Grandfather took the loose end of rope from the windlass and tied it around my mother’s waist, just as a shriek split the sky above them and a howling black object crashed into the neighbour’s pigsty. There was an ear-splitting explosion, and everything seemed to disintegrate as a column of smoke rose from the sty; pieces of shrapnel, patches of dung, and chunks of pig flew in all directions. A stumpy leg fell right in front of Mother, the white tendons all curled inward like river leeches. It was the first mortar explosion my fifteen-year-old mother had ever heard. The surviving pigs squealed frantically and came dashing out of the sty; Mother and my little uncle were crying hysterically.
‘They’re firing mortars!’ Grandfather announced. ‘Beauty, you’re fifteen now, so you’ll have to take care of your brother down in the well. I’ll come back for you after the Japs are gone.’ As another mortar shell exploded in the village, he cranked the windlass and lowered Mother into the well. When her feet touched the broken bricks and crumbling clay at the bottom, she looked up at the ray of light far above her, barely able to make out Grandfather’s face. ‘Untie the rope,’ she heard him yell. After doing as she was told, she watched the rope rise jerkily up the well. She could hear her parents arguing, the exploding Jap mortar shells, and finally the sound of her mother crying. Grandfather’s face reappeared in the ray of light. ‘Beauty,’ he shouted, ‘here comes your brother. Make sure you catch him.’
Mother observed the wailing descent of my three-year-old uncle, his arms and legs flailing. The rotting piece of rope quivered in the air; the windlass protested with long-drawn-out creaks. Grandmother leaned into the well opening until nearly all the upper half of her body was in view; sobbing uncontrollably, she called out my uncle’s name: ‘Harmony, my little Harmony…’ Mother watched Grandmother’s glistening tears fall like crystal beads to the bottom of the well. The rope played out as Little Uncle’s feet touched the bottom, where he tearfully implored his mother, ‘Ma, pull me up, I don’t, I don’t want to be down here, I want to stay with you, Ma, Ma.’
Grandmother reached out for the rope and strained to pull it back up. ‘Harmony, my darling baby, my precious son…’
Then Mother saw Grandfather grab Grandmother’s hand, which had a death grip on the rope. Grandfather shoved her hard, and Mother saw her fall sideways. The rope snapped taut, and Little Uncle flew into Mother’s arms.
‘You fucking woman!’ Grandfather screamed. ‘Do you want them up here so they can die with the rest of us? Get over to the wall, and be quick about it! No one’ll get out alive if the Japs enter the village!’
‘Beauty – Harmony – Beauty – Harmony -’ But Grandmother’s shouts seemed so far away. Another mortar shell exploded; earth fell on them. They didn’t hear Grandmother’s voice any more after the explosion. Above them only a single ray of light and the old windlass.
Little Uncle was still crying as Mother untied the rope from around his waist. ‘Good little Harmony,’ she said to comfort him. ‘Don’t cry, baby brother. The Japs’ll come if you keep crying. If they hear a kid crying they’ll come with their red eyes and green fingernails…’
That stopped him. He looked up at her with his tiny, round black eyes, and threw his pudgy little arms around her neck. More and more mortar explosions lit up the sky, joined now by machine-gun and rifle fire. Pop pop pop, a pause, then pop pop pop. Mother looked skyward, listening carefully for movement around the well. She heard the distant shouts of Ruolu the Elder and the screams of the villagers. The well was cold and damp. A chunk of the side fell off, exposing pale earth and the roots of a tree. The bricks were covered with a layer of dark-green moss. Little Uncle stirred in her arms and began to sob again. ‘Sis,’ he said, ‘I want my mama, I want to go back up…’
‘Harmony, good Little Brother… Mom went with Dad to fight the Japs. They’ll come get us as soon as they’ve driven them off…’ Mother, who was trying to comfort her baby brother, started to sob, too. They hugged each other tightly as their sobs and tears merged.
Dawn was breaking, as Mother could tell from the pale light above her. Somehow they’d got through the long night. An eerie, frightening silence hung over the well. She looked up and saw a ray of red light illuminate the walls far above her. The sun was up. She listened carefully, but the village seemed as still as the well, although every once in a while she thought she heard what sounded like a peal of thunder rolling across the sky. She wondered if her parents would come to take them out of the well on this new day, back to the world of light and air, a world where there were no banded snakes or skinny toads. The events of the previous day seemed so far away that she felt as though she’d spent half her lifetime at the bottom of the well. Dad, she was thinking, Mom. If you don’t come, Brother and I surely will die down here. She resented her parents for casting their own children into the well and simply vanishing, not caring whether they were dead or alive. The next time she saw them, she’d make a huge scene to release the bellyfull of grievances she’d already stored up. How could she have known that, as she was being carried away by these hateful thoughts, her mother – my maternal grandmother – had been blown to pieces by a Japanese mortar shell, and her father – my maternal grandfather – had exposed himself to enemy gunfire on the wall, only to have half of his head blown away by a bullet that seemed to have eyes?
Mother prayed silently: Dad! Mom! Come back, hurry! I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and Brother’s sick. You’ll kill your own children if you don’t come fast!
She heard the faint sounds of a gong from the village wall, or maybe it was from somewhere else, then a distant shout: ‘Is there anybody here – is there anybody left – the Japs are gone – Commander Yu’s here -’
Mother picked Little Uncle up in her arms and got to her feet. ‘Here!’ she shouted hoarsely. ‘Here we are – we’re down in the well – save us, hurry -’ She reached up and began to shake the rope hanging from the windlass, keeping at it for nearly an hour. Gradually her arms grew slack, and her brother fell to the ground with a weak groan. Then silence. She leaned against the wall and slid slowly down, until she was sitting on the cold broken bricks, drained and totally dejected.
Little Uncle climbed into her lap and said calmly, ‘Sis… I want my mama…’
A powerful sadness overcame Mother as she wrapped her arms around Little Uncle. ‘Harmony,’ she said, ‘Mom and Dad don’t want us any more. You and I are going to die here in this well…’
He was burning up with fever, and hugging him was like holding a charcoal brazier. ‘Sis, I’m thirsty…’
Mother’s gaze fell on a puddle of filthy green water in a corner of the well. A scrawny toad sat in the middle of the pool, its back covered with ugly bean-sized warts, the yellowish skin beneath its mouth popping in and out, its bulging eyes glaring at her. She shuddered, her skin crawled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her mouth was parched, too, but she’d rather have died of thirst than drink that nasty toad-water.