“Fuck your mother!” Grandson yelled at Benli.
We all followed them to see what would happen to him, while the latrine cleaners laughed with their heads thrown back, pointing at Grandson, who was kicking in the air. Then they shouldered their loads of night soil and set out for Elm Village, where they lived. One of them carried two empty buckets with his pole.
“Stop it!” Zu whacked Grandson on the back, who stopped kicking instantly.
“Fuck all your grandmas!” Grandson shouted at us, wailing and sniffling.
We didn’t swear back and followed them silently. The hot sun cast our slant shadows on the whitish road; cicadas were hissing tirelessly in the treetops. We hated Zu Ming, who only dared to bully us children. Two months ago he had gone to Dalian City with a truck from the Harvest Fertilizer Plant. There they had been caught by the gunfire of the revolutionary rebels. The driver, Squinty’s father, was hit by a bullet in the leg, but he managed to drive the truck out of the city. Though nothing touched Zu, he was so frightened he messed his pants. The whole town knew that.
The blue door of the police station closed behind them. Bang, we heard Zu drop the boy on the floor.
“Oh! My arm,” Grandson cried.
Immediately we rushed to the windows to watch. “Take this. I’m going to break your legs too.” Zu kicked Grandson in the hips and stomach.
“Don’t kick me!”
Two policemen came in, and Zu turned to them to explain what had happened. Fearing they might detain Grandson for some time and hurt him badly, Benli told Hare Lips, “Go tell his uncle that Big Babe is in trouble here.”
Grandson’s parents had died seven years before in a famine, so he lived at his uncle’s. One reason we would make fun of him was that all his cousins were small girls. We could beat him or do him in without worrying about being caught by a bigger brother.
“Did you overeat, huh? Have too much energy?” Shen Li shouted, clutching Grandson’s neck. Shen was a squat young man, like a Japanese soldier, so we called him Water Vat.
“Don’t. You’re hurting me!” Grandson cried.
“How about this?” A slap landed on his face.
“Oh!”
“Tell us why you did that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You still don’t admit it. All right, let your grandpa teach you how to be honest.” Shen punched him in the flank.
“Ouch!” Grandson dropped to the floor, holding his sides and yelling, “Help! They’re killing me.”
“Shut up!” Zu ordered, and pulled him to his feet. “Now tell me, did you do it or not?”
Grandson nodded.
“Sign your name here then.” Zu took him to a desk and pointed at a sheet of paper.
We were restless outside, having never seen how the police handled a child criminal. We were also anxious to get him out.
Finally Grandson’s uncle came, wearing blue work clothes spattered with paint. We stepped aside to let the tall man go in. A few of us even ventured to enter together with him, but Water Vat pushed us back and shut the door.
We thought Grandson’s uncle would be mad at the police, but to our surprise he cursed his nephew instead. “How many times did I tell you not to cause trouble on the streets, huh? Young rabbit, I’d better kill you or starve you to death.” He slapped him on the face.
The policemen took both of them into another room. Since we couldn’t see them anymore, we left the windowsills, cursing the police and their families. We swore we would whack Zu’s oldest daughter once she started her first grade.
A few minutes later the door opened and Grandson and his uncle came out, the three policemen following behind. “Liu Bao,” Zu said aloud, “keep a good eye on your boy. You see, that cart driver could have been killed. We don’t want the youngster to commit homicide.”
“I will, Chief Zu,” Grandson’s uncle said, then turned around and cursed under his breath, “Son of a bitch!” He gnashed his teeth, his wrinkled face ferocious.
Grandson had black eyes and swollen lips. His yellow T-shirt was stained with the blood from his nose. The red characters “Revolution to the End” became blurred on his chest. He was too deflated to swear anymore and only looked at us with his dim eyes.
His uncle took off his own straw hat and put it on Grandson’s head. With his sinewy arm around his nephew’s neck, the man led the boy home.
For a week Grandson didn’t show up on the streets. During the day we played games—hitting bottle caps, fanning paper crackers, throwing knives, and waging cricket fights; in the evenings we gathered at the train station to make fun of strangers, calling them names or firing at them with slingshots. They could never catch us in the darkness. If they chased us we could easily throw them off, since they were not familiar with the streets and alleys. If they were women we would follow them and chant, “My little wife, come home with me. There’s a warm bed and hot porridge.” The women would stop to swear curses, which we always took with laughter.
In the meantime we had a big fight with the boys from Sand Village. They defeated us because they outnumbered us two to one. Also, their emperor, Hu Ba, was notorious for his ferocity. Most boys in town and its vicinity would slink away at the sight of him. On a victory he would whip his captives with iron wire and even pee into their mouths. We were lucky, as we got captured and flogged but weren’t humiliated further. They didn’t catch our emperor, though, because Benli was a fast runner. They pursued him ten kilometers until he reached his aunt’s home in Horse Village.
On the following Wednesday Grandson came out. To our amazement, all the bruises had disappeared from his face. He looked calm and was reticent, but his eyes were shining strangely.
That afternoon we had a clod fight in the backyard of the Middle School, where some sunken vegetable cellars could be used as trenches and strongholds. More clods were available there too, since no stones or any other hard things were allowed in a fight among friends. Emperor Benli divided us fourteen boys into two groups, one of which was to hold the eastern part of the yard while the other held the western part. The two groups would attack and counterattack until one side surrendered.
Bare Hips, Big Shrimp, Grandson, Squinty, and I and two smaller boys were to fight Benli, Hare Lips, Sickle Handle, and four other fellows. We collected clods and placed them on the edge of our trench, for we knew Benli’s team was always on the offensive initially. We wanted to consume their ammunition first. Once they ran out of clods, we would fight them back to their trench and rout them there.
The fight started. As we expected, they began charging at us. Missiles were sailing over our heads while we were waiting patiently for them to come close. Our commander, Bare Hips, raised his hands, his fingers circling his eyes like binoculars, to observe the enemy approaching.
“Ready,” he cried.
Every one of us held big clods like apples, preparing to give them the best of it. Bare Hips raised his left hand. “Fire!”
We all threw out clods, which stopped their charging immediately. One clod exploded on Hare Lips’s head. With both hands around his skull, he fled back to their trench.
We jumped out to fight at close quarters. Seeing us fully equipped, they all turned around to escape, except Benli, who was still moving toward us. I hit him in the chest with a clod. It didn’t stop him. Grandson hurled a big one at him, and it struck his head. “Oh!” Benli collapsed to the ground.
We laughed and ignored him, because he had been wiped out. We went on chasing the remnants. Hiding in the trench, they all saw their commander knocked down; since they had no ammunition left, we subdued them easily—one by one they raised their hands to surrender.