8
fourteen years earlier, yu zhan’ao, a bedroll over his back, and dressed in clean, freshlystarched white pants and jacket, stood in the yard of our home and shouted: ‘mistress, are youhiring?’
with a hundred thoughts running through her mind, grandma’s natural instincts deserted her.
her scissors dropped to the kang, and she fell backward onto the brand-new purple comforter.
his nostrils filled with the odour of fresh whitewash and a delicate feminine fragrance, yuzhan’ao’s courage mounted. he barged into the room.
‘mistress, are you hiring?’
grandma lay face up and blurry-eyed on the comforter.
yu zhan’ao threw down his bedroll and slowly approached the kang. at that moment his heartwas like a warm pond in which toads frolicked while swifts skimmed the surface. when his darkchin was only about the thickness of a piece of paper from grandma’s face, she slapped him onhis dark, shiny scalp, then sat up quickly, picked up her scissors, and screamed, ‘who are you?
what do you think you’re doing? how dare you barge into a strange woman’s room!’
startled, he backed up and said, ‘you?.?.?. you really don’t know me?’
‘how dare you talk like that! i lived a cloistered life at home until my wedding day, less thantwo weeks ago. how would i know you?’
‘okay, if that’s the way you want it,’ he said with a smile. ‘i hear you’re shorthanded at thedistillery, and i need work to put food in my belly!’
‘all right, as long as you don’t mind hard work. what’s your name? how old are you?’
‘my name’s yu zhan’ao. i’m twenty-four.’
‘take your bedroll outside,’ she said.
yu zhan’ao obediently walked outside and waited under a blazing sun. traces of burnedleaves remained in the yard, and he relived the memory of what had happened there recently. hewaited for about half an hour, growing more restless by the minute, and was barely able to keepfrom rushing inside and settling accounts with the woman.
after murdering shan tingxiu and his son, he had not run away, but had hidden in the fieldnear the inlet to watch the excitement. even now he sighed in wonder over grandma’s amazingperformance. she might be young, but she had teeth in her belly and could scheme with the bestof them. a woman to be reckoned with, certainly no economy lantern. maybe she was treatinghim like this today just in case there were prying eyes and ears. he waited a bit longer, but stillshe didn’t come out. the yard was silent except for a calling magpie perched on the ridge of theroof. in the grip of anger, he was rushing towards the house, prepared to make a scene, when heheard grandma’s voice through the window. ‘report to the eastern compound.’
realising his mistake in not following the proper etiquette, yu zhan’ao let go of his anger andwalked over to the eastern compound, where he saw rows of wine vats, piles of sorghum, and acrew of hired hands working inside the steamy distillery. he strode into the tent and asked aworker standing on a high stool feeding sorghum into a bucket above the millstone, ‘hey, who’sin charge here?’
the man looked at him out of the corner of his eye. when he had fed all the sorghum into thebucket, he jumped down off the stool and backed away from the millstone, holding a sieve in onehand and the stool in the other. then he gave a shout, and the mule, wearing a black blindfold,began turning the millstone. its hooves had worn a groove in the ground around the stone. a dullgrinding sound emerged as crushed grain poured like raindrops from the space between thestones into a wooden pan below. ‘the foreman’s in the shop,’ the man said, pursing his lips andpointing with his chin to the buildings west of the main gate.
with his bedroll in his hand, yu zhan’ao entered through the back door and spotted thefamiliar figure of an old man sitting behind the counter working his abacus, occasionally taking asip from a small, dark-green decanter beside it.
‘foreman,’ yu zhan’ao announced, ‘are you hiring?’
uncle arhat looked up at yu zhan’ao and reflected for a moment. ‘are you looking forpermanent or temporary work?’
‘whatever you need. i’m interested in working for as long as i can.’
‘if you want to work for a week or so, i can do the hiring. but if you’re interested in apermanent job, the mistress has to approve.’
‘then you’d better go ask her.’
yu zhan’ao walked up and sat on one of the stools as uncle arhat lowered the counter bar andwalked out the rear door. but he turned and came back in, picked up a crudely made bowl, half-filled it with wine, and set it on the counter. ‘your mouth must be dry. have some wine.’
yu zhan’ao’s thoughts were on the woman’s remarkable schemes as he drank. ‘the mistresswants to see you,’ uncle arhat said when he returned. they went over to the western compound.
‘wait here,’ uncle arhat said.
grandma walked outside with poise and grace. after grilling yu zhan’ao for a while, shewaved her hand and said, ‘take him over there. we’ll try him for a month. his wages starttomorrow.’
so yu zhan’ao became a hired hand in the family distillery. with his strength and cleverhands, he was an ideal worker, and uncle arhat sang his praises to grandma. at the end of thefirst month, he summoned him and said, ‘the mistress likes the way you work, so we’ll keep youon.’ he handed him a cloth bundle. ‘she wants you to have these.’
he undid the bundle. inside was a pair of new cloth shoes. ‘foreman,’ he said, ‘please tell themistress that yu zhan’ao thanks her for the gift.’
‘you can go,’ said uncle arhat. ‘i expect you to work hard.’
‘i will,’ yu zhan’ao promised.
another two weeks passed, and yu zhan’ao was finding it harder and harder to controlhimself. the mistress came to the eastern compound every day to look around, but directed herquestions only to uncle arhat, paying hardly any attention to the sweaty hired hands. that didnot sit well with yu zhan’ao.
back when the distillery was run by shan tingxiu and his son, the workers’ meals wereprepared and sent over by café owners in the village. but after grandma took charge, she hired amiddle-aged woman whom everyone called ‘the woman liu’, and a teenaged girl named passion.
they lived in the western compound, where they were responsible for all the cooking. thengrandma increased the number of dogs in the compound from two to five. now that the westerncompound was home to three women and five dogs, it became a lively little world of its own. atnight the slightest disturbance set off the dogs, and any intruder not bitten to death would surelyhave the wits frightened out of him.
by the time yu zhan’ao had been working the distillery cooker for eight weeks, it was theninth lunar month, and the sorghum in the fields was good and ripe. grandma told uncle arhat tohire some temporary labourers to clean the yard and open-air bins in preparation for the harvest.
they were clear, sunny days with a deep sky. grandma, dressed in white silk and wearing redsatin slippers, carried a willow switch around the yard, with her dogs running on her heels,drawing strange looks from the villagers, although none dared so much as fart in her presence.
yu zhan’ao approached her several times, but she stayed aloof and wouldn’t bestow a word onhim.
one night yu zhan’ao drank a little more than usual, and wound up getting slightly drunk. hetossed and turned on the communal kang, but couldn’t fall asleep, as moonlight streamed inthrough the window in the eastern wall. two hired hands sat beneath a bean-oil lantern mendingtheir clothes.
then old du took out his stringed instrument and began playing sad tunes, striking resonantchords in the hearts of the listeners. something was bound to happen. one of the men mendinghis clothes was so moved by old du’s melancholy tunes that his throat began to itch. ‘it’s no funbeing alone,’ he sang hoarsely, ‘no fun at all. tattered clothes never get sewn.?.?.?.’
‘why not get the mistress to sew them for you?’
‘the mistress? i wonder who will feast on that tender swan.’
‘the old master and his son thought it would be them, and they wound up dead.’
‘i hear she had an affair with spotted neck while she was still living at home.’
‘are you saying spotted neck murdered them?’
‘not so loud. “words spoken on the road are heard by snakes in the grass!”’
yu zhan’ao lay on the kang sneering.
‘what’re you smirking for, little yu?’ one of them asked.
emboldened by the wine, he blurted out, ‘i murdered them!’
‘you’re drunk!’
‘drunk? i tell you, i murdered them!’ he sat up, reached into the bag hanging on the wall, andpulled out his short sword. when he slid it out of the scabbard, it caught the moon’s rays andshone like a silverfish. ‘i’ll tell you guys,’ he said with a thick tongue, ‘our mistress?.?.?. i sleptwith her.?.?.?. sorghum fields?.?.?. came at night and set a fire?.?.?. stabbed one?.?.?. stabbed theother.?.?.?.’
one of his listeners quietly blew out the lantern, throwing the room into a murky darkness inwhich the moonlit sword shone even more brightly.
‘go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep! we have to be up early tomorrow to make wine!’
yu zhan’ao was still mumbling. ‘you?.?.?. damn you?.?.?. pretend you don’t know me after youhitch up your pants?.?.?. work me like an ox or a horse.?.?.?. don’t think you can get away withit.?.?.?. tonight i’m going to?.?.?. butcher you.?.?.?.’ he climbed off the kang, sword in hand, andstaggered outside. the other men lay in the dark, staring wide-eyed at the moon glinting off theweapon in his hand, not daring to utter a sound.
yu zhan’ao walked into the moonlit yard and looked at the glazed wine vats glistening in thelight like jewels. a southern breeze swept over from the fields, carrying the bittersweet aroma ofripe sorghum and making him shiver. the sound of a woman’s giggle drifted over from thewestern compound. as he slipped into the tent to move the bench outside, he was met by thepawing sounds of the black mule tethered behind the feed trough. ignoring the animal, he carriedthe bench over to the wall. when he stepped on it and straightened up, the top of the wall reachedhis chest. a light behind the window illuminated the paper cutout. the mistress was playinggames with the girl passion on the kang. ‘aren’t you a couple of naughty little monkeys?’ heheard the woman liu say. ‘it’s bedtime; now, go to sleep!’ then she added, ‘passion, look in thepot and see if the dough has begun to rise.’
holding the sword in his mouth, yu zhan’ao climbed up onto the wall. the five dogs rushedover, looked up, and began to bark, frightening him so badly he lost his balance and tumbled intothe western compound. if grandma hadn’t rushed out to see what was going on, the dogsprobably would have torn him to pieces, even if there had been two of him.
after calling off the dogs, grandma shouted for passion to bring out the lantern.
the woman liu, rolling-pin in hand, came running out on big feet that had once been boundand screamed, ‘a thief! grab him!’
passion followed, lantern in hand, the light falling on the battered face of yu zhan’ao. ‘so it’syou!’ grandma said coldly.
she picked up the sword and tucked it into her sleeve. ‘passion, go fetch uncle arhat.’
no sooner had passion opened the gate than uncle arhat entered the compound. ‘what’sgoing on, mistress?’
‘this hired hand of yours is drunk,’ she said.
‘yes, he is,’ uncle arhat confirmed.
‘passion,’ grandma said, ‘bring me my willow switch.’
passion fetched grandma’s white willow switch. ‘this’ll sober you up,’ grandma said as shetwirled the switch in the air and brought it down hard on yu zhan’ao’s buttocks.
stung by the pain, he experienced a sense of numbing ecstasy, and when it reached his throat itset his teeth moving and emerged as a stream of gibberish: ‘mistress mistress mistress?.?.?.’
grandma whipped him until her arm was about to fall off, then lowered the switch and stoodthere panting from exhaustion.
‘take him away,’ she said.
uncle arhat stepped up to pull yu zhan’ao to his feet, but he refused to get up. ‘mistress,’ heshouted, ‘a few more lashes?.?.?. just give me a few more?.?.?.’
grandma whipped him twice on the neck with all her might, and he rolled around on theground like a little boy, kicking the air with his legs. uncle arhat called for a couple of hiredhands to carry him back to the bunkhouse, where they flung him down on the kang; he rolledaround like a squirming dragonfly, a stream of filth and abuse gushing from his mouth. unclearhat picked up a decanter, told the men to pin his arms and legs, and poured wine down histhroat. as soon as the men let go, his head lolled to the side and he grew silent. ‘you drownedhim!’ one of them exclaimed fearfully, bringing the lantern up. yu zhan’ao’s face was contortedout of shape, and he sneezed violently, extinguishing the lantern.
he didn’t wake up until the sun was high in the sky. he walked into the distillery as thoughstepping on cotton; the men watched him curiously. recalling the beating he’d received the nightbefore, he rubbed his neck and his buttocks, but felt no pain. thirsty, he picked up a ladle,scooped some wine from the flow, tipped back his head, and drank it down.
old du the fiddler said, ‘little yu, your mistress gave you quite a beating last night. i’ll betyou won’t be climbing that wall again.’
up till then the gloomy young man had instilled a measure of fear in the others, but that hadevaporated when they heard his pitiful screams, and now they outdid one another teasing himmercilessly. without a word in reply, he grabbed one of them, raised his fist, and buried it in theman’s face. a quick exchange of glances, and the others rushed up, threw him to the ground, andbegan raining blows on him with fists and feet. when they’d had their fill, they took off his belt,stuck his head into the crotch of his pants, tied his hands behind his back, and threw him to theground.
like a stranded tiger or a beached dragon, yu zhan’ao struggled to get free, rolling around onthe ground like a ball for as long as it takes to smoke a couple of pipefuls. finally, having seenenough, old du went up, untied granddad’s hands, and freed his head from his pants. yuzhan’ao’s face was pallid as a sheet of gold paper as he lay on the pile of firewood like a dyingsnake. it took him a long time to catch his breath. meanwhile, the others held on to their tools,just in case he took it into his head to get even. but he just staggered over to one of the vats,ladled out some wine, and began gulping it down. when he was finished, he climbed back uponto the pile of firewood and fell fast asleep.
from then on, yu zhan’ao got roaring drunk every day, then climbed up onto the pile offirewood and lay there, his moist blue eyes half closed, a mixed smile on his lips: the left sidefoolish, the right side crafty, or vice versa. for the first few days, the men watched him withinterest; after a while, they began to grumble. uncle arhat tried to get him to do some work, butyu zhan’ao just looked at him out of the corner of his eye and said, ‘who the hell do you thinkyou are? i’m the master here. that kid in her belly is mine.’
by then my father had grown in grandma’s belly to about the size of a little ball, and in themornings the sound of her retching in the yard drifted over to the western compound. theexperienced old-timers talked about nothing else. when the woman liu brought over their food,they asked her, ‘old woman liu, is the mistress with child?’
she glared at them. ‘watch out, or someone might cut out your tongue!’
‘looks like shan bianlang knew what he was doing after all!’
‘maybe it’s the old master’s.’
‘no wild guessing! do you really think a spirited girl like that would let one of the shan mentouch her? i’ll bet it was spotted neck.’
yu zhan’ao jumped up from the pile of firewood and gestured gleefully. ‘it was me!’ heshouted. ‘ha ha, it was me!’
they had a good laugh over that, and cursed him roundly.
on more than one occasion, uncle arhat urged grandma to dismiss yu zhan’ao, but sheinvariably replied, ‘let him rant and rave if he wants to. i’ll fix his wagon sooner or later.’
one day she walked into the compound, her thickening waist obvious to all, to speak withuncle arhat.
avoiding her eyes, he said softly, ‘mistress, it’s time to break out the scales and buy thesorghum.’
‘is everything ready? the compound and the grain bins?’
‘everything’s ready.’
‘when did you do it in the past?’
‘just about now.’
‘let’s wait a while longer this year.’
‘we might lose out. there are at least ten other distilleries.’
‘the harvest has been so good this year there’s more than they can handle. put up a notice thatwe’re not ready yet. we’ll buy when the others have had their fill. by then we can name our ownprice, and the grain will have more time to dry out.’
‘you’re probably right.’
‘anything else we need to talk about?’
‘not really, except for that hired hand. he gets so drunk every day he can hardly move. let’spay him off and get rid of him.’
grandma thought for a moment. ‘take me to the distillery so i can see for myself.’
uncle arhat led the way to the distillery, where the workers were just then pouring fermentedmash into the distiller. the firewood beneath the cooker crackled and the water roiled, sendingclouds of steam into the distiller, a three-foot-high wooden vessel with tightly woven bamboostrips at the base, which fitted over the cooker. four men with wooden spades ladled the sorghummash, a green-spotted, sweet-smelling fermented mixture, from the vat into the steaming distiller.
since the steam had nowhere else to go, it filtered up through the cracks in the base, and the alertmen dumped the mash wherever the steam was coming through, to keep the heat fromdissipating.
when they saw grandma approaching, they threw themselves into their work. from hisfirewood perch, yu zhan’ao, who looked like a dirty-faced, ragged beggar, stared at grandmawith a cold glint in his eyes.
‘i came to see how sorghum is converted into wine,’ grandma said.
uncle arhat moved a stool over for her.
the men, favoured by her presence, worked as never before. the stoker kept the fires blazingunder the cookpots. the water bubbled, sending sizzling steam snaking its way up through thedistiller to merge with the panting sounds of the workers. when they had filled the distiller withmash, they covered it with a tight-fitting honeycombed lid to let the mixture cook until wisps ofsteam began to ooze from the tiny openings in the lid. they quickly brought over a double-platepewter object with a concave centre. uncle arhat told grandma it was the distiller. she walkedover to get a closer look, then returned to the stool without a word.
the men placed the pewter distiller over the wooden one to block out the steam. the onlysounds came from the roaring fires beneath the cookpot. the wooden distiller was white oneminute and orange the next, as a delicate, sweet aroma, sort of like wine but not quite, seepedthrough the wooden vessel.
‘add cool water,’ uncle arhat said.
the men climbed up onto a bench and began pouring cool water into the concave centre of thepewter distiller. one of them stirred the water rapidly with what looked like an oar, and afterabout half the time it takes a joss stick to burn down, grandma’s nostrils were filled with thesmell of wine.
‘get ready to catch the wine,’ uncle arhat ordered.
two men ran up with wine crocks woven of wax reeds and covered with ten layers of paper,then sealed with many coats of varnish. they placed the crocks under distiller spouts that lookedlike duck beaks.
grandma stood up and stared at the spouts as the stoker shoved pieces of pine-oil-soakedfirewood into the stoves, which crackled loudly and spat out clouds of white smoke that lit up themen’s greasy, sweaty chests.
‘change the water!’ uncle arhat shouted.
two men rushed into the yard and came running back with four buckets of cool well water.
the man on the stool pulled a lever, releasing the heated water from the top of the distiller. thenhe poured in the fresh water and continued stirring.
grandma was stirred by the solemn, sacred labour. just then she felt my father move inside herbelly, and looked over at yu zhan’ao, who was lying on the pile of firewood staring at her with asinister glint in his eyes, the only cold spots in the steamy distilling tent. the stirring in her heartcooled off. she averted her eyes and calmly watched the two men with the crocks, who werewaiting for the wine to flow.
the aroma grew heavier as wisps of steam escaped through the seams of the wooden distiller.
grandma watched the spouts brighten, the glow freezing for a moment, then slowly beginning tostir as clear, bright drops of liquid rolled down into the wine crocks like tears.
‘change the water!’ uncle arhat yelled. ‘stoke the fire!’
hot water poured from the open taps as more cool water was dumped in, maintaining a steadytemperature on the lid, causing the steam between the layers to cool and form a liquid, whichgushed out through the spouts.
the first wine out was warm, transparent, and steamy. uncle arhat picked up a clean ladle,half-filled it, and handed it to grandma. ‘here, mistress, taste it.’
the rich aroma made her tongue itch. father stirred in her belly again. he was thirsty for thewine. first she sniffed it and touched it to her tongue, then took a sip to savour its bouquet. it wasamazingly aromatic and slightly pungent. she took a mouthful and swished it around with hertongue. her cheeks softened as though they were being rubbed gently with silky cotton. herthroat went slack, and the mouthful of warm wine slid down. her pores snapped open, thenclosed, as a feeling of incredible joy suffused her body. she swigged three mouthfuls in rapidsuccession, her belly feeling as though it were being massaged by a greedy hand. finally, shetipped back her head and drained the ladle. by then her face was flushed and her eyes sparkled;she had never looked so beautiful, so irresistible. the men gaped with astonishment, neglectingtheir work.
‘mistress, you sure know how to drink!’ they complimented her.
‘it’s the first drink i’ve ever had,’ she replied modestly.
‘if that’s how you handle the first one, with a little practice you could finish off a whole crock.’
by now the wine was gushing from the spouts – one crock, then another, each of which wasstacked alongside the pile of firewood. suddenly yu zhan’ao climbed down off the pile, undidhis pants, and pissed into one of the brimming crocks. the shocked men numbly watched thesteam of clear liquid splash into the wine crock and send sprays over the sides. when he’dfinished, he smirked and staggered up to grandma, whose cheeks were flushed. she didn’t moveas he wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss on her face. she paled, stumbled, and satdown hard on the stool.
‘that child in your belly,’ he demanded angrily. ‘is it mine or isn’t it?’
grandma was crying. ‘if you say so?.?.?.’
yu zhan’ao’s eyes blazed and his muscles grew taut, as if he were a workhorse standing upafter rolling in the dirt. he stripped down to his shorts. ‘now watch me clean the distiller!’
cleaning the distiller is the hardest job of all. once the wine has stopped flowing through thespouts, the pewter distiller is removed; then the honeycombed wooden lid is lifted from thewooden distiller, which is filled with sorghum mash, dark yellow and scalding hot. yu zhan’aoclimbed onto a bench, wielding a short-handled wooden spade, and scooped the mash out into theframe. his movements were so slight he seemed to be using only his forearms. the heat turnedhis skin scarlet, and sweat ran down his back like a river, smelling strongly of wine.
my granddad yu zhan’ao worked with such consummate skill that uncle arhat and the othermen looked on in awe. talents hidden for months were now on display. when he’d finished, hedrank some wine, then said to uncle arhat, ‘foreman, that’s not all i can do. now look. whenthe wine comes down the spouts, the steam dissipates. if you put another, smaller distiller overthe spouts, you’d have nothing but the best wine.’
uncle arhat shook his head. ‘i doubt that,’ he said.
‘if not,’ granddad said, ‘you can chop off my head!’
uncle arhat glanced at grandma, who sniffed once or twice. ‘that’s not my business. i don’tcare. let him do what he wants.’
she returned to the western compound, sobbing.
from that day on, granddad and grandma shared their love like mandarin ducks or chinesephoenixes. uncle arhat and the hired hands were so tormented by their naked, demonicexhibition of desire that their intelligence failed them, and even though they had a bellyful ofmisgivings, in time, one after another, they became my granddad’s loyal followers.
granddad’s skills revolutionised the operation, giving northeast gaomi township its first top-line distilled wine. as for the crock into which he had pissed, since the men dared not dispose ofit on their own, they just moved it over to a corner and left it there. late one overcast afternoon,as a strong southeast wind carried the aroma of sorghum wine across the compound, the menwere suddenly aware of an unusually rich and mellow fragrance. uncle arhat, whose sense ofsmell was keenest, sought out the source, and was astonished to discover that it came from thepiss-enhanced crock in the corner. without a word to anyone, he lit the bean-oil lantern, turnedup the wick, and settled down to study the phenomenon.
first he scooped out a dipperful of the wine, then let it drip slowly back into the crock andwatched it form a soft green liquid curtain that was transformed into a multipetaled flower, like achrysanthemum, when it hit the surface. the unique fragrance was more volatile than ever. hescooped up a tiny bit of the wine, tasting it first with the tip of his tongue, then taking a decisiveswig. after rinsing his mouth with cool water, he drank some ordinary sorghum wine from one ofthe other crocks. he flung down the dipper, rushed out, burst through the western compoundgate, and ran across the yard, shouting, ‘mistress, joyful news!’
