Fifth Sister stood in the doorway shouting, “The Japanese have surrendered!”
She dragged me way back out to the street. Her hand was sweaty – sour, salty sweat. I detected along with the smell of sour sweat the odor of tobacco. That smell came from her husband, Lu Liren. In order to commemorate the victory over the Sha Band, in which Commander Lu had heroically sacrificed his life, Jiang Liren had changed his name to Lu Liren. The smell of Lu Liren was scattered across the street via Fifth Sister’s hand.
Out on the street, the demolition battalion was celebrating noisily, many of the soldiers crying openly and banging into one another. One of them climbed to the top of the shaky bell tower, as the crowd down below swelled. People came with gongs, or with milking goats, even chunks of meat bouncing around on large lotus leaves. A woman with bells tied to her breasts really caught my attention. She was performing a strange dance that made her breasts jiggle, causing the bells to ring and ring and ring. The people kicked up a cloud of dust; they shouted themselves hoarse. The Bird Fairy, who was in the middle of the crowd, darted glances back and forth; the mute raised his fist and pounded a man beside him. Eventually, a group of soldiers went into the Sima compound and reemerged carrying Lu Liren over their heads. They tossed him into the air, as high as the tips of nearby trees, and when he came down, they caught him and tossed him back into the air… Hai-ya! Hai-ya! Hai-yal! Fifth Sister, holding her belly and crying, shouted, “Liren! Liren!” She tried to squeeze in among the soldiers, but was driven back.
The sun raced across the sky, seemingly frightened by the din below, and sat on the ground, resting against the trees on the sandy ridge. More relaxed now, it was bright red, blistery, and sweaty; it steamed and panted like an old man, as it observed the crowd on the street.
At first, one man fell in the dust. Then a whole string of them fell. Slowly, the dust settled back to earth and covered the men’s faces and hands and sweat-stained uniforms. A whole string of men lay stiffly in the dust under the red rays of the sun. As dusk fell, cool breezes blew over from the marshes and reed ponds; the crisp whistle of a train crossing the bridge was carried on the wind. People cocked their ears to listen. Or maybe I was the only one who did that. The War of Resistance had been won, but Shangguan Jintong had been cast off by his beloved breasts. I thought about death. I felt like jumping down a well, or into the river.
One person in the crowd, wearing a khaki jacket, rose slowly out of the dust. She was up on all fours as she began clawing at the dirt in front of her, digging out something the same color as her jacket, the same color as everything else out there on the street. She dug out one, and then another. They made sounds like giant salamanders. In the midst of the celebration over victory in the War of Resistance, Third Sister, the Bird Fairy, had brought a pair of twin boys into the world.
The Bird Fairy and her babies made me momentarily forget my own troubles. Slowly I moved up closer to her to get a look at my new nephews. I had to step over the legs of men lying in the road, and the heads of others; finally, I was close enough to see the wrinkled skin – face and body – of the two dirt-colored little guys: they were bald, like a pair of lush green gourds. Crying with their mouths wide open made for a frightening sight, and for some unfathomable reason, I imagined their bodies covered with a thick layer of fishy scales. I backed off, carelessly stepping on a soldier’s hand as I did. But instead of hitting me, or yelling at me, he just grunted softly and slowly raised himself into a sitting position; from there he slowly got to his feet, and when he wiped the dust from his face, I saw it was Lu Liren, Fifth Sister’s husband. He was looking for his wife, who was struggling to sit up in the grass by the wall; she rushed into his arms, wrapped her arms around his head, and rubbed it frantically. “We won, we won, victory is ours! We’ll call our child Shengli – Victory,” Fifth Sister said.
By this time, the sun was exhausted, like an old man about to call it a day and get some sleep. The moon spat out rays of clear light, giving it the look of an anemic yet beautiful widow. With his arm around Fifth Sister, Lu Liren started to walk off just as Sima Ku entered the village at the head of his anti-Japanese commando battalion.
The battalion included three companies. First came the cavalry company, comprised of sixty-six horses of mixed Xinjiang and Mongol breed and their riders, all armed with American submachine guns. Next came the bicycle company, comprised of sixty-six Camel brand bicycles, the riders armed with German weapons. Third in line was the mule company, comprised of sixty-six powerful, fast-moving mules and their riders, all armed with Japanese M-38 carbines. There was also a small special unit, comprised of thirteen camels carrying bicycle repair equipment and spare parts, plus weapon repair tools, spare parts, and ammunition. They also carried Sima Ku and Shangguan Zhaodi, plus their daughters, Sima Feng and Sima Huang. Riding on the back of yet another camel was an American by the name of Babbitt. Perched atop the last camel was dark-skinned Sima Ting; he was wearing army trousers, a lavender satin shirt, and a frown.
Babbitt, who had gentle blue eyes, soft blond hair, and red lips, wore a red leather jacket over heavy cotton, multipocketed trousers, and deerskin boots. Uniquely attired, he sat high up on the back of his camel, rocking back and forth as he entered the village with Sima Ku and Sima Ting.
Sima Ku’s battalion swept into the village like a whirlwind. The six horses in the front rank were black, and were ridden by handsome young soldiers in woolen khakis; their brass buttons had been polished to a glittering sheen, as had their riding boots, the submachine guns in their hands, and the helmets on their heads; even their horses’ black flanks shone. The horses slowed down as they approached the spot where soldiers lay sprawled in the dirt; they held their heads high and began to prance as their riders fired their weapons into the darkening sky, a sparkling, eardrum-pounding chain of tracer bullets that sent leaves fluttering to the ground. Lu Liren and Shangguan Pandi, spooked by the burst of gunfire, stepped away from one another. “Which unit are you?” Lu Liren asked, raising his voice. “Your granddad’s unit,” one of the riders fired back. His words still hung in the air when a fusillade of bullets nearly grazed Lu Liren’s head. He sprawled inelegantly on the ground, but quickly got back to his feet and shouted, “I’m commander and political commissar of the demolition battalion, and I demand to see your commanding officer!” His shout was swallowed up by another fusillade of bullets that swept the open space around them. Soldiers of the demolition battalion staggered to their feet. The horsemen spurred their horses forward, breaking ranks to avoid the confusion in the street ahead. The horses were short and extremely nimble; as they stepped over and around the men lying on the ground and those who had barely stood up, only to be knocked down again, they looked like a pack of lithe tomcats on the prowl. As soon as the first rank passed, the others followed close on their heels, sending the standing soldiers spinning and banging into each other, accompanied by a chorus of panicky screams; they looked like trees, rooted in the ground and forced to stand and take a pounding. Even after all the horses had passed, people in the street weren’t fully aware of what had just happened. Then came the mule company. Marching in orderly ranks, they too shone, their riders sitting proudly, weapons at the ready. Meanwhile, the horse company had closed up ranks and was prancing back, squeezing the raggedy ranks of people on the street between the two companies. Some of the more quick-witted soldiers tried to dart down lanes intersecting the street, but their escape routes were blocked by members of the bicycle company, men in purple civilian clothes riding Camel brand bicycles. They fired their German weapons at the feet of the thwarted escapees, throwing dust up into their faces and sending them scurrying back into the middle of the street. Before long, all the officers and men of the demolition battalion had been herded into the area in front of the Felicity Manor gate.