Big Breasts and Wide Hips (31 page)

The next day, a red coffin appeared on the street. A squad of soldiers placed it on a horse-drawn cart. Made of four-inch-thick cypress and covered with nine coats of shellac, it was draped with nine layers of cloth. It could be submerged in water for ten years without leaking a drop. Bullets could not penetrate the coffin, which would hold up in the ground for a thousand years. It was so heavy it took more than a dozen soldiers to pick it up on the command of a squad leader.

Once the coffin was loaded onto the cart, the tension among the troops was palpable. They shuttled back and forth at a jog, their faces taut. But then an old man with a white beard rode up on a donkey and dismounted beside the cart. He beat on the coffin and wailed. His face was awash in tears, some dripping off the tips of his beard. It was Ma Tong's grandfather, a highly educated onetime official during the Manchu dynasty. Commander Lu and Commissar Jiang emerged and stood awkwardly behind the old man. Once he'd cried all he was going to, he turned and glared at Lu and Jiang. ‘Old Mr. Ma,” Jiang said, “you have read many books and have a firm grasp of right and wrong. We punished Ma Tong with the deepest regret.” “With the deepest regret,” Lu echoed. The old man spat in Lu's face. “He who steals hooks is a thief. He who robs a nation is a nobleman. Fight Japan, you say, fight Japan, when all you do is engage in debauchery!” In a somber voice, Commissar Jiang said, “Sir, we are a true anti-Japanese unit that prides itself on strict military discipline. There may in fact be soldiers among us who engage in debauchery, but it isn't us!” The old man stepped around Commissar Jiang and Commander Lu, let loose a burst of loud laughter, and walked off, his donkey following him, its head bowed low. The cart carrying the coffin fell in behind the donkey. The driver's shouts to his horse were like the muted chirps of a cicada.

The Ma Tong incident rocked the foundation of the demolition battalion. The false sense of security and happiness was shattered. The gunshot that killed Ma Tong told us that in time of war, human lives were worth no more than those of ants. The Ma Tong incident, which, on the surface, appeared to be a victory for military discipline and justice, had a particularly negative effect on members of the demolition battalion. For days after, there was a rash of incidents involving drunkenness and fighting. The squad billeted at our house began to display signs of dissatisfaction. Squad Leader Wang said publicly, “Ma Tong was a scapegoat! What ammunition could a kid like that have sold? His grandfather was a high official and his family owns thousands of acres of rich farmland, with many donkeys and horses. He didn't need that little bit of money. As I see it, the youngster died at the hands of those dissolute adoptive mothers of his. No wonder the old man said, ‘Fight Japan, you say, fight Japan, when all you do is engage in debauchery!'” The squad leader aired his complaints in the morning. That afternoon, Commissar Jiang showed up at our house with two military guards. “Wang Mugen,” Jiang said gravely, “come with me to battalion headquarters.” Wang glared at his troops. “Which one of you sons of bitches betrayed me?” The men exchanged nervous glances, their faces pale gray. All except the mute, Speechless Sun, who released a guttural laugh from deep in his throat, walked up to the commissar, and, with a flurry of hand gestures, told how Sha Yueliang had stolen a wife. The commissar said, “Speechless Sun, you are the new squad leader.” Speechless Sun cocked his head and stared at the commissar, who reached out, grabbed his hand, took a fountain pen out of his pocket, and wrote something on Sun's palm. Sun bent his hand back and studied it; then he flailed his arms excitedly, as lights flashed in his brown eyes. With a contemptuous laugh, Wang Mugen said, “At this rate, the mute will be talking before long.” The commissar signaled the guards, who took their places on either side of Wang Mugen. “After you've finished with the millstone,” Wang shouted, “kill the donkey and eat it. You've forgotten how I blew up the armored train.” Ignoring the shouts, the commissar walked up and patted the mute on the shoulder. Overwhelmed by this attention, he stuck out his chest and saluted, while the sound of Wang Mugen's shouts drifted over from the lane: “Getting me angry is the same as putting a land mine under your bed!”

The mute's first act after being promoted to squad leader was to demand that my mother hand over his woman. At the time, she was beside the millstone behind which Sima Ku had hidden after he was wounded, crushing sulfur for the demolition battalion. A hundred yards away, Pandi was showing the women how to beat scrap metal with hammers. A hundred yards beyond Pandi, a demolition battalion engineer was working with apprentices on a bellows that required four strong men to operate, sending gusts of air into the furnace. Buried in the sand at their feet were molds for land mines. Mother's mouth was covered by a bandanna as she led the donkey around the millstone. The smell of sulfur brought tears to her eyes and had the donkey sneezing. Sima Ku's son and I were hunkered down in a stand of trees, carefully watched by Niandi, on Mother's orders, who didn't want us anywhere near the millstone. The mute, a Hanyang rifle slung across his back, swaggered over to the millstone twirling a Burmese sword that had been passed down through generations of his family. We watched him block the donkey's way, raise the sword in Mother's direction, and twirl it over his head, making it sing in the air. Mother was standing behind the donkey, a nearly bald broom in her hand. Her eyes were riveted on him. He showed her the palm of his hand and laughed. She nodded, as if congratulating him. A range of expressions then swept across the mute's face. Mother shook her head, over and over and over, as if to deny whatever it was he wanted. Finally, the mute swung his arm in the air and brought his fist down on the donkey's head. The animal's front legs buckled and it fell against the millstone. “You bastard!” Mother screamed. “You godforsaken bastard!” A crooked smile spread across the mute's face. He turned and swaggered off, the same way he'd come.

On the other side, the door of the smelting furnace was opened by a long hook and white-hot molten metal spilled out of the crucible, creating beautiful sparks as some of it splashed on the ground. Mother got the donkey to its feet by pulling on its ears, then walked over to where I was playing. There she removed the yellowed bandanna that covered her mouth, lifted up her blouse, and stuffed a sulfur-smoked nipple into my mouth. I seriously considered spitting out the stinky, peppery thing when Mother abruptly pushed me away, nearly jerking out my two front baby teeth. Her nipples must have been sore, but I guess she didn't have time to worry about that. She ran toward home, the bandanna flapping in the wind. I could picture those sulfur-fouled nipples of hers rubbing against the coarse material of her blouse, the venomous liquid wetting her clothes. She seemed to radiate electricity as she ran. She was immersed in a peculiar emotion; if it was happiness, it was a decidedly painful happiness. Why was she running like that? We didn't have to wait long for the answer.

“Lingdi! My Lingdi, where are you?” Mother shouted, from the main house all the way to the side room.

Shangguan Lü crawled out from the front room, lay belly down on the pathway, and raised her head, like a gigantic frog. Soldiers had taken over her west wing room, where five of them were lying on the millstone, heads facing the center, as they studied a thread-bound book. They looked up and noted our arrival with alarm. Their rifles were lined up against the wall and land mines hung from the rafters, black, round, and oily, like spider's eggs, except a whole lot bigger. “Where's the mute?” Mother asked. The soldiers shook their heads. Mother turned and rushed over to the west wing. The Bird Fairy scroll had been tossed carelessly across a now legless table, on which lay a half-eaten piece of cornbread and a green onion. The chipped ceramic bowl, which was also on the table, was filled with white bones — maybe a bird, maybe some small animal. The mute's rifle was leaning against the wall, his grenades hung from a rafter.

We stood in the yard, filling the air with hopeless shouts. The soldiers came running out of the house, demanding to know what had happened. Just then, the mute crawled out of the turnip cellar. His clothes were covered with yellow earth and splotches of white mildew. He wore a look of fatigue and contentment.

“What a fool I was!” Mother roared, stomping her foot.

At the far end of the path in our yard, beneath a pile of dried grass, the mute had raped my third sister, Lingdi.

We dragged her out from where she lay, carried her inside, and laid her on the
kang.
Mother wept as she soaked her sulfurous bandanna in water and meticulously cleaned Lingdi from head to toe. Her tears fell onto Lingdi's body and onto her own breast, which still showed the teeth marks; interestingly, Lingdi was smiling. A bewitching light flashed in her eyes.

As soon as she heard the news, Fifth Sister rushed home and stared down at Third Sister. Without a word, she ran outside, took a grenade from her belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the east wing. No sound emerged; it was a dud.

The mute was to be executed on the very spot where Ma Tong had been shot: a foul-smelling bog at the southern edge of the village, with rotting rush in the middle and lined with piles of garbage. The trussed-up mute was dragged over to the edge of the bog, facing a firing squad of a dozen or more men. After an emotional speech for the benefit of the civilians who had gathered to watch, Commissar Jiang told the soldiers to cock their rifles. Ready, the commissar ordered, Aim … Shangguan Lingdi, all in white, floated over before the bullets had a chance to leave the rifle barrels. She seemed to be walking on air, like a true fairy. It's the Bird Fairy! someone shouted. Memories of the Bird Fairy's legendary history and miraculous deeds flooded the minds of everyone present. The mute was forgotten. The Bird Fairy had never been more beautiful as she danced in front of the crowd, like a stork parading through the marshes. Her face was a palette of bright colors: like red lotuses, like white lotuses. Her figure was in perfect harmony, her distended lips absolutely alluring. She danced her way up to the mute; after stopping in front of him, she cocked her head and gazed into his face. He responded with a foolish grin. She reached out and stroked his nappy hair and pinched his garlic-bulb nose. Finally, to everyone's surprise, she reached down and grabbed the thing between his legs that had caused all the trouble. Turning to face the onlookers, she giggled. The women looked away; the men just stared foolishly, lecherous grins on their faces.

The commissar coughed and said, his words strained and unnatural, “Move her away from there and get on with the execution!”

The mute raised his head and let out a series of weird grunts, maybe to register his objection.

The Bird Fairy's hand kept rubbing the thing down there, her fleshy lips twisted into a greedy but natural and healthy look of pure desire. The commissar's command fell on deaf ears.

“Young lady,” the commissar asked in a loud voice, “was it rape or was it consensual?”

The Bird Fairy did not reply.

“Do you like him?” the commissar asked her.

Again the Bird Fairy did not reply.

The commissar went into the crowd to find Mother. “Aunty,” he said, obviously embarrassed, “in your view… as I see it, maybe we ought to just let them become husband and wife … Speechless Sun was wrong … but not wrong enough to forfeit his life

Without a word, Mother turned and walked back through the crowd, slowly, as if her back were weighed down by a stone tablet. The people followed her with their eyes, until they heard wails tear from her throat. They couldn't watch any longer.

“Untie him,” the commissar ordered halfheartedly before turning and leaving the scene.

It was the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, the day when the Herder Boy and Weaving Maid meet in the Milky Way. It was hot and sticky, the air so thick with mosquitoes they crashed into one another. Mother spread out a straw mat and we lay down to listen to her feeble mutterings. A drizzle came up as dusk fell; Mother said those were the Weaving Maid's tears. The humidity was high, with only an occasional gust of wind. Above us, pomegranate leaves shimmied. Soldiers in both the east and west wings lit homemade candles. Mosquitoes feasted on us, despite Mother's attempts to drive them away with her fan. All the magpies in the world chose this date to fly up into the clear blue sky, sheets and sheets of them, all beak to tail, with no space between them, forming a bridge across the the Milky Way to let the Herder Boy and Weaving Girl meet yet another year. Raindrops and dewdrops were their tears of longing. Amid Mother's mutterings, Niandi and I, plus the little Sima heir, gazed up at the star-filled sky, trying to find those particular stars. Even though Eighth Sister, Yunii, was blind, she too tipped her face heavenward, her eyes brighter than the stars she could not see. The heavy footsteps of sentries returning from their watch sounded in the lane. Out in the fields, frogs croaked a loud chorus. On the bean trellis a katydid sang its song:
Yiya yiya dululu—yiya yiya dululu.
As the night deepened, large birds flew roughly and rashly into the air; we watched their white, fuzzy silhouettes and listened to feathery wings brushed by the wind. Bats squeaked excitedly; drops of water fell from the leaves and beat a tattoo on the ground. Sha Zaohua lay cradled in Mother's arms, breathing evenly. In the east wing, Lingdi screeched like a cat, and the mute's hulking silhouette flickered in the lamplight. They had been married. Commissar Jiang had officiated at the wedding, and now the meditation room for the Bird Fairy had become a wedding chamber where they could release their passions. The Bird Fairy ran often out into the yard half dressed, and one soldier who was driven to distraction by peeping at her exposed breasts nearly had his neck broken by the mute. “It's late, time to go to bed,” Mother said. “It's hot inside, and the room is swarming with mosquitoes,” Sixth Sister said. “Can't we sleep out here?” “No,” Mother said, “the dampness is bad for you. Besides, there are those in the sky who pick flowers … I think I heard one of them say, There's a pretty little flower, let's pick it. Wait till we come back, we'll get it then. You know who they were? Spider spirits, whose only purpose is to spoil young virgins.”