Under the Red Flag

by Jin, Ha

  The dog ran away toward the haystack, scared by the beams of the flashlights scraping its body. The yard was almost empty except for a line of colorful washing, frozen and sheeny, swaying in the wind like landed kites tied up by children. Ming tapped on a pink shirt, which was apparently Shuling’s, and said, “It smells so delicious. Why no red on this, Old Sang? She’s too young for menopause, isn’t she?”

  They broke out laughing.

  Sang’s little stone house had a thatched roof. Entering it, they put their two rifles behind the door. An oil lamp was burning on the dining table on the brick bed, but nobody was in. Finding no woman, the men began swearing and said they were disappointed. Sang searched everywhere in the house, but there was no trace of his wife. “Shu—ling—” he cried to the outside. Only the hiss of the wind answered.

  “Old Sang, what does this mean?” Daiheng asked. “What do you have in mind exactly?”

  “I want you to do it to my wife.”

  “But where is she?” Bing asked.

  “I don’t know. You boys wait. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

  Sang’s eyes were filled with rage. Obviously he didn’t expect to see an empty house either. He took a large bowl of boiled pork and a platter of stewed turnips from the kitchen and placed them on the table. They climbed on the brick bed and started eating the dishes and drinking the liquor they had brought along.

  “It’s too cold,” Wei said, referring to the food.

  “Yes,” Ming said. “Let’s have something warm, Old Sang. We have work to do.”

  “You must treat us well,” Bing said, “or else we won’t leave tonight. This is our home now.”

  “All right, all right, you boys don’t go crazy. I’m going to cook you a soup, a good one.”

  Sang and Daiheng went to the kitchen, lighting the stove and cutting pickled cabbages and fat pork. In the village Daiheng was well known as a good cook, so he did the work naturally.

  “Don’t be stingy. Put in some dried shrimps,” Wei shouted at the men in the kitchen.

  “All right, we will,” Sang yelled back.

  Nan remained silent meanwhile. He didn’t like the tasteless meat and just kept smoking Sang’s Glory cigarettes and cracking roasted melon seeds. In the kitchen the bellows started squeaking.

  Ming and Wei were playing a finger-guessing game, which Nan and Bing didn’t know how to play but were eager to learn. Nan moved closer, watching their hands changing shapes deftly under the oil lamp and listening to them chanting:

  A small chair has square legs,

  A little myna has a pointed bill.

  It’s time you eat spider eggs,

  Drink pee and gulp swill.

  Five heads,

  Six fortunes,

  Three stars,

  Eight gods,

  Nine cups—

  “Got you!” Ming yelled at Wei. Pointing at a mug filled with liquor, he ordered, “Drink this.”

  They hadn’t finished the second round when Daiheng and Sang rushed in. “She’s here, she’s here,” Daiheng whispered, his voice in a flutter.

  Before they could straighten up, Shuling stepped in, wearing a red scarf and puffing out warm air. She whisked the snowflakes off her shoulder with a pair of mittens and greeted the men. “Welcome,” she said. She looked so fresh with her pink cheeks and permed hair. Her plump body swayed a little against the white door curtain, as if she didn’t know whether she should stay in or go out.

  “Well, well, well,” Ming hummed.

  “Where have you been?” Sang asked sharply, then went up to her and grabbed the front of her sky-blue jacket.

  “I, I—let me go.” She was struggling to free herself.

  “I know where you were. With that pale-faced man again. Tell me, is that true or not?” Sang pulled her closer to himself. He referred to a young cadre on the work team which was investigating the graft and bribery among the leaders of the production brigade. Nan remembered seeing the man and Shuling together in the grocery store once.

  “Let me go. You’re hurting me,” she begged, and turned to the others, her round eyes flashing with fear.

  “You stinking skunk, always have an itch in your cunt!” Sang bellowed. “I want you to have it enough today, as a present for the Spring Festival. See, I have five men for you here. Every one of them is strong as a bull.” His head tilted to the militia.

  “No, don’t. Please don’t,” she moaned with her hands held together before her chest.

  “What are you waiting for, boys?” Sang shouted at the young men.

  They all jumped up and went to hold her. “Brothers, don’t do this to me,” she wailed.

  “Do it to her! Teach her a good lesson,” her husband yelled.

  They grabbed her and carried her onto the brick bed. She struggled and even tried to kick and hit them, but like a tied sheep she couldn’t move her legs and arms. Daiheng pinched her thigh as Ming was rubbing her breasts. “Not bad,” Ming said, “not flabby at all.”

  “Oh, you hooligans. Let your grandma go. Ouch!”

  With laughter, they placed her on the hard bed. She never stopped cursing. “All your ancestors will go to hell. Sons of asses … I’ll tell your parents. Your houses will be struck by thunderbolts! You’ll die without a son …”

  Her curses only incensed the men. Bing rolled one end of her woolen scarf into a ball and thrust it into her mouth. Instantly she stopped making noises. Then Sang produced some ropes and tied her hands to the legs of the dining table. Meanwhile Wei and Nan did as they were told by Ming, binding her feet to the beam that formed the edge of the bed.

  They slipped their hands underneath her underclothes, kneading her breasts and rubbing her crotch. Then they ripped open her jacket, shirts, pants, and panties. Her partly naked body was squirming helplessly in the coppery light.

  Daiheng took out five poker cards, from the ace to the “5,” mixed them, and then put them on the bed. By turns they picked the cards. Wei had “5,” Nan “4,” Bing “3,” Daiheng “2.” As Ming got the ace, he was to go first.

  “All right,” Sang said calmly, “everything is fine. Now you boys enjoy yourselves.” He raised the door curtain and went out.

  Ming began to mount Shuling, saying, “I’ve good luck this year. Nan, little bridegroom, watch your elder brother carefully and learn how to do it.”

  Nan was wondering whether Daiheng had contrived a trick in dealing out those cards. How come both Ming and Daiheng had gotten ahead of the three younger men? But he didn’t attend to his doubt for long, because soon Ming’s lean body was wriggling violently on Shuling’s. Having never seen such a scene, Nan felt giddy and short of breath, but he was also eager to experience it. They all watched intently. Meanwhile the woman kept her face away from them.

  While Daiheng was on Shuling, biting her shoulders and making happy noises, Sang came in with a small enamel bowl in his hand. He climbed on the bed and placed it beside his wife’s head. He clutched her hair and pulled her face over, and said, “Look at what’s in the bowl.” He picked up a bit of the red stuff with three fingers and let it trickle back into the bowl. “Chili powder. I’ll give it to you. Wait, after they are done with you, I’ll stuff you with it, to cure the itch in there for good.”

  His wife closed her eyes and shook her head slightly.

  Bing, who was the third, obviously had no experience with a woman before. No sooner had he gotten on top of her than he came and gave up. He held his pants, looking pained, as though he had just swallowed a bowl of bitter medicine. He coughed and blew his nose.

  Now it was Nan’s turn. He seemed bashful as he moved to Shuling. Though this was his first time, he felt confident as he straddled her and started unbuckling his pants. He looked down at her body, which reminded him of a huge frog, tied up, waiting to be skinned for its legs. Looking up, he noticed that her ear was small and delicate. He grabbed her hair and pulled her face over to see closely what she looked like. She opened her eyes, which were full of s
parkling tears and staring at him. He was surprised by the fierce eyes but could not help observing them. Somehow her eyes were changing—the hatred and the fear were fading, and beneath their blurred surfaces loomed a kind of beauty and sadness that was bottomless. Nan started to fantasize, thinking of Soo Yan and other pretty girls in the village. Unconsciously he bent down and intended to kiss that pale face, which turned aside and spilled the tears. His head began swelling.

  “What are you doing?” Daiheng shouted at Nan.

  Suddenly a burst of barking broke out beyond the window. The wolfhound must have been chasing a fox or a leopard cat that had come to steal chickens. Wild growls and yelps filled the yard all at once.

  “Oh!” Nan cried out. Something snapped in his body; a numbing pain passed along his spine and forced him off her. By instinct, he managed to get to his feet and rushed to the door, holding his pants with both hands. Cold sweat was dripping from his face.

  Once in the outer room he dropped to his knees and began vomiting. In addition to the smell of the half-cooked cabbage soup in the caldron, the room was instantly filled with the odor of alcohol, sour food, fermented candies, roasted melon seeds. His new cotton-padded shoes and new dacron jacket and trousers were wet and soiled.

  “Little Nan, come on!” Daiheng said. Putting his hand on Nan’s head, he shook him twice.

  “I’m scared. No more,” Nan moaned, buckling his belt.

  “Scared by a dog? Useless,” Sang said, and restrained himself from giving Nan a kick.

  “Come on, Nan. You must do it,” Ming said. “You just lost your Yang. Go get on her and have it back, or you’ve lost it for good. Don’t you know that?”

  “No, no, I don’t want to.” Nan shook his head, groaning. “Leave me alone. I’m sick.” He rubbed his eyes to get rid of the mist caused by the dizziness. His hands were slimy.

  “Let that wimp do what he wants. Come back in,” Sang said aloud, straddling the threshold.

  They went in to enjoy themselves. “Ridiculous, scared by a dog,” Wei said, giggling and scratching his scalp.

  Holding the corner of the cauldron range in the dark, Nan managed to stand up, and he staggered out into the windy night.

  As Ming said, Nan lost his potency altogether. In fact, he lay in bed for two days after that night when he walked home bareheaded through the flying snow. At first, he dared not tell his parents what had happened, but within a week the entire village knew Nan had been frightened by Sang’s dog and had lost his Yang. His father scolded him a few times, while his mother wept in secret.

  Two weeks later the Soos returned to the Haos the Shanghai wristwatch and the Flying Pigeon bicycle, two major items of the dowry already in Yan’s hands, saying Nan was no longer a normal man, so they wouldn’t marry their daughter to him. Despite Mrs. Hao’s imploring, the Soos refused to keep the expensive gifts. However, they did say that if Nan recovered within half a year they might reconsider the engagement.

  For four months Nan had seen several doctors of Chinese medicine in town. They prescribed a number of things to restore his manhood: ginseng roots, sea horses, angelica, gum dragon, deer antler, tiger bones, royal jelly, even a buck’s penis, but nothing worked. His mother killed two old hens and stewed them with ginseng roots. Nan ate the powerful but almost inedible dish; the next day he had a bleeding nose and soon began losing his hair. His father cursed him, saying the Hao clan had never had such a nuisance. Indeed, after eating two or three slices of buck’s penis, a normal man wouldn’t be able to go out because of the erection, but nothing could help Nan. There was no remedy for such a jellyfish.

  By now the villagers no longer counted Nan as a man. Children called out, “Dog-Scared,” when they ran into him. Though quite a few matchmakers visited the Haos, they all came for his sisters. Among all the unfilial things, the worst is childlessness. But what could Nan do? He had once thought of poisoning Sang’s wolfhound, but even that idea didn’t interest him anymore. One afternoon when he was on his way to the pig farm, the dog came to him, lashing its tail and wagging its tongue. He wanted to give it a kick, but he noticed Soo Yan walking two hundred meters away along the edge of the spinach field; so instead he threw his half-eaten corn cake to the dog, who picked it up and ran away. Nan watched the profile of that girl. She wore cream-colored clothes, her fiery gauze scarf waving in the breeze. With a short hoe on her shoulder, she looked like a red-crowned crane moving against the green field.

  Sovereignty

  Liao Ming of Horse Village was drinking sorghum liquor in his yard. The dog barked and the front gate opened. Raising his thick eyelids, Liao recognized the visitor and stopped the dog. “What wind brought you here, Old Leng?” he said loudly.

  Leng was panting hard, so Liao asked again, “How are things?”

  “Not very good, Old Liao,” Leng said, coming closer. Sweat was trickling down his forehead and cheeks, and he wiped it off with his soiled hand. That turned his face into an opera-mask, full of streaks. “Old Liao, I came to beg you for help.”

  “How can I help you?” Liao asked, and tilted his gray head. “Why don’t you sit down and have a cup first?”

  “No, thanks,” Leng said, standing in front of Liao with both hands on his narrow hips. “Vet Bai said today is the best time for my sow, but Ma Ding, the son of a bitch in Willow Village, didn’t show up with his boar. He promised me to come at three o’clock. Damn his grandma, I washed my sow and cleaned up everything, waiting for him all the while. It’s past four already. My sow can’t wait anymore. So …”

  “So what?” said Liao. He struck a match and lit a new load of tobacco.

  “So I came to invite you to help.”

  “No, no.” Liao waved to put out the match and exhaled two lines of smoke. “My boar will have a good time with Mu Bushao’s sow tomorrow morning. If he gives all his stuff to your sow today, he’ll be empty tomorrow and have nothing left for Mu’s sow. No, that won’t do. You know, I can’t cheat folks of our village. Even a rabbit knows not to eat the grass near its own hole.”

  “I beg you, Old Liao! Please come, just for the reason we’ve been neighbors for generations, just for the respect for our old folks who were friends.”

  “Just for all those, humph? Why didn’t you come here in the first place?” Liao’s cheeks turned red.

  “Forgive me just this once, all right? Next time I’ll come to you first.” Leng paused, then added, “But to be fair, I’ll pay you better. How about fifteen yuan a mating? You know, five yuan more. You can buy two bottles of sorghum liquor for that money.”

  “Save the five yuan for your mother!” Liao said, and knocked the bronze pot of his pipe against the stone stool under his hips. “You black-hearted men only know money. For a few yuan you’d sell your fathers’ coffin lumber. You heard that white foreign pigs grew bigger than our black native pigs, so you all take your sows to Ma Ding for a foreign fucking. Everybody knows white pigs’ pork tastes no good, but you don’t care. You only want your pigs to grow bigger and weigh more on the scale at the buying station. Where’s your heart, man? You can’t cheat the buyer, our country, like this!” Whitish foam circled Liao’s lips.

  “All right, I’m in the wrong, Old Liao. Come on, we have no time to talk like this. The sow is waiting for you at my home. Please come and finish the business.”

  “Waiting for me? What makes you think I’ll come?”

  “I know you will, ‘cause you understand things and you’re always good to your neighbors. If you don’t help me, who will?”

  Liao’s anger seemed to be fading. He raised the cup and emptied the last drops, but he thrust the pipe into the tobacco pouch and was about to load it again.

  “Come on, Brother Liao, I beg you.”

  “You go first. I’ll follow you,” Liao said casually. He tied the pouch around the pipe and tucked the package behind his cloth waistband.

  “Now I have your word, Old Liao. I’m running back and waiting for you, all right?”

  “Y
ou can run your doggy legs off. I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.”

  As soon as Leng disappeared beyond the gate Liao went to a vat beneath the eaves. He scooped out two gourd-ladles of boiled soybeans for his boar. Before every mating he would give it some nutritious food. After all, it labored for him. In recent years it had brought him a profit equal to the amount that two farmhands could make. The mating business had been very good until Ma Ding got his white foreign boar and became a competitor, but so far Liao still had enough customers. Most households in Horse Village remained loyal to him.

  “Big boy, today you’re lucky again,” he spoke to the boar, which was eating away noisily. “You’ve luck both for your mouth and your cock. I arrange weddings for you every week, aren’t you grateful? You ought to be. You happy pig, your children are spread everywhere. You should work harder for me, shouldn’t you?” He rapped the neck of the boar twice, and it snorted back appreciatively.

  He brought out a hemp rope and tied it around the boar’s neck. The door of the pigpen was lifted and the boar came out. Watching its large body that weighed over three hundred kilos, Liao couldn’t help speaking again. “I’m proud of you, boy. You brought me not only cash but also respect among the folks. With one spear you’ve conquered so many villages. No man can do as much as you did. Now, shall we go?”

  “Who are you talking to over there, my old man?” his wife called out from the house.

  “To our boar, my old woman. We’re leaving to do business. Scramble a dozen eggs for supper. We’ll make some extra money today. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “All right, you come back soon. We’ll wait for you.” The bellows in the kitchen resumed croaking while fat was sputtering in the cauldron.

  Liao set out for Leng’s house. Rapidly the boar was treading the road, whose surface of dried mud had been cut into numerous ruts by oxcarts. The air was still warm, though the crimson sun was approaching the indigo peak of the Great Emperor Mountain. Grass had pierced the soil here and there, and the cornfields, sown a few days before, looked like huge gray ribs stretching towards the end of the green sky. Everything seemed sluggish and even the air made one feel languid. In the west, a herd of sheep were slowly coming down the mountain slope like clouds lying atop the bushes. Small voices, children’s voices, were buzzing from distant places. Once every few seconds a donkey’s bray split the air.