by Mo Yan
Looking around, she spotted dozens of men in green clothing hiding in the shrubs, hard looks in their staring eyes; some were armed with rifles, others held grenades, and others still carried rusty swords. The man behind the dirty, smiling face held a steel blue pistol in his right hand and a shiny, ticking object in his left. It wasn’t until much later that she learned that the object was a pocket-sized timepiece; by that time, she was already sharing her bed with the dark-faced man.
6
Third Master Fan, drunk as a lord, walked grumbling into the Shangguan house. “The Japanese are on their way. Bad timing by this donkey of yours. But what can I say, since it was my horse that impregnated her? Whoever hangs the bell on the tiger’s neck must take it off. Shangguan Shouxi, I see you’ve got enough face to pull this off, oh shit, what face do you have? I’m only here because of your mother. She and I… ha ha … she made a hoof-scraper for my horses …” Shangguan Shouxi, his face covered with sweat, followed Third Master Fan in the door.
“Fan Three!” Shangguan Lü cried out. “You bastard, the local god makes a rare appearance!”
Feigning sobriety, Third Master Fan announced, “Fan Three has arrived.” But the sight of the donkey lying on the floor turned him from completely drunk to half sober. “My god, would you look at that! Why didn’t you send for me earlier?” He tossed his leather saddlebag to the floor, bent down to stroke the donkey’s ears, and patted its belly. Then he went around to the animal’s rear, where he tugged on the leg protruding from the birth canal. Straightening up, he shook his head sadly, and said, “I’m too late, it’s a lost cause. Last year, when your son brought the donkey over for mating, I told him the donkey was too scrawny, and that you should mate it with one of its own. But he insisted on mating it with a horse. That horse of mine is a thoroughbred Japanese stallion. His hoof is bigger than your donkey’s head, and when he mounted your animal, she nearly crumpled under the weight. Like a rooster and a house sparrow. But he’s a good stud horse, so he just closed his eyes and humped away. If it’d been another horse, shit! See, the foal won’t come out. Your donkey isn’t made to have a mule. All she’s good for is producing donkeys, a scrawny donkey …”
“Are you finished, Fan Three?” Shangguan Lü interrupted his monologue angrily.
“Finished, yes, I’ve said what I wanted to say.” He picked up his leather bag, flung it over his shoulder, and, returning from half sober to completely drunk, stumbled toward the door.
Shangguan Lü grabbed him by the arm. “You’re leaving?” she said.
Fan Three smiled grimly. “Old sister-in-law,” he said, “haven’t you been listening to the Felicity Manor steward? The village is almost deserted. Who’s more important, that donkey or me?”
“Three, you’re afraid I won’t make it worth your while, is that it? Well, you’ll get your two bottles of fine liquor and a fat pig’s head. And don’t forget, in this family, what I say goes.”
Fan Three glanced at father and son. “I’m well aware of that,” he said with a smile. “You’re probably the only old woman anywhere in this country who’s a true blacksmith. The strength in that bare back of yours …” A strange smile creased his face.
“Up your mother’s ass!” Shangguan Lü cursed as she thumped him on the back. “Don’t go, Three. We’re talking about not just one, but two lives here. That stud horse is your son, which makes this donkey your daughter-in-law, and the mule in her belly your grandson. Do what you can. If the mule lives, I’ll thank you and reward you. If it dies, I’ll blame my own meager fate, not you.”
“You’ve gone and made these four-legged creatures my family,” Fan Three said unhappily, “so what can I say? I’ll see if I can bring this half-dead donkey back to the land of the living.”
“That’s right, why listen to the ravings of that crazy Sima? What would the Japanese want with a backwater village like ours? Besides, by doing this, you’ll be storing up virtues, and the ghosts always steer clear of the virtuous.”
Fan Three opened his bag and took out a bottle filled with an oily green liquid. “This is a secret family tonic, handed down for generations. It works miraculously on breech births and other obstetric irregularities in animals. If this doesn’t do it, even the magical Monkey couldn’t bring that animal into the world. Sir,” he summoned Shangguan Shouxi, “come over here and lend a hand.”
“I’ll do it,” Shangguan Lü said. “He’s a clumsy oaf.”
Fan Three said, “The Shangguan hen goes and blames the rooster for not laying eggs.”
“If you have to insult someone, Third Younger Brother,” Shangguan Fulu said, “do it to my face, and don’t beat around the bush.”
“Is that anger I hear?” Fan Three asked.
“This is no time to bicker,” Shangguan Lü said. “What shall I do?”
“Raise the donkey’s head,” he said. “I’m going to give it the tonic.”
Shangguan Lü spread her legs, mustered her strength, and picked up the donkey’s head. The animal stirred; bursts of air snorted from its nostrils.
“Higher!” Fan Three said.
She strained to lift it higher; bursts of air were now snorting from her nostrils, too.
“Are you two dead or alive?” Fan Three complained.
The two Shangguan men rushed up to help, and nearly tripped over the donkey’s legs. Shangguan Lü rolled her eyes; Fan Three shook his head. Finally, they got the donkey’s head up high enough. It curled its lips back and showed its teeth. Fan Three stuck a funnel made of an ox horn into the animal’s mouth and emptied the contents of the bottle into it. “That’ll do it,” Fan said. “You can lower its head.”
As Shangguan Lü tried to catch her breath, Fan Three took out his pipe, filled it, and hunkered down to smoke. Two streams of white smoke quickly exited through his nostrils. “The Japanese took the county town and murdered the county chief, Zhang Weihan, then raped all the women in his family.”
“Did you hear that from the Simas?” Shangguan Lü asked him.
“No, my sworn brother told me. He lives near Eastgate in the county seat.”
Shangguan Lü said, “The truth never travels more than ten li.”
“Sima Ku took the family servants to set fires on the bridge,” Shangguan Shouxi said. “That’s more than a rumor.”
Shangguan Lü looked at her son angrily. “I never hear an encouraging, proper sentence from that mouth of yours, and you never tire of spouting nonsense and rumors. Fancy you, a man and the father of a large brood of children, and I can’t tell if that thing on your shoulders is a head or an empty gourd. Haven’t any of you considered the fact that Japanese have mothers and fathers, just like everybody else? There’s no bad blood between them and us common folk, so what are they going to do with us? Run off? Do you think you can outrun a bullet? Hide out? Until when?”
In response to her chiding, the Shangguan men could only bow their heads and hold their tongues. But Fan Three knocked the ashes from his pipe and tried to save the situation. “In the long run, our sister here sees things more clearly than we do. I feel better after what she said. She’s right. Go where? Hide where? I might be able to run and hide, but what about my donkey and my stud horse. They’re like a couple of mountains, and where can you hide a mountain? You might stay hidden past the first of the month, but you’ll never make it through the fifteenth. Up their mother, I say. Let’s get that baby mule out of there, and then figure out what to do next.”
“That’s the attitude!” Shangguan Lü said happily.
Fan took off his jacket, cinched up his belt, and cleared his throat, like a martial arts master about to take on an opponent. Shangguan Lü nodded approvingly. “That’s what I like to see, Three. A man leaves behind his good name, a wild goose leaves behind its call. If you bring this mule into the world, I’ll give you an extra bottle of liquor and beat a drum to sing your praises.”
“That’s pure shit,” Fan said. “Whose idea was it to make your donkey pregnant by my stud ho
rse, anyway? This is what’s called doing the sowing and the harvesting.” He circled the donkey, tugged at the mule’s leg, and muttered, “Donkey, my little in-law, you’re standing at the gate of Hell, and you’re going to have to tough it out. My reputation hangs in the balance. Gentlemen,” he said as he patted the donkey’s head, “get a rope and a stout carrying pole. She can’t get it done lying there. We need to get her to her feet.”
The Shangguan men looked over at Shangguan Lü, who said, “Do as he says.” Once father and son had done as they were told, Fan ran the rope under the donkey just behind its front legs, then tied a knot, and had Shangguan Fulu stick the pole through the hole made by the rope.
“Stand over there,” he ordered Shangguan Shouxi.
“Bend down and lift the pole with your shoulders!”
The Shangguan men began lifting the pole, which dug deeply into their shoulders.
“That’s it,” Fan said. “Now there’s no hurry. Straighten up when I tell you, and put some shoulder into it. You’ll only get one chance. This animal can’t take much more suffering. Sister-in-law, your spot is behind the donkey. It’s up to you to keep the foal from dropping to the ground.” He went around to the donkey’s rear, where he rubbed his hands, took the lamp from the millstone, poured oil over his palms and rubbed them together, and then blew on them. When he tried sticking one of his hands up the birth canal, the little leg flailed wildly. By this time, his entire arm was inside the animal, up to the shoulder, his cheek pressed up against the mule’s purple hoof. Shangguan Lü’s eyes were glued to him; her lips were quivering. “Okay, gentlemen,” Fan said in a muffled voice, “on the count of three, lift with all your might. It’s life or death, so don’t cave in on me. All right?” His chin rested against the animal’s rump; his hand appeared to be grasping something deep inside. “One — two — three!” With a loud grunt, the Shangguan men made a rare display of mettle, straining under their load. Taking a cue from the effort around her, the donkey rolled over, tucked her front legs under her, and raised her head. Her rear legs shifted and curled up beneath her. Fan Three rolled with the donkey, until he was nearly lying facedown on the ground. His head disappeared from view, but his shouts continued: “Lift! Keep lifting!” The two men struggled up onto the balls of their feet, while Shangguan Lü slid beneath the donkey and pressed her back against its belly. With a loud bray, it planted its feet and stood up, and at that moment, a large, slippery object slid out from the birth canal, along with a great deal of blood and a sticky fluid, right into Fan Three’s arms, and from there to the ground.
Fan quickly cleared the little mule’s mouth of the fluid, cut the umbilical cord with his knife, and tied off the end, then carried the animal over to a clean spot on the floor, where he wiped down its body with a rag. With tears in her eyes, Shangguan Lü muttered over and over, “Thanks to heaven and earth, and to Fan Three.”
The baby mule staggered unsteadily to its feet, but quickly fell back down. Its hide was satiny smooth, its mouth the purplish red of a rose petal. Fan Three helped it to its feet. “Good girl,” he said. “A chip off the old block. The horse is my son and you, little one, you’re my granddaughter. Sister-in-law, bring some watery rice for my donkey daughter, returned from the dead.”
7
Shangguan Laidi hadn’t led her sisters more than a few dozen paces when she heard a series of sharp noises that sounded like strange bird cries. She looked into the sky to see what it was, just in time to hear an explosion in the middle of the river. Her ears rang, her brain clouded. A shattered catfish came on the air and landed at her feet. Threads of blood seeped from its split orange head; its feelers twitched, and its guts were spread all over its back. When it landed, a spray of muddy hot river water drenched Laidi and her sisters. Numbed and sort of dreamy, she turned to look at her sisters, who returned the look. She saw a gob of sticky stuff in Niandi’s hair, like a wad of chewed grass; seven or eight silvery fish scales were stuck to Xiangdi’s cheek. Dark waves churned in the river no more than a few dozen paces from where they stood, forming a whirlpool; heated water rose into the air, then fell back down into the whirlpool. A thin layer of mist hovered above the surface, and she could smell the pleasant odor of gunpowder. She struggled to figure out what had just happened, gripped by a foreboding that something was very wrong. Wanting to scream, all she could manage was a shower of tears that fell noisily to the ground. What am I crying for? No, I’m not really crying, she was thinking, and why should I? Maybe they were drops of river water, not tears at all. Chaos reigned inside her head. The scene arrayed before her — the sun glinting off the bridge beams, the churning, muddy river, densely packed shrubbery, all the startled swallows, and her stunned sisters — enveloped her in a chaotic mix of images, like a tangled skein of string. Her eyes fell on her baby sister, Qiudi, whose mouth hung slack and whose eyes were squeezed shut; tears ran down her cheeks. A sizzle filled the air around them, like beans popping in the sun. Secrets hidden amid the riverbank bushes produced a rustling sound like skittering little critters, but no sound from the men in green she’d seen in the bushes a few minutes before. The shrub branches pointed silently upward and their gold-coin-like leaves shimmied slightly. Were they still there? If so, what were they doing? Then she heard a flat, distant shout: “Little sisters, hit the ground … little sisters … down on your bellies …”
She searched the landscape to locate the source of the shouts. Deep down in her brain a crab crawled around, and it hurt terribly. She saw something black and shiny fall from the sky. A pillar of water as thick as an ox rose slowly out of river just east of the stone bridge, and spread out once it reached the height of the dike, like the branches of a weeping willow. Within seconds the smells of gunpowder, river mud, and shattered fish and shrimp rushed into her nostrils. Her ears stung so badly she couldn’t hear a thing, but she thought she saw sound waves spreading through the air.
Another black object fell into the river, sending a second pillar of water skyward. Something blue slammed into the riverbank, its edges curled outward like a dog’s tooth. When she bent down to pick it up, a wisp of yellow smoke rose from the tip of her finger, and a sharp pain shot through her body. In a flash, the crashing noises of the world rushed at her again, as if the now searing pain in her finger came from her ear, breaking up the blockage. The water was lapping noisily, smoke was rolling upwards. Explosions rumbled in the air. Three of her sisters were howling, the other three were lying on the ground with their hands over their ears, their fannies sticking up, like those stupid, awkward birds that bury their heads in the sand when they’re pursued, forgetting all about their hindquarters.
“Little sisters!” Again she heard a voice in the bushes. “Down on your bellies, hit the ground and crawl over here …”
She lay on her belly and searched for the man in the bushes. Finally, she spotted him amid the lithe branches of a red willow. The dark-faced stranger with the white teeth was waving her over. “Hurry!” he shouted. “Crawl over here.”
A crack opened up in her confused mind and let in rays of light. Hearing the whinny of a horse, she turned to look behind her and saw a gold-colored colt, its fiery mane flying as it galloped onto the stone bridge from the southern end. The lovely, halterless colt was unruly, lively, reveling in its youth. The son of Third Master Fan’s Japanese stud horse, it belonged to Felicity Manor; in other words, the golden colt was another of his grandsons. She knew that lovable colt, and she liked it. She often saw it galloping up and down the lane, throwing Aunty Sun’s dogs into a frenzy. When it reached the middle of the bridge, it stopped as if brought up short by the wall of straw, or made woozy by the liquor it was soaked in. It cocked its head and scrutinized the straw. What could it be thinking? she wondered. Another shriek tore through the air as a lump of blinding molten metal crashed into the bridge with a thunderous roar, seemingly having traveled a great distance. The colt disintegrated before her eyes; one of its charred legs landed in the bushes nearby. A wave of na
usea drove a sour, bitter liquid up from her stomach into her throat, and at that moment, she understood everything. The colt’s severed leg showed her what death was all about, and a sense of horror made her quake, made her teeth chatter. Jumping to her feet, she dragged her sisters into the bushes.
All six younger sisters huddled around her, holding on to each other like stalks of garlic wrapped around the stem. Laidi heard that now familiar hoarse voice shouting at her, but the seething waters of the river swallowed up the sound.
Folding her baby sister into her arms, she felt the searing heat of the little girl’s face. A calmness returned to the river for the moment, giving the layer of smoke a chance to dissipate. More of those hissing black objects flew over the Flood Dragon River, dragging long tails behind them before landing in the village with muffled explosions, followed by faint screams from women and the thud of collapsing structures. Not a soul in sight on the opposite dike, nothing but a solitary locust tree. On the riverbank below stood a line of weeping willows whose branches touched the surface of the water. Where were these strange, scary flying objects coming from? she wondered stubbornly. A shout — Ai ya ya — broke her concentration. The sight of the Felicity Manor assistant steward, Sima Ku, riding his bicycle up onto the bridge appeared through the branches. What’s he doing? she wondered. It must be because of the horse. But he was holding a lit torch, so it wasn’t the horse, whose corpse was splattered all over the bridge and whose blood stained the water below.
Sima Ku slammed on the brakes and flung the torch into the liquor-soaked straw, sending blue flames into the sky. Jerking his bicycle around, but too rushed to climb onto it, he ran it down the bridge, the blue flames licking at his heels. The eerie Ai ya ya shouts kept spilling from his mouth. When a sudden loud crack sent his wide-brimmed straw hat flying into the river, he let go of his bicycle, bent low at the waist, stumbled, and fell face-first onto the bridge flooring. Crack, crack, crack, a string of noises like firecrackers. Sima Ku hugged the bridge flooring and crawled like a lizard. Suddenly he was gone, and the cracking noises stopped. The bridge all but disappeared in blue, smokeless flames, those in the center rising higher than the others and turning the water below blue. Laidi’s chest constricted in the stifling air and waves of heat; her nostrils were hot and dry. The waves of heat changed into gusting, whistling winds. The bushes were wet, sort of sweaty; the leaves of trees curled up and withered. Then she heard the high-pitched voice of Sima Ku emerge from behind the dike: