“It’s this one’s fault,” the stammerer said as he put his hat back on. He reached out and touched Gao Yang’s scalp as though to rub it, then gave him a clout.
“Daddy… Daddy… why don’t you answer me?” Xinghua sobbed as she bumped a tree with her staff; when she reached out to touch it, she banged her head on a branch. Her close-cropped hair was parted like a little boy’s… eyes black as coal… the waxen face of the undernourished, like a wilting stalk of garlic… naked from the waist up, dressed only in red underpants whose elastic was so far gone they hung loosely on her hips… red plastic sandals with broken laces… “Daddy… Daddy… why don’t you answer me?” The acacia grove, like a dense cloud, became a dark backdrop for her. Gao Yang yearned to shout to her, but his throat muscles were tied in knots, and no sound emerged. I’m not crying, I’m not crying…
The policeman rapped him on the head again, but he didn’t feel it; he strained to get free and moaned, their noses detected the translucent, sticky sweat on his body-an eerie, nightmarish stench. It was the stink of suffering. They screwed up their noses, which were filled with the foul air, a dull expression spreading across their faces.
“Daddy… Daddy… why don’t you answer me?”
All right, boys and girls, hold hands, sing, twirl around, see how easy it is, the teacher calls. Xinghua stands in the middle of the road, staff in hand, then gropes her way to the schoolyard gate, where she grasps the metal fence with one hand and her bamboo staff with the other, to listen to the boys and girls sing and dance with their teacher. Chrysanthemums bloom all over the schoolyard. He tries to drag her home, but she struggles to stay put. He screams at her angrily, he kicks her… Daddy, Mommy, hold my hand, hurry, I want to sing and dance and twirl, see how easy it is! Xinghua cries yearningly.
Unable to utter a sound, tortured by memory, Gao Yang gnawed frantically on the bark, which rubbed his lips raw until the tree was spotted with his blood. But he didn’t notice the pain. He swallowed the bitter mixture of saliva and bark juice, which brought a remarkable coolness to his throat-his vocal cords loosened, the knots unraveled. Carefully, oh so carefully, fearful that his powers of speech might leave him again: “Xinghua, Daddy’s over here…” he managed to say before his face was streaked with tears.
“Now what?” the stammering policeman asked his partner.
“Go back and get a Wanted poster issued,” Drumhead said. “He wont get away!”
“What about the village boss?”
“Slinked off long ago, like a common lout.”
“Daddy-I cant find my way out! Come get me out of here-hurry…”
Xinghua was lost in the maze of trees, and the sight of that tiny spot of red nearly broke Gao Yang’s heart. It seemed like only yesterday that he had kicked that little red behind of hers for no good reason, sending her sprawling in the middle of the yard, one hand spread out like a claw that clutched at a dark pile of chicken droppings. She had picked herself up and cowered against the wall, her lips trembling as she fought back sobs and tears welling up in her coal-black eyes. Overcome with remorse, he banged his head against the tree. “Let me go!” he screamed. “Let me go-”
Drumhead clasped him in a headlock to keep him from hurting himself while his partner walked around to unlock the manacles. “G-Gao Yang,” the stammerer said, “don’t try anything funny.”
But as soon as his hands were free, he started to fight-clawing, kicking, and biting-which left three bloody scratches on the stammerer’s face. As he wrenched free of the headlock and turned to run toward the tiny spot of red, a light flashed before his eyes, then a shower of green sparks-he dimly noticed something in the policeman’s hand giving off eerie green sparks when it touched his chest. Pins pierced his body; he screamed, twitching in agony, then slumped to the ground.
The first thing he noticed upon regaining consciousness was the pair of shiny handcuffs clamped around his wrists and digging deeply into the flesh, nearly cutting to the bone. He was too groggy to recall where he was. The stammering policeman waved the terrifying object in front of him.
“Start walking,” he said soberly. “And no fooling around!”
2.
Meekly he followed Drumhead up the sandy embankment toward the willow grove. There they turned and trudged across the dry riverbed, where fine sand stung his injured ankle and burned the soles of his feet. He limped along, the stammerer right behind him. Xinghuas wails from the acacia grove were like a magnet that drew his head back to her. The stammerer nudged him with that awful thing, sending chills up his spine. He tucked his neck down between his shoulders; covered with goose bumps, he steeled himself for the rolling thunder of pain he knew was coming. But instead there was only a command: “Keep walking.”
As he walked, the image of the thing in the policeman’s hand took his mind off his daughter’s wails. He realized what it was: one of those electric prods he’d heard whispers about. The chills running up his spine penetrated the marrow of his bones.
After threading their way through another grove of trees, they crossed a second embankment and emerged onto an open field about fifty yards in length, which in turn led to a paved road. The policemen escorted Gao Yang into the township government compound, where Whiskers Zhu, a member of the police substation, rushed out to compliment Drumhead and his stammering partner on their good work.
Hope welled up in Gao Yang’s heart at the sight of a familiar face. Old Zhu,” he said, “where are they taking me?”
“Someplace where you wont need ration coupons for food.”
“Please tell them to let me go. My wife just had a baby.”
“So what? Everyone’s treated the same under the law.”
Gao Yang hung his head in dejection.
“Are Guo and Zheng back yet?” Drumhead asked.
“Guo’s here, but Zheng isn’t back yet,” Zhu replied.
“Wehere shall we put the prisoner?” Drumhead asked.
“Lock him up in the office.” Zhu turned to lead the way, followed by Gao Yang and his police escort.
The first thing he saw as they shoved him into the station house was a horse-faced young man in manacles curled up on the floor against the wall. He had obviously gotten quite a working-over, for his left eye was black and blue and nearly swollen shut; an icy glare emerged through the slit, while the uninjured right eye was filled with a look of pathetic desperation. Two handsome young policemen were sitting on a slat bench smoking cigarettes.
They pushed Gao Yang down against the wall, next to the horse-faced young man, and as the two of them took each other’s measure, the other man curled his lip and nodded meaningfully. Gao Yang was sure he knew the fellow from somewhere, but couldn’t remember where. Damn! he lamented. That thing must have fried my brain!
The four policemen were talking: With a son of a bitch like that you have to beat him first and ask questions later. He’s in a world of his own, no matter what weird stuff is happening around him. That son of a bitch Gao Ma jumped a wall and got away. You two idiots go back and get out a Wanted poster. Why aren’t old Zheng and Song Anni back yet? They had the easiest job. That old lady’s got a couple of sons. Here come old Zheng and Song Anni now.
He heard the long, drawn-out weeping of a woman; so, he noticed, did everyone else in the room. The young policeman named Guo dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it with his heel. “To hell with women,” he muttered disdainfully. “All they know how to do is cry. It’s enough to drive you crazy. Now take our young hero over here-” he pointed to the horse-faced young man with his chin-”you couldn’t get a teardrop out of him if you put a razor to his throat.”
The horse-faced young man snapped back loudly, “C-c-cry for the likes of you?”