by Mo Yan
‘Shall we toss them now, Douguan?’ Wang Guang asked.
‘Get ready,’ Father said. ‘We’ll lob them together.’
They were each holding two petal-shaped muskmelon hand grenades. After pulling the pins, they banged the grenades together. ‘Now!’ Father yelled, and eight arching missiles landed amid the dogs, who first watched with curiosity as the black oblong objects fell from the sky, then instinctively crouched down. Father marvelled at the incredible intelligence of the three dogs from our family, who cunningly flattened out on the ground just before the eight superior Japanese grenades exploded, almost at the same instant, the frightful blast spraying dark shrapnel in all directions. A dozen or more dogs were blown to bits, at least twenty others gravely wounded. Dog blood and dog meat sailed into the air above the river and splattered on the surface like hailstones. White eels, blood eaters, swarmed to the spot, squealing as they fought over the dog meat and dog blood. The pitiful whimpering of the wounded dogs was terrifying. Those that had escaped injury scattered, some dashing wildly down the riverbank, others leaping into the Black Water River to swim frantically to the opposite bank.
Father wished he hadn’t left his rifle behind, for some of the dogs, blinded by the blast, were running in circles on the riverbank, whimpering in panic, their faces covered with blood. It was a pitiful, exhilarating sight. Our three dogs swam across the river, followed by about thirty others, and clambered up onto the opposite bank with their tails between their legs, their wet fur stuck to their skin; they, too, were a sorry sight, but once they reached solid ground, they shook themselves violently, sending beads of water flying from their tails, their bellies, and their chins. Red glared hatefully at Father and barked, as though accusing him and his friends of violating a tacit agreement by invading their bivouac area and using new, cruelly undoglike weapons.
‘Lob some across the river!’ Father said.
They picked up more grenades and heaved them with all their might towards the opposite bank. When the dogs saw the black objects arching above the water, they raised an imploring howl, as though calling for their mothers and fathers, then leaped and rolled down the riverbank, making a quick dash to the sorghum field on the southern bank. Father and the others weren’t strong enough to reach the bank with their grenades, which landed harmlessly in the river and sent up four columns of silvery water. The surface roiled for a moment, as a school of fat white eels floated belly up.
The dogs stayed away from the sight of the massacre for two days following the sneak attack, a time during which canine and human forces maintained strict vigilance as they made battle preparations.
Father and his friends, recognising the enormous power of the grenades, held a strategy session to find ways of putting them to even better use. When Wang Guang returned from a reconnaissance mission to the riverbank, he brought news that all that remained were a few canine corpses, a blanket of fur and dogshit, and an overpowering stench. Not a single living dog – which meant they’d moved to another bivouac area.
According to Dezhi, since the leaders of the routed dog pack had been spared, it would only be a matter of time before they closed up ranks and returned to fight over the corpses. Their counterattack was bound to be particularly ferocious, since the survivors now had rich battle experience.
The final suggestion was made by Mother, who recommended arming the wooden-handled grenades and burying them along the paths. Her suggestion met with unanimous approval, so they split up into groups to bury forty-three of the grenades beneath the three paths. Of the fifty-seven muskmelon grenades they’d started with, twelve had been used during the attack on the Black Water River shoal, so there were forty-five left – fifteen for each group.
Cracks developed in the unity of the canine forces over the two days as a result of casualties and desertion, which depleted their number to 120 or so. The three original brigades were reformed into a single unified force of crack troops. Since their bivouac area had been overrun by those four bastards with their strange, exploding dung-beetles, they were forced to move three li downriver to a spot on the southern bank just east of the stone bridge.
It was to be a morning of great significance. The dogs, itching for a fight, snarled and snapped at one another as they made their way to the new bivouac area, sneaking an occasional glance at their leaders, who were calmly sizing each other up. Once they reached a spot east of the bridge, they formed a circle on the shoal, sat back on their haunches, and howled at the overcast sky. Blackie and Green were twitching noticeably, causing the fur on their backs to ripple like ocean waves. Months of vagabond lives and feasting on rotting meat had awakened primal memories anaesthetised over aeons of domestication. A hatred of humans – those two-legged creatures that walked erect – seethed in their hearts, and eating human flesh held greater significance than just filling their growling bellies; more important was the vague sensation that they were exacting terrible revenge upon those rulers who had enslaved them and forced them into the demeaning existence of living off scraps. The only ones capable of translating these primitive impulses into high theory, however, were the three dogs from our family. That was why they enjoyed the support of the pack dogs, although that alone would have been insufficient; their size and strength, their quickness, and their willingness to martyr themselves by attacking with unparalleled ferocity all made them natural leaders. Now, though, they had begun to fight among themselves for sole dominion over the pack.
One of the battles occurred when a dog in Green’s brigade, an impudent male with thick lips, bulging eyes, and a coat of bluish fur, took liberties with a pretty spotted-faced female who was one of Red’s favourites. Infuriated, Red charged the motley male and knocked him into the river. After climbing out and shaking the water off his fur, Thick Lips launched into an angry tirade, which earned him the jeers of the other dogs.
Green barked loudly at Red to defend the honour of his brigade, but Red ignored him and knocked the motley cur back into the river. As he swam back to shore, his nostrils skimming the surface, he looked like a huge river rat. The spotted-faced female stood beside Red, wagging her tail.
Green barked contemptuously at Red, who returned the insult.
Blackie placed himself between his two companions of earlier days, like a peacemaker.
Now that the dog pack was reassembled at a new bivouac area, they busied themselves drinking water and licking their wounds as the ancient rays of the sun danced on the surface of the gently flowing Black Water River. A wild rabbit raised its head on the embankment; scared witless by what it saw, it quietly slipped away.
In the warm mid-autumn sun, an atmosphere of lethargy settled over the dog pack. The three leaders formed a seated triangle, eyes drooping as though reliving the past.
Red had led a peaceful life as a distillery watchdog. The two old yellows were still alive then, and even though there were occasional disputes among the five dogs, they were, for the most part, one big, happy family. He was the runt of the group, and once, when he developed a case of scabies, the other dogs drove him away. So he went straight to the eastern compound to roll around in the sorghum chaff, and his skin cleared up. But he returned more antisocial than when he’d left, and was disgusted by how Blackie and Green fawned over the strong and bullied the weak, and by their smarmy tail-wagging.
Red sensed that the violent upheaval of the pack was a power struggle, and since the conflicts had been shifted onto the three leaders, the other dogs grew relatively peaceful. But the mangy cur, who hadn’t mended his ways despite repeated warnings, was now trying to stir up trouble among the other dogs in the pack.
The flash point was reached when an old bitch with a torn ear walked up to Blackie and put her wet, icy nose up against his, then turned and wagged her tail at him. Blackie got to his feet and began cavorting with his new paramour, while Red and Green looked on. Red quietly crouched down and glanced over at Green, who sprang instantly and pinned the amorous Blackie to the beach.
; The dog pack stood as one to watch the fang-to-fang battle erupting in front of them.
Green, enjoying the element of surprise, quickly gained the advantage by burying his teeth in Blackie’s neck and shaking him violently. The green fur on his neck stood straight up as a thunderous roar burst from his throat.
Blackie, whose head was spinning from the attack, jerked backward to free his neck from his attacker’s jaws, losing a chunk of flesh the size of a man’s palm. He stood up shakily, racked by spasms of pain and crazed with anger. He was seething over the perversely undoglike sneak attack by Green. Blackie barked furiously, lowered his head, and threw himself on Green, aiming straight for his chest, into which he sank his teeth, peeling away a huge flap of skin. Green immediately went for Blackie’s wounded neck, but this time, not content with merely biting, he was actually devouring the torn flesh.
Red got slowly to his feet and looked icily at Green and Blackie. Blackie’s neck was nearly broken. He raised his head, but it drooped back down. He raised it again, and again it drooped. Blood gushed from the wound. He was clearly finished. Green arrogantly bared his fangs and barked triumphantly. Then he turned, and was eyeball to eyeball with the long, cruelly mocking face of Red. Green shuddered. Without warning, Red pounced on Green, using his favourite trick to flip the wounded dog over on his back, and before Green could scramble to his feet, Red had buried his teeth into his chest and was pulling on the ripped flap of skin. With a powerful jerk of his head, he prised the skin loose, exposing the raw flesh beneath it. As Green struggled to his feet, the loose flap of skin hung down between his legs and brushed the ground. His whimper signalled the knowledge that it was all over for him. Red walked up and drove his shoulder into his barely standing victim, sending him tumbling to the ground, and before he could struggle to his feet, he was swarmed over by a dense pack of dogs, whose fangs quickly turned him into a bloody pulp.
Now that Red had defeated his most powerful opponent, his tail shot up as he roared at the battered and bloodied Blackie, who barked pitifully, his tail tucked between his legs. He looked up at Red with despairing eyes, silently begging for mercy. But the other dogs, eager to bring the battle to an end, rushed forward, forcing Blackie to make a suicidal leap into the river. His head bobbed into sight once or twice before he sank beneath the surface. A few gurgling bubbles rose from the depths.
The dogs formed a circle around Red, bared their teeth, and let forth celebratory howls at the bleached sun hanging in the sky on this rare clear day.
The sudden disappearance of the dog pack made Father and the others nervous and introduced chaos into their lives. A heavy autumn rain struck all living things with a monotonous sound. The hunters had lost the stimulus of battling the mad dogs and had turned into addicts in need of a fix: their noses ran, they yawned, they nodded off.
On the morning of the fourth day after the disappearance of the dog pack, Father and the others lazily took up their positions at the edge of the marshland, watching the swirling mist and smelling the stench of the land.
By then Gimpy had handed over his rifle and disappeared to a distant village to help his cousin run an eatery. Since Blind Eye could not function alone, he stayed back in the tent, company for my ailing granddad. That left only Father, Mother, Wang Guang, and Dezhi.
‘Douguan,’ Mother said, ‘the dogs won’t come back. They’re scared of the grenades.’ She gazed wistfully at the three dog paths, shrouded in mystery, more eager than the others to have the dogs return. All her intelligence had telescoped into the forty-three wooden-handled grenades buried in the paths.
‘Wang Guang,’ Father ordered, ‘make another reconnaissance!’
‘I just made one yesterday. There was a fight east of the bridge. Green’s dead. They must have split up,’ Wang Guang complained. ‘I say, instead of wasting our time here, we should go join up with the Jiao-Gao forces.’
‘No,’ Father insisted, ‘they’ll be back. They’re not going to pass up a feast like this.’
‘There are corpses everywhere these days,’ Wang Guang argued. ‘Those dogs aren’t stupid enough to come looking for a meal of exploding hand grenades.’
‘It’s the number of corpses here,’ Father said. ‘They can’t bear to leave them.’
‘If we’re going to join up with anybody, let’s make it Pocky Leng’s troops. Those grey uniforms and leather belts are really impressive.’
‘Look over there!’ Mother said.
They crouched and watched the dog path where Mother was pointing. The sorghum stalks, pelted by sheets of glistening raindrops, were trembling. Everywhere you looked there were tightly woven clumps of delicate yellow shoots and seedlings that had sprouted out of season. The air reeked with the odour of young seedlings, rotting sorghum, decaying corpses, and dogshit. The world facing Father and the others was filled with terror, filth, and evil.
‘Here they come!’ Father said, betraying his excitement.
The sorghum canopy rustled. The grenades hadn’t gone off.
‘Douguan,’ Mother said anxiously, ‘something’s wrong!’
‘Don’t panic,’ he said, ‘they’ll set them off any minute.’
‘Why not scatter them with our rifles?’ Dezhi asked.
Too impatient to wait, Mother fired off a round, causing a momentary confusion in the sorghum field, which was immediately engulfed by exploding grenades. Severed sorghum stalks and dog limbs flew into the sky; the painful whimpers of wounded dogs hung in the air. More explosions sent shrapnel and debris whistling over the heads of Father and his friends.
Finally, a couple of dozen dogs emerged from the three paths, only to be met by gunfire that sent them scurrying back into the protection of the sorghum. More explosions.
Mother leaped into the air and clapped her hands.
She and her friends were unaware of the changes in the canine forces. The shrewd Red, now undisputed leader, had led his troops dozens of li away for a thorough reorganisation, and this latest attack demonstrated a grasp of military strategy with which even humans, given all their intelligence, could have found no fault. His enemy consisted of a few strange yet canny youngsters, including one who seemed vaguely familiar. Not until he’d disposed of those little bastards would his pack be free to enjoy the feast set out in the marshland. So he sent a pointy-eared mongrel to lead half the dogs in a frontal charge from which there would be no retreat. Meanwhile, he led sixty others in a flanking manoeuvre to the rear of the marshland, from where they could launch a surprise attack and tear those little bastards, who had blood on their hands, to pieces. Just before setting out, Red, whose tail curled into the air, had brushed his cold nose up against the similarly cold noses of each of his troops, then had gnawed at the dried-mud clods stuck to his claws. The others had done the same.
He had completed his flanking manoeuvre, and had his eyes on those wildly gesturing little people, when he heard the explosions of the hand grenades. The sound struck terror in his heart and, as he immediately observed, threw his troops into a panic. The dogs were terrified, and he knew that if he shrank back now his army would be routed. So he bared his fangs and let loose a blood-curdling cry to the confused troops behind him. Then he turned and charged into Father’s encampment, his troops on his tail, like a sleek, colourful, ground-hugging cloud.
‘Dogs behind us!’ Father shouted in alarm as he swung his rifle around and blew away one of the attackers without taking aim. The dog, a big brown beast, thudded to the ground, then was trampled as the rest of the animals charged.
Wang Guang and Dezhi were firing as fast as they could, but for every dog that fell, several moved up to take its place. The dogs’ misanthropy had now climaxed; their teeth glinted and their eyes shone like ripe red cherries. Wang Guang threw down his weapon, turned, and ran into the marshland, where he was immediately surrounded by a dozen dogs. In an instant the little fellow simply vanished. The animals, used to feeding on human beings, had become true wild beasts, quick and skilful in their craft.
They tore chunks out of Wang Guang and were soon gnawing on his brittle bones.
Father, Mother, and Dezhi stood back to back, so terrified they were shaking like leaves. Mother wet her pants. What began as a calm attack during which they picked off the dogs from a distance evaporated when Red’s troops surrounded them. They kept firing, killing and wounding dogs until their ammunition was exhausted. Father’s bayonet, which glinted menacingly in the sun, posed a serious threat to the dogs; but Mother’s and Dezhi’s carbines had no bayonets, so the circling dogs concentrated on them. Three backs were nearly fused together. They could feel one another shaking in fright. ‘Douguan,’ Mother murmured, ‘Douguan . . .’
‘Don’t be scared,’ Father demanded. ‘Scream as loud as you can. Try to get my dad to come to our rescue.’
Seeing that Father was in charge, Red glared contemptuously at the bayonet out of the corner of his eye.
‘Dad – help, save us!’ Father screamed.
‘Uncle – hurry!’ Mother cried at the top of her lungs.
A few of the dogs tried to mount an assault but were beaten back. Mother rammed the barrel of her rifle into a charging dog’s mouth, knocking out two of its teeth. Another one recklessly charged Father, whose bayonet sliced open its face. While his troops charged and fell back, Red crouched on the perimeter, his eyes riveted on Father.
The standoff continued for about as long as it takes to smoke a couple of pipefuls. Father’s legs were getting rubbery, and he could barely lift his arms. He screamed again for Granddad to come and save them. Mother was pressed so tightly to him that he felt as though his back were up against a wall.
‘Douguan,’ whispered Dezhi, ‘I’ll draw them away so you two can escape.’