Pandi, who had been demoted to district chairwoman of the Women’s Salvation Society, rode in from the west on an old horse that was blind in one eye and had a numbered brand on its right flank. The animal kept its neck cocked at a strange angle and made a dull thudding sound as it ran up to us awkwardly on tired old hooves. Pandi hopped nimbly off the horse, even with her swollen belly. As I stared at her belly, I tried to see the child inside, but my eyes failed me, and all I saw were a few dark red spots on her gray uniform. “Don’t stop here, Mother,” Pandi said. “We’ve got water boiling up ahead. That’s where you should eat lunch.” “Pandi,” Mother said, “I tell you, we don’t want any part of your evacuation.” “You must, Mother,” Pandi said anxiously. “It’ll be different when the enemy returns this time. In the Bohai District, they slaughtered three thousand people in one day. The Landlord Restitution Corps even killed their own mothers.” “I don’t believe anyone could kill their own mothers,” Mother said. “I don’t care what you, say, Mother,” Pandi insisted. “I’m not going to let you go back. That’s walking straight into the net, sheer suicide. And if you’re not concerned about yourself, at least be concerned about all these kids.” She took a little bottle out of her knapsack, unscrewed the cap, and dumped out some little white pills, which she handed to Mother. “These are vitamin pills,” she said. “Each one supplies more nutrition than a head of cabbage and two eggs. When you’ve worn yourself out, take one of these, and give one to each of the children. After this stretch of alkaline soil, the road gets better, and the local folks of the Northern Sea will welcome us with open arms. So let’s go, Mother. This is no place to rest.” She grabbed a handful of horse’s mane, stepped into the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. As she galloped off, she shouted, “Fellow villagers, get on the road. There’s hot water and oil and salted vegetables and scallions waiting for you at Wang Family Mound!”
At her urging, the people got to their feet and continued on their way.
Mother wrapped the pills in a bandanna and tucked them away in her pocket. Then she draped the strap around her neck and picked up the handles of the cart. “Come on, kids, let’s go.”
The evacuation procession lengthened until we couldn’t see either end, front or back. We walked until we reached Wang Family Mound, but there was no hot water there, nor any oil, and certainly no salted vegetables or scallions. The donkey company had left by the time we reached the village; the ground was littered with patches of straw and donkey droppings. People lit bonfires to cook dry food, while some of the boys dug up wild garlic with spiked tree branches. As we were leaving Wang Family Mound, we saw the mute and a dozen or so of his production team members coming toward us to reenter the village. Instead of dismounting, he took two half-cooked sweet potatoes and a red-skinned turnip out from under his shirt and tossed them into one of the baskets on our cart. It nearly cracked open the head of Little Mute. I took special note of the grin he flashed at First Sister. He looked like a snarling wolf or a tiger.
When the sun fell behind the mountain, we dragged our lengthening shadows into a bustling little village, where dense white smoke poured out of every chimney. Exhausted citizens lay strewn all over the streets, like scattered logs. A group of spirited officials in gray were hopping up and down amid the local villagers. At the head of the village, people crowded around the well to fetch water. The crowd was made even denser by the addition of livestock; the taste of fresh water roused the villagers. My goat snorted loudly. Laidi, carrying a large bowl – apparently a rare ceramic treasure – tried to jostle her way up to the well, but was pushed back time and again. An old cook who worked for the county government recognized us and brought us a bucket of water. Zaohua and Laidi rushed over, got down on all fours, and banged heads as they began lapping up the water. “Children first!” Mother scolded Laidi, who paused just long enough for Zaohua to bury her face in the bucket. She lapped up the water like a thirsty calf, the only difference being that she held the sides with her filthy hands. “That’s enough. You’ll get a bellyache if you drink too much,” Mother said as she pulled her away from the bucket. Zaohua licked her lips to get every last drop, as her moistened insides began to rumble. After drinking her fill, First Sister stood up; her belly stuck way out. Mother scooped up some water for Big Mute and Little Mute. Eighth Sister sniffed the air and made her way over to the bucket, where she knelt down and buried her face in the water. “Want to drink a little, Jin-tong?” Mother asked me. I shook my head. She scooped up another bowlful of water as I let go of the goat, which would have run over to the water long before if I hadn’t wrapped my arms around its neck. The goat drank thirstily from the bucket and didn’t look up once as the water sloshed down its throat and swelled its belly. The old cook showed his feelings, not with words, but with a long sigh, and when Mother thanked him, he sighed again, even louder.