Red Sorghum

by Mo Yan

  Passion was one year younger than Grandma, who turned nineteen in the spring of 1926. The eighteen-year-old girl had a strong, healthy body, long legs, and large, unbound feet. Her dark face featured round watery eyes, a pert little nose, and thick, sensual lips. The distillery was flourishing at the time, and our sorghum wine had taken eighteen counties in nine prefectures by storm. The air was redolent with the aroma of wine. In the intoxicating atmosphere, when the days were long and the nights short, the men and women in my family had enormous capacities for wine. Granddad and Grandma, of course; but even the woman Liu, who had never tasted wine before, was now able to drink half a decanter at one sitting.

  Passion, who at first only drank to accompany Grandma, eventually couldn’t live without her wine. The alcohol enlivened them and instilled them with the courage to face danger fearlessly and view death as a homecoming. They abandoned themselves to pleasure, living an existence of moral degeneracy and fickle passions. Granddad had become a bandit by then: he coveted not riches, but a life of vengeance and countervengeance, a never-ending cycle of cruelty that turned a decent commoner into a blackhearted, ruthless bandit with great skills and courage to match.

  After killing Spotted Neck and his gang, and nearly paralysing my greedy great-granddad with fear, he left the distillery and began a romantic life of looting and plundering. The seeds of banditry in Northeast Gaomi Township were planted everywhere: the government produced bandits, poverty produced bandits, adultery and sex produced bandits, banditry produced bandits. Word of Granddad’s prowess in single-handedly wiping out the seemingly invincible Spotted Neck and his gang at the Black Water River spread like wildfire, and lesser bandits flocked to him. As a result, the years 1925 to 1928 marked a golden age of banditry in Northeast Gaomi Township. Granddad’s reputation rocked the government.

  This was during the tenure of the inscrutable Nine Dreams Cao, whom Granddad still detested for having beaten him with the shoe sole until his skin peeled and his flesh gaped. His day of vengeance against the Gaomi county magistrate would come.

  In early 1926, he and two of his men kidnapped Nine Dreams Cao’s fourteen-year-old son in front of the government office. Carrying the screaming little boy under one arm and holding his pistol in the other hand, Granddad swaggered up and down the granite-paved street in front of the official residence. The shrewd, competent enforcer, Little Yan, pursued him with county soldiers, shouting and shooting from a safe distance. Granddad spun around and put his pistol to the boy’s temple. ‘You there, Yan!’ he shouted. ‘Get your ass back there and tell that old dog Nine Dreams Cao that he can have his son back for ten thousand silver dollars. If I don’t get it within three days, this kidnap is going to end with a dead kid!’

  ‘Old Yu,’ Little Yan asked genially, ‘where do we make the exchange?’

  ‘In the middle of the Black Water River bridge.’

  Granddad and his two men filed out of town, the boy still under his arm. He had white teeth and red lips, and though his features were contorted by all that crying, he was still a handsome boy. ‘Stop crying,’ Granddad told him. ‘I’m your foster-dad, and I’m taking you to see your foster-mom!’ He really started crying then, which tried Granddad’s patience. Waving his short, glistening sword under the boy’s nose, he threatened, ‘I said no more crying. If you keep it up, I’ll slice off your ear!’ The boy stopped crying immediately and was carried along between the two younger bandits with a stunned look on his face.

  When they were about five li out of town, Granddad heard hoofbeats behind him. Spinning around to look, he saw a cloud of dust, raised by galloping horses. Granddad ordered the two bandits over to the side of the road, where the three of them huddled together with their hostage, a gun at his head.

  The horsemen, led by the shrewd Little Yan, circled Granddad and his men, then headed towards Northeast Gaomi Township, a trail of dust in their wake.

  Momentarily confused, Granddad quickly realised what was happening. ‘Damn!’ he said, slapping his thigh. ‘We’re wasting our time with this!’

  His two young accomplices asked stupidly, ‘Where are they going?’

  Without stopping to answer, Granddad fired at the retreating horsemen; but they were out of range, and his bullets disappeared into the dust.

  Little Yan led his men to our village in Northeast Gaomi Township and straight to our house. He had a speedy horse and he knew the way. Meanwhile, Granddad was running as fast as his legs would carry him. Nine Dreams Cao’s son, used to a life of ease and luxury, managed only a li or so before he collapsed. ‘Finish him off and be done with it,’ one of the younger bandits suggested. ‘He’s too much trouble.’

  ‘Little Yan’s going after my son,’ Granddad said, as he picked up Young Master Cao, hoisted him over his shoulder, and took off at a trot. When the younger bandits urged him to speed up, he said, ‘We’re already too late, so there’s no need to go any faster. Everything will be all right as long as this little bastard stays alive.’

  Back in the village, Little Yan and his men burst into the house, grabbed Grandma and Father, and tied them onto a horse.

  ‘You blind dog!’ Grandma railed. ‘I’m Magistrate Cao’s foster-daughter!’

  With a sinister smile, Little Yan said, ‘His foster-daughter is precisely who he told us to nab.’

  Little Yan and his horsemen met up with Granddad on the road. Hostages on both sides had guns at their heads as they passed so close they could have reached out and touched each other; but no one dared make a move.

  Granddad looked up at Father, who was held tightly in Little Yan’s arms, and at Grandma, whose hands were tied behind her back. ‘Zhan’ao,’ she said to Granddad, who had a dejected look on his face, ‘let my foster-dad’s son go, so they’ll set us free.’

  Granddad squeezed the boy’s hand tightly. He knew he’d have to let him go sooner or later, but not just now.

  When it was time to exchange the hostages at the wooden bridge over the Black Water River, Granddad mobilised nearly all the bandits in Northeast Gaomi Township, over 230 of them. Their weapons loaded and ready, they lay or sat around the northern bridgehead.

  At midmorning, the magistrate’s soldiers arrived, winding their way down from the southern dike of the river. Four of them carried a sedan chair that rocked above them. When they reached the southern bridgehead, Nine Dreams Cao greeted Granddad. With a smile on his face he said, ‘Zhan’ao, how could the husband of my foster-daughter kidnap his own nephew? If you needed money, all you had to do was ask for it.’

  ‘It’s not the money. I haven’t forgotten those three hundred lashes with the shoe sole!’

  Rubbing his hands together and laughing, Nine Dreams Cao said, ‘It was a mistake, all a mistake! But if it hadn’t been for that beating we’d never have met. Worthy son-in-law, you achieved real glory by eliminating Spotted Neck, and I will make that known to my superiors, who will in turn reward you for your deed.’

  ‘Who cares about being rewarded by you for my deeds?’ Granddad said rudely. His words belied the fact that his heart was softening.

  Little Yan pulled back the curtain of the sedan chair, and Grandma slowly emerged with Father in her arms.

  She started to walk out onto the bridge, but was stopped by Little Yan. ‘Old Yu,’ he said, ‘bring Young Master Cao out onto the bridge. We’ll release them on command.’

  ‘Now!’ Little Yan called out when both sides were ready.

  With a shout of ‘Dad!’ Little Master Cao ran towards the southern bridgehead, while Grandma walked with Father at a dignified pace to the northern side.

  Granddad’s men aimed their short rifles; the government soldiers aimed long ones.

  Grandma and the Cao boy met in the middle of the bridge, where she bent over to say something to him. But, with a loud wail, he skirted her and ran like the wind to the southern bridgehead.

  This incident witnessed the end of the golden days of banditry in Northeast Gaomi Township.

  In the
third month of 1926, Great-Grandma passed away. With Father in her arms, Grandma rode one of our black mules back to her childhood home to make funeral arrangements, planning to be gone only three days and never imagining that heaven would interfere to make that impossible. On the day after her departure, the skies opened up and released a torrential rain so dense that even the wind couldn’t penetrate it. Since Granddad and his men could no longer stay in the greenwoods, they returned to their homes, for in such weather even swallows hole up in their nests to twitter dreamily. Government soldiers were kept from going out, but they really weren’t needed anyway, since the truce between Nine Dreams Cao and Granddad was still holding. The bandits returned to their homes, stuck their weapons under their pillows, and slept the days away.

  Granddad was surprised to learn from Passion that Grandma had braved the violent rainstorm to return to her parents’ home to arrange for her mother’s funeral. In her loathing for her parents, Grandma had refused to have anything to do with them for years. But as they say, ‘Strong winds eventually cease, unhappy families return to peace.’

  The rain sluiced down from the eaves like waterfalls. The murky water rose waist-high, saturating the soil and eroding the bases of walls. Rain-weary, Granddad fell into a state of numbness: drinking and sleeping, sleeping and drinking, until the distinction between day and night blurred, and chaos reigned. More restless than he had ever felt in his life, he scratched the curly black hair on his chest and thighs, but the more he scratched the more they itched. The kang exuded a woman’s acrid, salty smell. He threw a wine bowl onto the kang. It shattered. A little rat with a gaping mouth jumped out of the cabinet, gave him a mocking look, and leaped up onto the window ledge, where it stood on its hind legs and cleaned its mouth with its front claws. Granddad picked up his pistol and fired, blowing the rat out of the window.

  Passion ran into the room, her dark hair a mess; seeing Granddad on the kang with his arms wrapped around his knees, she bent over wordlessly, picked up the shards of the wine bowl, and turned to leave.

  A hot flash surged into Granddad’s throat. ‘You . . . stop there . . .’ he said with difficulty.

  Passion bit her thick lower lip. Her sweet smile suffused the gloomy room with a ball of golden light. The beating of raindrops beyond the window seemed suddenly blocked by a wall of green. Granddad looked at Passion’s mussed hair, her delicate little ears, and the arch of her breasts. ‘You’ve grown up,’ he said.

  Her mouth twitched, and two cunning little wrinkles appeared in the corners.

  ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘Sleeping!’ She yawned. ‘I hate this weather. How long is it going to rain? The bottom must have fallen out of the Milky Way.’

  ‘Douguan and his mom must be stuck there. Didn’t she say she’d return in three days? The old lady must have rotted by now!’

  ‘Is there anything else?’ Passion asked him.

  He lowered his head and, after a pensive moment, said, ‘No, that’s all.’

  Passion bit her lip again, smiled, and walked out, wiggling her hips.

  Darkness returned to the room, and the grey curtain of rain beyond the window was thicker and heavier than ever.

  Passion walked back in and leaned up against the door frame, watching Granddad through misty eyes. He felt the soles of his feet and the palms of his hands began to sweat.

  ‘What do you want?’

  She smiled demurely. The room was once again filled with golden light.

  ‘Do you feel like drinking?’ Passion asked him.

  ‘Will you join me?’

  ‘All right.’

  She brought in a decanter of wine and sliced some salted eggs.

  Outside, the rain beat like thunder, and a chilling air seeped in through the window, causing Granddad’s nearly naked body to shudder.

  ‘Cold?’ Passion asked disdainfully.

  ‘I’m hot!’ he fired back testily.

  She filled two bowls with wine, kept one, and handed him the other.

  After tossing their empty bowls onto the kang, they just gazed at each other. Two blue flames danced in the golden glow in the room. The golden flames singed his body, the blue flames singed his heart.

  ‘A noble man gets his revenge, even if it takes ten years!’ Granddad said icily as he shoved his pistol into its holster.

  Black Eye straightened up and walked from the dike down to Grandma’s grave. He circled it once, kicked the earth, and sighed. ‘People live but a generation, and grass dies each autumn! Old Yu, the Iron Society is going to fight the Japanese. Join us!’

  ‘Join a superstitious society like yours?’ Granddad sneered.

  ‘Don’t get on your high horse! The Iron Society is protected by the gods. Heaven smiles on us and the people trust us. Being asked to join is an honour.’ Black Eye stamped his foot at the head of Grandma’s grave and continued: ‘Your black master here is willing to take you on for her sake.’

  ‘I don’t need your damned pity! One of these days, you and I are going to settle things, once and for all. Our business isn’t finished!’

  ‘You don’t scare me!’ Black Eye patted the revolver on his hip. ‘I know how to use one of these, too.’

  A handsome young Iron Society soldier walked down from the dike and stayed his leader’s hand. With modest self-control, he said, ‘Commander Yu, the soldiers of the Iron Society have long respected you, and we’d be honoured if you joined us in our mission to keep the country whole. We must put aside our squabbles and drive off the Japanese! Individual scores can be settled later.’

  Granddad was intrigued by the man, who reminded him of his own valiant young Adjutant Ren, who had died tragically while cleaning his gun. ‘Are you a member of the Communist Party?’ he asked derisively.

  ‘Not the Communist Party,’ the young man replied, ‘and not the Nationalist Party. I hate them both!’

  ‘I like your spirit!’ Granddad said approvingly.

  ‘They call me Five Troubles.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Granddad said.

  Father had been standing motionless beside Granddad for a long time, gazing curiously at the shaved foreheads of the Iron Society soldiers. That was their identifying mark, but its significance escaped him.

  6

  PASSION AND MY Granddad made wild love for three days and nights, until her already thick lips were puffy and swollen. Trickles of blood seeped into the cracks between her teeth, and when Granddad kissed her, the taste of blood nearly drove him crazy. The rain didn’t let up during those three days, and when the blue-and-gold light vanished from the room, the rustling of grey-green sorghum, the watery croaks of frogs, and the nibbling sounds of wild rabbits came on the air from the fields. The chilled, fetid air was saturated with a thousand smells.

  When Granddad awoke on the morning of the fourth day, he looked at Passion lying beside him and discovered how gaunt and bony she had become; her closed eyes were rimmed with dark-purple circles, her thick lips were cracked and peeling. Hearing the loud crash of a house collapsing somewhere in the village, he quickly dressed and stumbled down off the kang, only to fall flat on his face; he was stunned. As he lay on the floor, his stomach rumbled from hunger. Managing to get to his feet, he called out weakly for the woman Liu. No answer. He went into the room that Passion shared with her, but the only thing lying on the kang mat was a green frog; no sign of Liu.

  Returning to the room where he and Passion had spent the last three days and nights, he picked up several squashed slices of salted eggs and gobbled them down, shell and all. But they only whetted his appetite, so he went into the kitchen and dug through the cabinet, where he found four mildewed buns, nine salted eggs, two pieces of preserved bean curd, and three withered scallions; he gobbled everything down and finished it off with a ladleful of peanut oil.

  The sun’s rays spread across the sorghum field like blood. Passion was still asleep, and Granddad looked at her body, sleek as the hide of the black mule. He poked her in the bell
y with his pistol, and she awoke with a smile, blue flames leaping out of her eyes; but he staggered out into the yard and looked up at the huge, round sun, which was like a damp, newborn infant, still covered with its mother’s blood. All around him, rain puddles shone bright red.

  The wall separating the eastern and western compounds had come down. Uncle Arhat, the woman Liu, and the distillery hands ran outside to look at the sun.

  ‘Were you in there gambling all this time?’ Granddad asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Uncle Arhat answered, ‘for three days and three nights.’

  Once the rain had stopped and the sky was clear, the water receded quickly, exposing a layer of soil as wet and shiny as grease. Grandma rode up on her mud-spattered black mule out of the gooey muck of the field, holding Father in her arms. As they picked up each other’s scent, the two mules, separated for so long, began to paw the ground, bob their heads, and bray loudly. When they were led up to the feeding trough, they nudged and nibbled each other intimately.

  Embarrassed, Granddad took Father from Grandma, whose eyes were red and puffy; she smelled slightly of mildew. ‘Did you take care of everything?’ Granddad asked her.

  ‘We buried her this morning. Two more days of rain and the maggots would have got to her.’

  ‘That was quite a rain, all right. The bottom must have fallen out of the Milky Way.’ He turned to my father. ‘Douguan, say hello to your foster-dad.’

  ‘Foster-dad? That’s a “bloodless” relationship. Yours is “blooded”,’ Grandma chided him. ‘Hold him while I go inside and change.’

  Passion walked outside with a brass basin to get some water. Granddad smiled knowingly, to which she responded with a look of annoyance.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked softly.

  ‘It’s all the fault of that damned rain!’ she snapped back.

  ‘What did you say to him?’ he heard Grandma ask Passion after she carried the water inside.

  ‘Nothing.’