The sorghum is red, the Japs come from the east.
Trampling our soil and disgracing my second grandma.
Patriotic brethren everywhere, the day of resistance is now!
5
GRANDDAD ARRIVED IN Saltwater Gap the following morning. He had set out before dawn on one of our two black mules, and arrived just as the sun was climbing above the mountains. Dejection accompanied him on his trip, because of an argument he’d had with Grandma as he was leaving. He ignored the kaleidoscope of gorgeous light on the black Gaomi soil as the sun rose above the mountains, and the crows as they soared into the sky on green wings. The mule, whipped mercilessly by the twisted end of the hempen reins, turned to glare at the man on its back, convinced that it was already moving about as fast as it could go. Puddles of water from the autumn rains stood in the deep ruts left by passing wagons. Granddad, his face livid, passively absorbed the bumps and jolts of the mule beneath him. Field voles hunting for breakfast scurried to safety.
Granddad was toasting the ageing Uncle Arhat in the distillery reception hall when he heard rifle and artillery fire from the northwest, and his heart nearly stopped. He rushed outside and looked up and down the street, but when he saw that things seemed normal he went back inside to continue drinking with Uncle Arhat, who was still the distillery foreman. In 1929, the year Granddad was reported murdered and Grandma ran off, the hired hands rolled up their bedding and set out to find work; but Uncle Arhat stayed behind, like a loyal watchdog, to guard the family property, convinced that the dark night was nearly over and that a new dawn would soon be breaking. He maintained his vigil until Granddad cheated death, escaped from prison, and was reconciled with Grandma. With Father in her arms, she followed him from Saltwater Gap back home, where they knocked at the cheerless front gate and roused Uncle Arhat, who, like a living ghost, rushed out of the shed where he’d set up housekeeping. The moment he spotted his master and mistress, he threw himself to the ground, hot tears streaking his leathery old face. He was such a decent, devoted man that Granddad and Grandma treated him like their own father, giving him a free hand in all distillery-related matters, including expenses, no matter how high they ran; they never once questioned him.
The sun was high in the southeast sky when more bursts of rifle fire erupted, and Granddad knew it was coming from somewhere near Saltwater Gap, perhaps from the village itself. Anxious and impatient, he went to get the mule to set out right away, but Uncle Arhat urged him to wait. Uncle Arhat made sense, but Granddad was too restless to stay put, walking in and out of the building as he waited for news from the hired hand Uncle Arhat had sent to investigate. Just before noon, the breathless man returned, sweaty-faced and mud-spattered, to report that the Japanese had surrounded Saltwater Gap at daybreak and that it was impossible to know what was going on there. He’d hidden in a clump of reeds some three li away, where he’d heard demonic cries and wolfish howls and seen thick columns of smoke rising from the village. After the man left, Granddad poured some wine, tipped back his head, and drained the cup, then ran to get his pistol, which he had hidden in a hole in the double-layer wall.
As he rushed outside, he bumped into seven or eight ragged, pale-faced refugees from Saltwater Gap, leading a popeyed, shedding old mule with two baskets slung over its back. A torn jacket with loose padding covered the one on the left; in the one on the right squatted a boy of about four. Granddad examined the boy’s skinny neck, his enlarged head, his fleshy, fanlike ears, as he sat peacefully in the basket, not a care in the world, whittling a white willow switch with a nicked knife so rusty it had turned red. Wooden curlicues flew from the basket. Granddad asked his parents about the situation in the village, never taking his eyes off the child, particularly his large ears, which symbolised good luck, longevity, and great fortune.
The adults vied with one another to describe the actions of the Japanese soldiers in their village. They had managed to escape because their son, who had started bawling the previous afternoon, demanded to be taken to visit his maternal grandma. No threats or promises could get him to change his mind, and they finally gave in and, early the next morning, readied their mule. When the first shots were fired, they were one step ahead of the Japanese, who put the village under siege. Granddad asked about Second Grandma and my little auntie Xiangguan, but they shook their heads and fidgeted, anxious looks on their faces.
The boy in the basket lowered his busy hands to his belly, raised his head, and said weakly, his eyes closed, ‘Why aren’t we moving? Waiting to be killed?’ His parents froze for a moment, perhaps pondering the prophetic possibilities of what he’d said, then awoke to the reality of their situation. The mother looked numbly at Granddad as the father slapped the mule’s rump, and the squad of refugees skittered off down the road. Granddad watched their retreating backs, especially the boy with the big droopy ears. His premonition would prove accurate, for twenty years later the little bastard would become a demonic zealot in this sinful spot known as Northeast Gaomi Township.
Granddad ran to the western wing, where he opened the hole in the double-layer wall to get his pistol. It was gone, but he could see the outline of the spot where it had lain. Something funny was going on here. He turned, and there stood Grandma, a contemptuous grin on her face. Thin eyebrows curved downward on her dark, gloomy face. Granddad glared at her and demanded, ‘Where’s my pistol?’
Her upper lip switched as two blasts of cold air snorted from her nostrils. With a final disdainful look she turned, picked up a feather duster, and began dusting the kang.
‘Where’s my pistol?’ Granddad thundered.
‘How the hell should I know?’ she retorted, mercilessly beating the poor bedding.
‘Give me my pistol,’ Granddad said, trying to keep his anxieties under control. ‘The Japanese have surrounded Saltwater Gap,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have to see how they are.’
Grandma spun around angrily and said, ‘Then go! It’s none of my damned business!’
‘Give me my pistol.’
‘How should I know where it is? Don’t ask me.’
Granddad pressed up close. ‘You stole my pistol and gave it to Black Eye, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right, I gave it to him! And that’s not all. I slept with him, and I loved it! It was wonderful! One hell of a time!’
Granddad’s mouth split into a grin and he uttered a single ‘Ah!’ as he clenched his fist and hit her squarely in her nose, from which dark blood spurted. She shrieked and crumpled to the floor like a toppled column. As she struggled to her feet, he drove his fist into her neck. The second punch, a real powerhouse, sent her flying into a chest against the wall.
‘Slut! Filthy bitch!’ Granddad lashed out through clenched teeth. Bad blood stored up over the years coursed through his veins like a poison. He was thinking back to the untold shame of being knocked down by Black Eye, and to how often he’d imagined Grandma lying beneath the wolfish man, moaning and panting and crying out shamelessly; with his guts writhing like snakes, and his body as hot as the midsummer sun, he grabbed the date-wood bolt from the door and took aim at Grandma’s blood-smeared head as she tried to get to her feet, vital and tenacious as ever.
‘Dad!’ Father ran in screaming, grabbed the door bolt, and held on for dear life. His shout saved Grandma’s life for sure. So instead of dying at the hands of Granddad, she would one day die from a Japanese bullet, and her death would be as glorious and as brilliant as ripened red sorghum.
Grandma crawled over to Granddad, wrapping her arms around his knees and rubbing his muscular legs. She raised her gloomy face, soaked with tears and blood, and said, ‘Zhan’ao – Zhan’ao – elder brother – dearest eldest brother, kill me, go ahead and kill me! You can’t imagine how it hurts to see you go, you’ll never know how badly I want you to stay. With all the Japanese out there, I fear you’ll never come back. No matter how great you may be, it’s just you and your gun, and even a tiger is no match for a pack of wolves. It’s that little bitch’s doing, it’s all her fault. You were never out of my mind when I was with Black Eye, and I won’t let you go to your death! I can’t live without you. Besides, my ten days aren’t up yet, not till tomorrow. She’s robbed me of half of you… All right, go if you have to… She can have one of my days… I hid your beloved pistol and thirty-one bullets in the rice vat…’