A tall, husky man emerged from the sorghum field and walked along the bank of the inlet. He wore a rain cape that came down to his knees and a conical hat woven out of sorghum stalks. The strap was made of emerald glass beads. A black silk bandana was tied around his neck. He walked to the body of Five Monkeys Shan and looked down at it. Then he walked over to Magistrate Cao’s hat, picked it up, and twirled it on the barrel of his pistol before heaving it in the air. It sailed into the inlet.
The man looked straight at my grandma, who returned his gaze.
‘Were you bedded by Shan Bianlang?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Grandma said.
‘Shit!’ He turned and walked back into the sorghum field.
Uncle Arhat was utterly confused by what he’d seen, and couldn’t have told you which way was up.
The bodies of the old master and his son were now completely covered by crows, some of which were pecking at the eyes with their hard black beaks.
Uncle Arhat was trying to make sense of everything that had happened since he’d lodged his complaint at the Gaomi market the day before.
Magistrate Cao had led him into the county-government building, where he lit candles and listened to his account as they gnawed on green radishes. Early the next morning, Uncle Arhat guided the magistrate to Northeast Gaomi Township, followed by Little Yan and a couple of dozen soldiers. They reached the village at about ten o’clock. After a quick surveillance, the county magistrate summoned Village Chief Five Monkeys Shan, and ordered him to round up the villagers and drag the corpses from the water.
The surface of the inlet shone like chrome, and the depth of the water seemed unfathomable. The county magistrate ordered Five Monkeys Shan to dive for the bodies, but he shrank back, complaining that he didn’t know how to swim. Uncle Arhat summoned up his courage. ‘County Magistrate, they were my masters, so bringing them out should be my job.’ He told one of the other hands to fetch a bottle of wine, which he rubbed over his body before diving in. The water was as deep as a staff, so he took a long breath and sank to the bottom, his feet touching the spongy warm mud. He searched around blindly with his hands, but found nothing. So he rose to the surface, took another deep breath, and dived again. It was cooler down there. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was a layer of yellow. His ears were buzzing. A large blurry object swam up to him, and when he reached out to it a sharp pain shot through his finger, like a wasp sting. He screamed, and swallowed a mouthful of brackish water. Flailing his arms and legs for all they were worth, he swam to the surface; on the bank, he gasped for breath.
‘Find something?’ the magistrate asked.
‘Nnn-no…’ His face was ashen. ‘In the river… something strange…’
As he gazed down into the inlet, Magistrate Cao took off his hat, twirled it on his finger, then turned and ordered two soldiers, ‘Hand grenades!’
Little Yan herded the villagers a good twenty paces away.
Magistrate Cao walked over to the table and sat down.
The soldiers flattened out on the riverbank, and each took a muskmelon hand grenade out of his belt. They pulled the pins, banged the grenades against their rifles, and flung them into the inlet, where they hit the water with a splash, raising concentric circles on the surface. The soldiers pressed their faces against the ground. Silence – not even a bird chirped. A long time passed, but nothing happened in the river. By then the concentric circles had reached the shore; the water was as smooth as a bronze mirror, and just as mysterious.
Magistrate Cao gnashed his teeth and ordered, ‘One more time!’
The soldiers heaved two more grenades, which sputtered as they sailed through the air, leaving a trail of white smoke; when they hit the water, two muffled explosions rose from the bottom, sending plumes of water a dozen feet into the air.
Magistrate Cao rushed up to the bank, followed by the villagers. The water continued roiling for a long time. Then a trail of bubbles rose to the surface and popped, revealing at least a dozen big-mouthed, green-backed carp that bellied-up to the surface. As the ripples smoothed out, a foul stench settled over the water, which was bathed in sunlight. The light illuminated the villagers, and Magistrate Cao’s face began to glow.
Suddenly two trails of pink bubbles gurgled up in the middle of the inlet and burst, as the people on the bank held their breath. A layer of golden husks covered the surface of the river under the blazing sun, nearly blinding the onlookers. Two black objects rose slowly beneath the trail of bubbles, and then the surface was broken by two pairs of buttocks; the bodies rolled over, exposing the distended bellies of Shan Tingxiu and his son. Their faces remained just below the surface, as though held back by shyness.
The magistrate ordered a distillery worker to run back and fetch a long hooked pole, with which Uncle Arhat snagged the legs of Shan Tingxiu and his son – producing a sickening sound that made everyone’s gums crawl, as though they had all bitten into sour apricots – then slowly dragged the bodies towards the bank.
The little donkey raised its head towards the heavens and brayed.
‘Now what, young mistress?’ Uncle Arhat asked.
Grandma thought for a moment. ‘Have someone buy a couple of cheap coffins in town so we can bury them as soon as possible. And pick out a gravesite. When you’re finished, come to the western compound. I want to talk to you.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied respectfully.
Uncle Arhat, together with the dozen or so hired hands, laid the elder and younger masters in their coffins and buried them in the sorghum field. They worked feverishly, in silence. By the time they’d buried the dead, the sun was in the western sky, and crows were circling above the gravesite, their wings painted purple by rays of sunlight. Uncle Arhat said to the men, ‘Go back and wait for me. Don’t say anything. Watch my eyes for a signal.’
He went to the western compound to receive instructions from Grandma, who was sitting cross-legged on the blanket she’d taken from the donkey’s back. Great-Granddad was feeding straw to the animal.
‘Everything has been taken care of, young mistress,’ Uncle Arhat said. ‘These are Elder Master’s keys.’
‘Keep them for now,’ she said. ‘Tell me, is there someplace in the village where you can buy stuffed buns?’
‘Yes.’
‘Buy two basketfuls, and give them to the men. Tell them to come here when they’re done. And bring me twenty buns.’
Uncle Arhat brought the twenty buns wrapped in fresh lotus leaves. Grandma took them and said, ‘Now go back to the eastern compound and have the men eat as quickly as possible.’
Uncle Arhat murmured his acknowledgement as he backed away.
Grandma then placed the twenty buns in front of Great-Granddad and said, ‘You can eat these on the road.’
‘Little Nine,’ he protested, ‘you’re my very own daughter!’
‘Go on,’ she demanded, ‘I’ve heard enough!’
‘But I’m your dad!’ he rebuked her angrily.
‘You’re no father of mine, and I forbid you ever to enter my door again!’
‘I am your father!’
‘Magistrate Cao is my father. Weren’t you listening?’
‘Not so fast. You can’t just throw one father away because you found yourself a new one. Don’t think having you was easy on your mother and me!’
Grandma flung the buns in his face. They hit like exploding grenades.
Great-Granddad cursed and ranted as he led the donkey out the gate: ‘You misbegotten ingrate! What makes you think you can turn your back on your own family? I’m going to report you to the county authorities for being disloyal and unfilial! I’ll tell them you’re in league with bandits. I’ll tell them you schemed to have your husband killed…’