Granddad accepted the silver dollars and kowtowed gratefully, not rising to his feet until the black colt had crossed the railway tracks.

  Magistrate Cao had been sitting alone in the main hall of the government office thinking for half an hour when Little Yan returned from delivering the money. The magistrate led him into a small room and closed the door. ‘I’m convinced that the man sharing the woman Dai’s kang is Spotted Neck,’ he said, ‘the most notorious bandit in Northeast Gaomi Township. Nabbing him will be like cutting down the tree and watching the Northeast Gaomi Township monkeys scatter. The reason I had you beat the old man today was to keep the news from leaking out.’

  ‘You have great foresight,’ Little Yan said.

  ‘I was duped by the woman Dai that day.’

  ‘Even the wisest man occasionally falls prey.’

  ‘Take twenty soldiers on fast horses to Northeast Gaomi Township and capture the bandit leader.’

  ‘The woman, too?’

  ‘No,’ the magistrate cautioned him, ‘no, no, under no circumstances. If you took her into custody, it would be a great loss of face for you-know-who Cao, wouldn’t it? Besides, my judgement that day was intended to help her. What a tragedy for such a lovely young thing to be married to a leper. No wonder she took a lover. No, just nab Spotted Neck, and let her off the hook, so she can have a chance to live a good life.’

  ‘A high wall surrounds the Shan compound,’ Little Yan said, ‘and a pack of mean dogs guards the inside. We won’t catch Spotted Neck flatfooted. If we try to break down the gate or scale the wall in the middle of the night, he’ll pick us off like clay pigeons, won’t he?’

  ‘You’re too simple-minded,’ Magistrate Cao said. ‘I’ve got a wonderful plan.’

  Late that night, Little Yan and twenty soldiers rode out of the city, according to the magistrate’s plan, heading for Northeast Gaomi Township. Since it was late autumn – the tenth lunar month – the sorghum in the fields had already been harvested and lay in large piles. The riders reached the western edge of the village just before daybreak, when crystalline dew covered the dark weeds and the chilly autumn air cut like a knife. They dismounted and waited for orders from Little Yan, who told them to tether their horses behind a pile of sorghum and leave two soldiers to watch them. Then they changed clothes and prepared for action.

  The sun rose red in the sky, the black earth was covered by a blanket of white, and a fine layer of dew settled on the men’s eyelashes and brows and the downy hairs on the muzzles of the horses. Little Yan looked at his pocket watch. ‘Let’s go!’ he said.

  With eighteen soldiers behind him, he cautiously entered the village. They were armed with carbines, loaded and ready. Two took up positions at the village entrance, two more at the head of the lane. Another lane, two more soldiers in hiding, and so on. By the time they reached the compound gate, their number was reduced to Little Yan and six soldiers disguised as peasants, one carrying a pole with two empty wine crocks over his shoulder.

  When the woman Liu opened the gate, Little Yan signalled the soldier with the wine crocks who squeezed past her into the compound. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she said angrily.

  ‘I came to see the owner,’ the soldier said. ‘I bought two crocks of wine a couple of days ago, and ten people died from drinking it. What kind of poison did you put in it?’

  While he was stating his case, Little Yan and the other soldiers slipped into the compound and hid quietly by a corner of the wall. The watchdogs surrounded the man with the wine crocks and barked frantically.

  Grandma walked out, sleepy-eyed, buttoning up her clothes. ‘Go to the shop if you have business here,’ she said testily.

  ‘There’s poison in your wine,’ the soldier said. ‘Ten people died from drinking it. I demand to see the owner.’

  ‘What kind of nonsense is that?’ Grandma shot back. ‘We sell wine all over this area, and we’ve never had any problems. How could members of your family alone die from drinking it?’

  As the dispute raged between Grandma and the tall soldier, surrounded by the five dogs, Little Yan signalled his troops, who streaked into the house on his heels. The soldier outside threw down his wine crocks, pulled a pistol from his belt, and aimed it at Grandma.

  Granddad was getting dressed when he was pushed down onto the kang by Little Yan and his men, who tied his hands behind his back and dragged him out into the yard.

  The dogs rushed up to save him, and the soldiers opened fire. Fur flew, blood was everywhere.

  The woman Liu soiled her pants as she slumped to the ground.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Grandma protested, ‘we’ve done nothing to harm you, and have no grudge against you. If it’s money or food you want, just say so. There’s no need to use your weapons.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Little Yan shouted. ‘Take him away!’

  Then she recognised Yan. ‘Don’t you work for my fosterdad?’ she asked urgently.

  ‘This has nothing to do with you,’ he said. ‘Just get on with your life!’

  Uncle Arhat ran out of the shop when he heard gunfire in the western compound. But the instant his head popped through the gate, a bullet whizzed past his ear, and he quickly pulled back. There wasn’t a soul on the quiet street, though all the dogs in the village were howling. Little Yan and his men dragged Granddad out of the compound and down the street. The two soldiers left behind had already brought the horses up, and when the men hiding at the village entrance and the heads of the lanes saw that everything had gone smoothly, they left their positions and mounted up. Granddad was tied face down across the back of a horse with a purple mane. On Little Yan’s command, they galloped out of the village on the road to the county town.

  When they arrived at the government compound, the soldiers dragged Granddad off the horse. Magistrate Cao walked up to him, stroking his moustache and grinning from ear to ear. ‘So, Spotted Neck, you shot three holes in the magistrate’s hat. Well, the magistrate is going to repay you with three hundred lashes with the sole of a shoe.’

  Bruised, shaken, and dazed by the jarring trip, Granddad could do nothing but vomit as they dragged him off the horse.

  ‘Commence the beating!’ Little Yan ordered.

  The soldiers walked up and kicked Granddad to the ground, raised extra-large shoes nailed to long sticks, and began beating him for all they were worth. At first he gritted his teeth, but he was soon shouting for his parents.

  ‘Spotted Neck,’ Nine Dreams Cao said, ‘now you see what you’re up against with Shoe Sole Cao the Second!’

  The beating had cleared Granddad’s head. ‘You’ve got the wrong man!’ he screamed. ‘I’m not Spotted Neck. . . .’

  ‘So you think you can lie your way out of it! Three hundred more lashes!’ Magistrate Cao shouted angrily.

  The soldiers kicked Granddad to the ground again and pelted him again with the shoe soles. By now
his buttocks were numb. He looked up and screamed, ‘Nine Dreams Cao, everybody calls you Cao the Upright Magistrate, but you’re nothing but a muddled dogshit official! Spotted Neck has a big spot on his neck. Look at my neck; do you see anything there?’

  The startled Nine Dreams Cao waved his hand, and the soldiers backed off. Two others lifted Granddad up so Magistrate Cao could examine his neck.

  ‘How do you know Spotted Neck has a big spot on his neck?’ Magistrate Cao asked him.

  ‘I’ve seen him.’

  ‘If you know Spotted Neck, then you must be a bandit, too. I haven’t got the wrong man!’

  ‘Thousands of people in Northeast Gaomi Township know Spotted Neck. Does that make them all bandits?’

  ‘You were sleeping on a widow’s kang in the middle of the night, so, even if you’re not a bandit, you’re still a scoundrel. I haven’t got the wrong man!’

  ‘Your foster-daughter was willing.’

  ‘She was willing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘One of her hired hands.’

  ‘Aiyaya! Little Yan, lock him up.’

  Grandma and Uncle Arhat rode up to the government-compound gate on their two big black mules just then. Uncle Arhat stood outside the gate holding the reins while Grandma ran into the yard, wailing and screaming. A sentry barred her way with his rifle. She spat in his face. ‘This is the county magistrate’s foster-daughter,’ Uncle Arhat explained. No sentry would stop her now. She barged into the main hall. . . .