Sima Ku smiled even though her comment had saddened him. He took her hand and pressed it against his chest, where she could feel the strength of his heartbeat. “You have to believe in this, my heart, my true heart. I give my heart to women.”
Cui Fengxian shook her head. “You only have one heart. How can you give it to different women at the same time?”
“However many I give it to, it’s still genuine. And also this,” he said with a lecherous laugh as he moved her hand down his body. Cui Fengxian wrenched her hand free and pinched him on the lips. “What am I going to do with a monster like you? Even when you’re chased to the point where you have to sleep in your grave, you’ve still got time to play your silly games!”
With a laugh, Sima Ku said, “The harder they try, the more I feel like playing. Women are true treasures, treasures among treasures, more precious than anything.” He reached out for her breasts again.
“You lecher,” she said, “that’s enough. Something has happened at your house.” “What?” he asked as he continued fondling her. “They’ve taken them all into custody – your mother-in-law, your eldest and youngest sisters-in-law, plus your son, your little brother-in-law, the daughters of your eldest and fifth sisters-in-law, and your older brother. They have them locked up in the family compound. They string them up from the rafters nightly and beat them with whips and clubs… it breaks your heart, and I don’t think they’ll be able to hold out more than another day.”
Sima Ku’s hands froze in front of Cui Fengxian’s chest. He jumped down off the crypt cover, picked up his automatic rifle, and bent down to scramble out of the vault. Cui Fengxian wrapped her arms around him and pleaded, “Don’t go. You’re just asking to be killed.”
Once he’d calmed down, he sat beside a coffin and bolted down one of the boiled eggs. Sunlight filtering in through the brambles fell on his puffy cheek and the gray temple hair. The egg yolk caught in his throat; he coughed, and his face began to turn purple. Cui Fengxian thumped him on the back and massaged his neck until the food finally slipped down his gullet. Her face was bathed in sweat. “You frightened me half to death!” she said breathlessly as two large tears dropped onto Sima Ku’s cheek and rolled down. He sprang to his feet, his head nearly hitting the vault ceiling, as flames of anger seemed to leap from his eyes. “You sons of bitches, FU flay the skin off your bones!”
“Please don’t go,” Cui Fengxian pleaded as she wrapped her arms around him. “Yang the Cripple has set a trap for you. Even a longhaired old woman like me can see what he’s up to. Use your head. By storming in there alone, you’ll fall right into his trap.”
“So what should I do?”
“Heed the words of your mother-in-law and get as far away from here as possible. Fll go with you if I won’t be a burden, even if I wear out the soles of my feet.”
Sima Ku took her hand and said emotionally, “I’m a lucky man to have met so many good women, each of them willing to throw in her lot with me, heart and soul. What else could a man ask for in this life? But I can’t bring any more harm to you. You go now, Fengxian, and don’t come looking for me anymore. Don’t be sad when you hear that Fm dead. I've had a good life…”
With tears in her eyes, she nodded and removed an ox-horn comb from her head, with which she lovingly combed Sima Ku’s tangled, gray-specked hair, removing bits of grass, broken snail shells, and tiny bugs. She kissed his forehead wetly and said in a calm voice, “I’ll wait for you,” before picking up her basket and crawling out of the vault. Parting the brambles as she went, she left the graveyard. Sima Ku sat there without moving until long after she’d disappeared from view, his eyes fixed on the sunlit, gently swaying brambles.
The following morning, Sima Ku crawled out of the vault, leaving his weapons behind, and walked over to White Horse Lake, where he took a bath. Then, like a man out on a nature stroll, he walked around the lake, looking here and there, striking up a conversation with birds in the reeds one minute and racing with roadside rabbits the next. He walked along the edge of the marshy land, stopping every few minutes to pick red and white wildflowers, which he held up to his nose and breathed in their fragrance. He then made a wide sweep around the pastureland, where he looked off into the distance at Reclining Ox Mountain, which was gilded in the rays of the setting sun. As he was crossing the footbridge over the Black Water River, he jumped up and down, as if trying to gauge how sturdy it was. It swayed and moaned. Feeling mischievous, he opened his pants and exposed himself, then looked down and liked what he saw; he let loose a stream of steaming urine into the river. As it hit the water with loud, rhythmic splashes, he howled: Ah – ah – ah ya ya – the sound soaring over the vast wilderness and circling back to him. Over on the riverbank, a crosseyed little shepherd cracked his whip, which grabbed Sima Ku’s attention. He looked down at the boy, who returned his look, and as they held each other’s gaze, they both began to laugh. “I know who you are, boy,” Sima Ku said with a giggle. “Your legs are made of pear wood, your arms are made of apricot wood, and your ma and I made your little pecker with a mud clod!” Angered by the comment, the boy cursed, “Fuck your old lady!” This vile curse threw Sima Ku’s heart into turmoil; his eyes moistened as he sighed deeply. The shepherd cracked his whip again to drive his goats into the sunset. He cast a long shadow as he sang in his high-pitched childish voice: “In 1937, the Japs came to the plains. First they took the Marco Polo Bridge, then the Shanhai Pass. They built a railway all the way to our Jinan city. The Japs they fired big cannons, but the Eighth Route soldier cocked his rifle, took aim, and – crack! Down went a Jap officer, his legs stretched out as his soul flew into the sky…” Even before the song ended, hot tears spilled out of Sima Ku’s eyes. Holding his burning face in his hands, he squatted down on the stone bridge…
Afterward, he washed his tear-streaked face in the river, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and walked slowly along the dike, which was overgrown with garish flowers. As dusk grew deeper, the birds’ calls were bleak and chilling; the palette of colors in the sky was one gigantic smear, and the odors of the surrounding flowers, some heavy, others subtle, intoxicated Sima Ku, while the sometimes bitter and sometimes spicy grassy smells roused him from his inebriation. Heaven and earth both seemed so remote, eternity seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, thoughts that brought him profound anguish. Egg-laying locusts covered the gray footpath on the crest of the dike; they burrowed their soft abdomens in the hard, muddy ground, leaving the tops of their bodies sticking straight up, a scene of suffering and joy at the same time. Sima Ku squatted down, picked up one of the locusts. Studying its long, undulating, disjointed abdomen, he was reminded of his boyhood days and of his first love – a fair-skinned young woman with plucked eyebrows who was the mistress of his father, Sima Weng. How he had loved to rub his gristly nose against her breasts…
The village was just up ahead; kitchen smoke curled into the air, and the smell of humans grew heavy. He bent down to pick a wild chrysanthemum and breathe in its fragrance to clear his head of bygone images and put a stop to all fanciful thoughts. He then strode purposefully over to a newly opened breach in the southern wall of his family’s compound. A militiaman who had been hiding in the hole jumped out, cocked his rifle, and shouted, “Halt! Don’t come any closer!” “This is my house,” Sima Ku retorted coldly.
Momentarily stunned, the guard fired a shot into the air and screamed wildly, “It’s Sima Ku! Sima Ku is here!”
Sima Ku watched the militiaman run away, dragging his rifle behind him, and murmured, “What’s he running for? Really!”