Under the Red Flag

by Jin, Ha

  “Damn it,” he cursed, and struck his thigh with a fist as thick as a horse hoof, his long eyes tilting up to his temples.

  “You’d better hurry. There aren’t many years left,” Bea said absently. “A man over forty is like the day in the afternoon. You know that.”

  Tang Hu got up and produced a one-yuan bill. “Old Bea, I understand. Thank you for telling me the truth.” He placed the money in Bea’s hand and put on his straw hat. He turned to the door, whose frame seemed too low for his large body, and bent down to get out.

  The horses were drawing a large load of rocks along Eternal Way in Dismount Fort, a small town that in the ancient times had been a transfer post where Chinese troops stopped for rest and preparation on their expeditions to Korea. It was a hot windless day, and all the windows of the houses on the street were open. Flies were buzzing around Tang and landed on the horses. At a street corner a grinder was chanting “Hone a knife and sharpen scissors.”

  Brandishing the whip once in a while, Tang was lost in thought and let the horses find the way home by themselves. From the moment of his birth, I knew he was a jinx to me, Tang thought. He never slept quietly at night, waking up every other hour, playing and crying. My wife had to take care of him day and night. He allowed nobody in the house to have a good sleep. A selfish brat from the beginning. … He shat on my neck. I never carried him again. Everybody in the village laughed at me. A son shat on his dad’s neck. Son of a rabbit, he’s been shitting on me all these years! … My fortune is going down day by day, while his fortune is growing like grass. In the first grade he was a group leader in the Young Pioneers; a year later, a bugler; then a brigade leader. Always got high grades. So many awards on the walls. Only fourteen, already attractive to girls. Orchid of the Lius comes to do homework with him three times a week in the evenings. A small womanizer, learning fast. No, a born one.

  I never touched a woman until I was twenty-seven. No girls would look at me, because of my cross-eyes. They wouldn’t think of me as a man, because I was poor and my folks were humble. Who knows I was born to be a general and would command thousands of men and horses? Do for their ancestors, they think me no more than a sheep that anyone can kick, a dumb ass that anyone can flog, a chamber pot that anyone can pee into. A caged tiger is a puny animal compared with a free dog…. Dragon boy, you’re strong because you have a tiger dad, because I spilled the best of mine into your life. Cocky boy, you laughed at me because I misread the character “vicious” as “wolf.” It served you right. Those slaps were a good lesson, to teach you to be filial. Young wolf, you’ve been eating away my fortune all these years. This time we must settle everything and you must change your name.

  The cart entered Sand Village. The tall cypresses thrust themselves into Tang’s field of vision. Cracking the whip, he hurried the horses to the construction site in the orchard to unload the rocks.

  The sun had just gone down behind the western hill and cast on the woods and fields the vast shade that was gliding east rapidly. The chime for ceasing work was sent out from a yard of I-steel hung on an ancient elm outside the production brigade’s office. Hearing the chime, the commune members wiped the blades of their sickles and hoes and began going home. Soon the winch at the well by the village entrance started squeaking, buckets were clanking on the streets, and bellows were burring in every house. A loudspeaker announced repeatedly that all newlyweds must attend a family-planning meeting at seven in the evening.

  After dinner, Tang talked to his son about changing his name. His wife, Zhen, was stitching the sole of a cloth shoe, and Hsia, his daughter, lay prone on the brick bed reading a textbook on nature.

  “No, I don’t want to change my name,” Da Long said.

  “You must,” Tang said. “From now on, you’ll be called Horse.”

  “No, I’m not a horse! What a dumb name.”

  “All right, you’re Ox.”

  “No, I’m not stupid like an ox. I’m smarter than the other boys at school.”

  “Don’t be so arrogant. Chairman Mao says everyone should be a willing ox in serving the revolutionary cause. Don’t you remember that?”

  “My old man,” Zhen put in, “why do you want to have his name changed all of a sudden?”

  “His name is a jinx to me.” Without waiting for a response, Tang turned to his son again. “It’s an honor to be Ox.”

  “I don’t want to be that. Everybody is used to my name already.”

  “Damn it, then from now on you are Dog.”

  “What a joke! All my classmates will make fun of me for such a name.”

  “All right, you’re Mountain then.”

  “Why don’t you call yourself Mountain?”

  Tang stood up and went for his son. “Don’t, please,” Zhen begged, holding his arm.

  “Dad,” Hsia said and sat up, “you’re too superstitious. We’re in the New China now. Who would believe a name is a jinx?”

  “Shut up, girl!” Again Tang turned to his son. “Da Long, now you must call yourself Spirit.”

  “Crazy.” The boy shook his head. “I’m an atheist, a leader in the Young Pioneers. How can I call myself that?”

  “The word ‘Spirit’ doesn’t mean a god here,” Tang said. “It’s a good word and means the best of a man. Our family name, Tang, is the same word as the great dynasty’s. See, with such a name you’ll carry on the best of China’s most glorious past. Isn’t it good enough, Tang Spirit?”

  “No, it sounds silly. I don’t want to change my name.”

  “Are you my son or not?”

  “Yes, I am. All right?”

  “Then you must be filial and listen to me. In the old days, Hua Mulan was enlisted and went to battles for her dad. She was merely a young girl, but was willing to die for her dad. Now I don’t ask you to shed a drop of blood for me, and I just want you to change a word in your name, but you refuse me. You’re a vicious boy, a young wolf. Oh heaven, how come I have such a son? I curse the day when he was conceived!” Tang grasped the front of his own jacket.

  “Such an old fogy,” Da Long muttered.

  Tang jumped up and struck his son on the crown. “Don’t you ever talk back like that!”

  The boy fell to the ground, covering his head with both hands. Tang kicked him in the rump. “Let me teach you how to behave,” he said between his teeth.

  Tears were trickling down Da Long’s cheeks, and Hsia burst out crying. “My old man, please don’t be so angry,” Zhen said timidly.

  Somewhat bewildered by his own act, Tang picked up his tobacco pouch and moved to the door.

  “Come back, please,” his wife begged. “Come back, my old man.”

  “I don’t want to see the face of my disobedient son,” Tang cried. Without turning his head, he walked into the twilight.

  He was heading for the Green Snake Stream, brooding and smoking a thick cigarette rolled by himself. I shouldn’t have beaten him like that, he thought. But he’s bad, always talking back…. Yes, I was mad. Why do you hate him so much? I don’t hate him. Just want him to change his name. There’s no way to bring him around. An impossible boy. I brought him up, but he doesn’t have a bit of sense of filial duty. Worse than a dog. I should’ve gotten rid of him when he was a baby. He’s too big now.

  Oddly enough, Tang remembered that once a boy in the neighborhood had struck Da Long in the head with a stone. He picked up his son and ran to the village’s barefoot doctor. The sight of his son’s bleeding hurt him so much that he couldn’t suppress his own tears and held him tight against himself. At that time Da Long had been small and helpless, but now he was big and strong, ready to eat up his father’s fortune like a wild dragon.

  Tang lay down on the cool grass of the riverbank, watching stars flickering behind a misty curtain. It was quiet; now and then a frog jumped into the stream and a dog barked from the village. They say there are men on some of those stars, he thought. Why so many men? Men are beasts, have to stamp each other, bully each other, kill each o
ther, eat each other. All the village leaders suck our marrow and drink our blood, don’t they? The share of fortune is basically the same for everyone. Some people are better off because they’ve stolen others’ shares. That was why we killed those landlords in the Land Reform. To get our shares back. Someday we’ll have another movement like that and wipe out all the village leaders. We’ll begin with Director Hu, that egg of a turtle. This morning he raised his forefinger the moment I begged him to have Da Long’s name changed in the brigade’s registration book. Damn his mother, a hundred yuan is half a year’s income. Even if I had the money I wouldn’t give him any. Someday we’ll have him beheaded, after chopping off that crooked finger first.

  Tang sighed and exhaled smoke. A wolf was howling on the other side of the river. He continued to think, I should’ve changed Da Long’s name ten years ago. Too late. I can’t keep him down now. I’m old, and can’t even subdue my son. How can I command an army of men and horses? Too old to be a general, and don’t have the strength to fight thousands of enemy anymore…. Then let him flourish? Let him grow into a big man? Are you going to give up? I’m too old to be his match. Maybe I should let him grow. Hope he’ll treat me respectfully when he becomes a big man. It’s unlikely, such a heartless boy.

  The heavy dew made mosquitoes unable to fly, so that the air felt cooler and fresher. In the moonlight Tang lay by the stream flowing with tiny sparks until all noises faded away. He became rather calm after being alone for hours and decided to put the matter aside for the moment. He would consult Blind Bea again and see if there was an alternative.

  Two days later Tang again went to the quarry to haul back rocks via Dismount Fort. On his way there, he stopped at the locksmith’s and had his fortune re-examined. To his dismay, Blind Bea told him bluntly that there was no alternative. All he could do was have Da Long’s name changed. Bea blinked his red eyes meaningfully and said, “You know what you should do when a bad son becomes incorrigible. What’s the good of such a son, anyway?”

  After leaving Bea, Tang tried not to think of his fate and his son’s fortune, but Bea’s voice kept ringing in his ears and enticing him to imagine the wealth, rank, splendor of his future. For over thirty years he had worked in the fields, watering the soil with his sweat, and he could eat white steamed-bread only three or four times a year on holidays. Life was unfair. Why did he have to drudge like a beast? He was not born a slave. Why didn’t he deserve a change?

  On his way back, as the cart was jolting down Blacksmith Road, Tang saw some children and adults hurrying to the headquarters of the Garrison Division. He felt strange, because usually civilians were not allowed to enter the barracks. He urged the horses on.

  At the front entrance of the headquarters the iron gate was wide open. On the two concrete pillars were posted Chairman Mao’s instruction in fresh ink: “The Army and the People Unite like One Man; Under Heaven Who Dares to Be Our Match!” Several teenage boys were hastening through the entrance, but the two armed sentries just let them pass as though the youngsters had been officers’ family members. Inside the barracks a large crowd of both civilians and army men surrounded the basketball court before the four-story building. Tang realized a game was going on, but why were the civilians allowed to watch?

  He stopped the cart at the roadside and tied the front horses to a thick aspen. “What’s up there, son?” he asked a boy running by.

  “The Provincial Team is playing the Military Region. Hurry, we all can go in and watch.”

  Following others, Tang went into the barracks, but unlike others, this was his first time. There were so many things he had never seen before: the well-kept ilex hedges, a pair of huge searchlights flashing in the sun, the tall aerials, the dark targets of human forms, the instruments for physical training. What impressed him most were a line of six howitzers pointing to the southern sky and five dark limousines parked along the red building. A dozen guards strolled around, toting submachine guns.

  Tang elbowed his way through the crowd to the front where everyone had to sit down. On the opposite side, the scoreboard announced “76 : 72,” in favor of the army. To Tang’s surprise, on his right a small man in woolen uniform and a fat official in a blue Mao suit were sitting in rattan chairs by a long table covered with white cloth. On the table were glasses and plates of fruits and candies. The crowd was kept ten feet away from the two men. A young woman in full uniform was pouring tea for them.

  “That’s General Wang,” someone whispered in the crowd.

  Tang’s eyes were riveted on the small man’s shoulders that each carried three gold stars. A real general. But he was so thin and so small, in no way like those ancient generals radiating a tiger’s spirit. Any man on the street could look more like a general than this one. Tang’s eyes turned and fell on those young women soldiers and officers. He had never seen women wear army skirts, which gave fine lines to their bodies. These women were pretty and sturdy, every one of them. Look, that one stood up and handed a wet towel to the general. Tang was stunned, having never imagined a general had so many young wives. And every one of them was as good-looking as an actress in the movies. God knew how many husky, handsome sons they had given and would give that small man.

  A woman in steel-rimmed glasses went over and whispered in the general’s ear, while he was nodding his gray head and wiping his sunken mouth with the towel. After she left, the general took a cigarette out of a gold case, and another young woman struck a match for him immediately. How could such a scarecrow command the entire military region? Impossible. Even too old to satisfy his women. He was useless and should have been dismissed long ago.

  The enchanted cart driver moved forward to take a better look at the general’s face. Absentminded, he put his leg into the court. “Ouch!” he cried out, and almost jumped up.

  A young officer had kicked Tang’s leg, which withdrew from the court instantly. Tang turned to glare at the young man, his big eyes so ferocious that the officer was taken aback. “I will remember you, son of a bitch,” Tang cursed under his breath.

  The officer turned around to watch the game. From behind, Tang fixed his eyes on the man’s cupped ears and then measured his height—five feet nine. One stripe with two stars. You wait, young cock, he thought. I’ll have you raise pigs when I become a general. I’ll remember you and will nab you. You have eyes, but they don’t see your lord. I’ll have one of them plucked out. I swear in the honor of my ancestors, who have the same name as the great dynasty, I will—

  The ending whistle cut off Tang’s thought. He turned his eyes to the general, who stood up and shook hands with the fat official. Then the young women moved with him toward the limousines. The woman carrying a medical box even held his arm to support him. Not many days left. He could hardly walk. It was time for a new general to take over.

  Having watched the small man climb into the second limousine, Tang turned and retreated with the crowd to the front entrance. A warm breeze blew across his burning face; the scorching sun made the air flicker slightly. He felt as though he were an immortal, his feet stepping on the clouds and his eyes seeing a lot of stars and rainbows dancing on the horizon. Hope at last settled in his heart.

  For several days Tang was thinking how to get rid of Da Long. He wouldn’t knife or hammer him. That would demand so much from himself that he might not be able to carry it through. He imagined taking his son onto a mountain and pushing him down a cliff, but all the hills nearby were not high enough. How about drowning him? There was only one reservoir in the village, and the two men in charge of the pump house were on the site all the time. Besides, Da Long could do the doggy stroke. If he put him away, he had to do a clean job and make sure that everything looked natural. Yes, he had it. Electrocute him. But how? He didn’t know how to handle electricity himself. It was too dangerous, and he might kill himself and others. Have some help? No, he had to do it by himself, no money for that.

  Though never able to work out a perfect plan that would guarantee his son’s
death, Tang did make one. He decided to use the horse cart, which Da Long had been learning how to drive. It was too bad that no rocks were to be transported anymore; otherwise Tang could easily have had the cart overturned and the boy buried by a load of rocks. These days he hauled only crops from the fields to the threshing ground.

  One afternoon before leaving for work, Tang picked a few tiny peppers from his garden and put them into his tobacco pouch. The country folk called that kind of pepper “dog penis” because it was extremely hot and also resembled that organ of a dog. Tang threw on the cart a rope and a large wooden peg used for tightening up a crop load, and then he set out with his son for the millet field on the northern hill. Da Long was driving.

  Sitting side by side, they didn’t speak on the way. Tang was smoking, and occasionally he squinted at his son. The boy was handsome: full forehead, thick brows, square mouth; so handsome that Tang wondered whether Da Long was his own son. Probably a wild seed, destined to be plucked off the soil. Then he felt a numb pain in his chest, and his head seemed to be reeling. I must do it, he said to himself. Without cruelty a man is nothing, just like a knife without steel in its blade. You have to sacrifice something to get another thing. He is taking away all my fortune. It’s time to wind things up. There aren’t many years left and I must do it now.

  While several commune members were loading the cart and his son went into the cornfield to urinate, Tang approached the shaft horse quietly. He tapped its hindquarters and lifted its tail, then thrust a pepper into its anus. The horse quivered, but regained its calm manner as though nothing had happened. In the same way Tang fixed the other two horses.

  A mountain of millet rose on the cart, and at the back of the load a man was turning the peg to tighten the rope. Da Long returned. His father walked over and handed him the whip, and said, “You drive it to the threshing ground. I have something to do in the field here.”