7
mother’s health improved under the loving care of the lame woman liu. she and father hadbeen good friends, but after her rescue from the well they were like brother and sister. thengranddad came down with a serious case of typhoid fever, and at times he seemed on the brinkof death. once, as he lay there semiconscious, he hallucinated that he smelled the sweet fragranceof sorghum porridge, so father and the others quickly picked some sorghum, and the woman liucooked it in front of granddad until it was soft and pasty. after he ate a bowlful, the capillaries inhis nose burst and released a torrent of thick, dark blood. his appetite returned then, and he wason the mend. by mid-october, he was able to hobble out into the garden to soak up the warmrays of the late-autumn sun.
i heard that at the time a clash between the troops of pocky leng and little foot jiangoccurred near wang gan aqueduct, with heavy casualties on both sides. but granddad was fartoo sick to worry about that – or anything else, for that matter.
father and the others threw up a few temporary shelters in the village, then scavenged the junkpiles for the odds and ends they would need to harvest enough sorghum to get them through thewinter and the spring. autumn rains had fallen steadily since the end of august, turning the darkearth into a sea of mud. half of the rain-soaked stalks lay rotting on the ground, where the fallenseeds had taken root and were already beginning to germinate. tender green stalks crowded theirway through the spaces between the blue-grey and dark-red patches of decay, and the ears ofsorghum swayed in the air or dragged along the ground like bushy, matted foxtails. steel-greyrainclouds, heavy with water, scurried across the sky, and cold, hard raindrops thudded into thestalks. flocks of crows struggled to stay aloft on wings weighted down with moisture. duringthose foggy days, sunlight was as precious as gold.
father, who ruled the roost after granddad fell ill, led wang guang, dezhi, guo yang (whomwe called gimpy), blind eye, and beauty over to the marshland, where they fought the corpse-eating dogs with rifles. the ensuing battles would turn father into a marksman.
every once in a while, granddad asked him weakly, ‘what are you doing, son?’
with a murderous frown creasing his brow, father would say, ‘we’re killing the dogs, dad!’
‘let it lie,’ granddad would say.
‘i can’t,’ father would reply. ‘we can’t let them feed on people’s bodies.’
nearly a thousand corpses had piled up in the marshland, all laid out by the jiao-gao soldiers,who lacked the time to give them a proper burial. the few spadefuls of dirt that had been tossedhaphazardly over the corpses were washed away by the autumn rains. the bloated corpsesproduced an exceptional stench that brought crows and mad dogs scurrying over to rip open theabdomens, which intensified the reek of death.
when the dog pack was at full strength, they were probably six hundred in all, made upprimarily of village dogs whose masters lay rotting in the marshland. the remainder, those thatcame and went in a frenzy, were dogs from neighbouring villages that had homes to return to.
they were led by our family’s three dogs: red, green, and blackie.
the hunters split up into three teams: father and mother, wang guang and dezhi, gimpy andblind eye. they dug trenches in the marshland and took up positions to watch the paths that hadbeen scratched out by the dogs. father cradled his rifle; mother held her carbine. ‘douguan, whycan’t i hit what i’m shooting at?’ she asked.
‘you’re too eager. if you take careful aim and squeeze the trigger, you can’t miss.’
father and mother were watching the path in the southeast corner of the field, a two-foot-widewhite scar in the earth. the troops emerging onto this path were led by our dog red, whose thickcoat shone after his rich diet of human corpses. his legs had grown firm and muscular from allthe exercise, and the battles with humans had put a keen edge on his intelligence.
the fog-shrouded paths were quiet when the sun’s red rays began to light up the sky. thecanine forces had dwindled after a month of seesaw battles, so that the dogs lying among thecorpses probably numbered a hundred, and a couple of hundred others had deserted. theircombined forces now, in the neighbourhood of 230, tended to run in packs, and since father andthe others were becoming better marksmen all the time, the dogs always left behind at least adozen corpses after each frenzied attack.
they were waiting for the dogs’ first sortie of the day, like people anticipating the arrival offood on the table. noticing the rustling of distant stalks of sorghum, father said softly, ‘getready, here they come.’ mother silently released the safety catch on her rifle and laid her cheekagainst the rain-soaked stock. the rustling movement flowed to the edge of the marshland like anocean wave, and father could hear the panting dogs. he knew that hundreds of greedy canineeyes were fixed on the broken and severed limbs in the marshland, that the dogs’ red tongueswere licking the putrid remnants caught in the corners of their mouths, and that their stomachs,filled with green bile, were growling.
as though on command, more than two hundred of them broke out of the sorghum field,barking madly. the fur on their necks stood straight up; bright coats glistened in the fog. wangguang and gimpy opened fire as the dogs ripped the flesh from the corpses with single-mindedferocity. the wounded dogs yelped in pain, while those that had been spared continued to tearfrantically at their prey.
father took aim at the head of a clumsy black dog and pulled the trigger. the dog yelped as thebullet shattered its ear. then father saw the head of a spotted white dog explode and the animalcrumple to the ground, a piece of dark intestine still in its mouth. it never made a sound. ‘beauty,you hit it!’ he shouted.
‘was it me?’ she squealed excitedly to father, who had lined red up in his sights. hugging theground as he ran, he streaked from one patch of stalks to another. father pulled the trigger andthe bullet whizzed past red, barely missing his back. he picked up a woman’s bloated leg in hisrazor- sharp teeth and began to eat, each powerful bite making a loud crunch as the boneshattered. mother fired; her bullet struck the dark earth in front of red and spattered his face withmud. he shook his head violently, then picked up the pale leg and ran off. wang guang anddezhi wounded several dogs, whose blood smeared the corpses and whose whimpers struckterror into the hunters’ hearts.
when the pack retreated, the hunters closed up ranks so they could clean their weapons. sincethey were running low on ammunition, father reminded them to make every bullet count,emphasising the importance of eliminating the leaders of the pack. ‘they’re as slippery asloaches,’ wang guang said. ‘they always slink away before i can reload.’
dezhi blinked his rheumy eyes and said, ‘douguan, how about a sneak attack?’
‘what do you mean?’
‘well, they have to go somewhere to rest,’ dezhi said, ‘and i’ll bet it’s near the black waterriver. after stuffing their bellies, they probably go there for the water.’
‘he’s got a point,’ gimpy agreed.
‘then let’s go,’ father said.
‘not so fast,’ dezhi cautioned. ‘let’s go back and get some grenades. we’ll blow ’em up.’
father, mother, wang guang, and dezhi split up to follow two separate paths made by thedogs in the muddy earth, which had turned springy from all the claws that had passed over it. thepaths led straight to the black water river, where father and mother could hear the roar of waterand the sounds of the dogs. the paths converged as they neared the riverbank to form a broadsingle path.
that’s where father and mother met up with wang guang and dezhi. and that’s where theyspotted more than two hundred dogs spread out over the weed-covered riverbank; most werecrouching, although some were gnawing at shiny clods of black earth stuck between their toes. afew stood at the water’s edge, raising their legs to piss into the river, while others were drinking.
now that their bellies were full, they circled the area, passing dark-brown canine farts. theweeds were nearly covered with reddish or white dogshit, and the odour of the turds and fartswas different from any father and the others had ever smelled. it was easy to spot the threeleaders, even though they were spread out among the others.
‘shall we toss them now, douguan?’ wang guang asked.
‘get ready,’ father said. ‘we’ll lob them together.’
they were each holding two petal-shaped muskmelon hand grenades. after pulling the pins,they banged the grenades together. ‘now!’ father yelled, and eight arching missiles landed amidthe dogs, who first watched with curiosity as the black oblong objects fell from the sky, theninstinctively crouched down. father marvelled at the incredible intelligence of the three dogsfrom our family, who cunningly flattened out on the ground just before the eight superiorjapanese grenades exploded, almost at the same instant, the frightful blast spraying dark shrapnelin all directions. a dozen or more dogs were blown to bits, at least twenty others gravelywounded. dog blood and dog meat sailed into the air above the river and splattered on thesurface like hailstones. white eels, blood eaters, swarmed to the spot, squealing as they foughtover the dog meat and dog blood. the pitiful whimpering of the wounded dogs was terrifying.
those that had escaped injury scattered, some dashing wildly down the riverbank, others leapinginto the black water river to swim frantically to the opposite bank.
father wished he hadn’t left his rifle behind, for some of the dogs, blinded by the blast, wererunning in circles on the riverbank, whimpering in panic, their faces covered with blood. it was apitiful, exhilarating sight. our three dogs swam across the river, followed by about thirty others,and clambered up onto the opposite bank with their tails between their legs, their wet fur stuck totheir skin; they, too, were a sorry sight, but once they reached solid ground, they shookthemselves violently, sending beads of water flying from their tails, their bellies, and their chins.
red glared hatefully at father and barked, as though accusing him and his friends of violating atacit agreement by invading their bivouac area and using new, cruelly undoglike weapons.
‘lob some across the river!’ father said.
they picked up more grenades and heaved them with all their might towards the oppositebank. when the dogs saw the black objects arching above the water, they raised an imploringhowl, as though calling for their mothers and fathers, then leaped and rolled down the riverbank,making a quick dash to the sorghum field on the southern bank. father and the others weren’tstrong enough to reach the bank with their grenades, which landed harmlessly in the river andsent up four columns of silvery water. the surface roiled for a moment, as a school of fat whiteeels floated belly up.
the dogs stayed away from the sight of the massacre for two days following the sneak attack, atime during which canine and human forces maintained strict vigilance as they made battlepreparations.
father and his friends, recognising the enormous power of the grenades, held a strategy sessionto find ways of putting them to even better use. when wang guang returned from areconnaissance mission to the riverbank, he brought news that all that remained were a fewcanine corpses, a blanket of fur and dogshit, and an overpowering stench. not a single living dog– which meant they’d moved to another bivouac area.
according to dezhi, since the leaders of the routed dog pack had been spared, it would only bea matter of time before they closed up ranks and returned to fight over the corpses. theircounterattack was bound to be particularly ferocious, since the survivors now had rich battleexperience.
the final suggestion was made by mother, who recommended arming the wooden-handledgrenades and burying them along the paths. her suggestion met with unanimous approval, sothey split up into groups to bury forty-three of the grenades beneath the three paths. of the fifty-seven muskmelon grenades they’d started with, twelve had been used during the attack on theblack water river shoal, so there were forty-five left – fifteen for each group.
cracks developed in the unity of the canine forces over the two days as a result of casualties anddesertion, which depleted their number to 120 or so. the three original brigades were reformedinto a single unified force of crack troops. since their bivouac area had been overrun by thosefour bastards with their strange, exploding dung- beetles, they were forced to move three lidownriver to a spot on the southern bank just east of the stone bridge.
it was to be a morning of great significance. the dogs, itching for a fight, snarled and snappedat one another as they made their way to the new bivouac area, sneaking an occasional glance attheir leaders, who were calmly sizing each other up. once they reached a spot east of the bridge,they formed a circle on the shoal, sat back on their haunches, and howled at the overcast sky.
blackie and green were twitching noticeably, causing the fur on their backs to ripple like oceanwaves. months of vagabond lives and feasting on rotting meat had awakened primal memoriesanaesthetised over aeons of domestication. a hatred of humans – those two-legged creatures thatwalked erect – seethed in their hearts, and eating human flesh held greater significance than justfilling their growling bellies; more important was the vague sensation that they were exactingterrible revenge upon those rulers who had enslaved them and forced them into the demeaningexistence of living off scraps. the only ones capable of translating these primitive impulses intohigh theory, however, were the three dogs from our family. that was why they enjoyed thesupport of the pack dogs, although that alone would have been insufficient; their size andstrength, their quickness, and their willingness to martyr themselves by attacking withunparalleled ferocity all made them natural leaders. now, though, they had begun to fight amongthemselves for sole dominion over the pack.
one of the battles occurred when a dog in green’s brigade, an impudent male with thick lips,bulging eyes, and a coat of bluish fur, took liberties with a pretty spotted-faced female who wasone of red’s favourites. infuriated, red charged the motley male and knocked him into the river.
after climbing out and shaking the water off his fur, thick lips launched into an angry tirade,which earned him the jeers of the other dogs.
green barked loudly at red to defend the honour of his brigade, but red ignored him andknocked the motley cur back into the river. as he swam back to shore, his nostrils skimming thesurface, he looked like a huge river rat. the spotted-faced female stood beside red, wagging hertail.
green barked contemptuously at red, who returned the insult.
blackie placed himself between his two companions of earlier days, like a peacemaker.
now that the dog pack was reassembled at a new bivouac area, they busied themselvesdrinking water and licking their wounds as the ancient rays of the sun danced on the surface ofthe gently flowing black water river. a wild rabbit raised its head on the embankment; scaredwitless by what it saw, it quietly slipped away.
in the warm mid-autumn sun, an atmosphere of lethargy settled over the dog pack. the threeleaders formed a seated triangle, eyes drooping as though reliving the past.
red had led a peaceful life as a distillery watchdog. the two old yellows were still alive then,and even though there were occasional disputes among the five dogs, they were, for the mostpart, one big, happy family. he was the runt of the group, and once, when he developed a case ofscabies, the other dogs drove him away. so he went straight to the eastern compound to rollaround in the sorghum chaff, and his skin cleared up. but he returned more antisocial than whenhe’d left, and was disgusted by how blackie and green fawned over the strong and bullied theweak, and by their smarmy tail-wagging.
red sensed that the violent upheaval of the pack was a power struggle, and since the conflictshad been shifted onto the three leaders, the other dogs grew relatively peaceful. but the mangycur, who hadn’t mended his ways despite repeated warnings, was now trying to stir up troubleamong the other dogs in the pack.
the flash point was reached when an old bitch with a torn ear walked up to blackie and put herwet, icy nose up against his, then turned and wagged her tail at him. blackie got to his feet andbegan cavorting with his new paramour, while red and green looked on. red quietly croucheddown and glanced over at green, who sprang instantly and pinned the amorous blackie to thebeach.
the dog pack stood as one to watch the fang-to-fang battle erupting in front of them.
green, enjoying the element of surprise, quickly gained the advantage by burying his teeth inblackie’s neck and shaking him violently. the green fur on his neck stood straight up as athunderous roar burst from his throat.
blackie, whose head was spinning from the attack, jerked backward to free his neck from hisattacker’s jaws, losing a chunk of flesh the size of a man’s palm. he stood up shakily, racked byspasms of pain and crazed with anger. he was seething over the perversely undoglike sneakattack by green. blackie barked furiously, lowered his head, and threw himself on green, aimingstraight for his chest, into which he sank his teeth, peeling away a huge flap of skin. greenimmediately went for blackie’s wounded neck, but this time, not content with merely biting, hewas actually devouring the torn flesh.
red got slowly to his feet and looked icily at green and blackie. blackie’s neck was nearlybroken. he raised his head, but it drooped back down. he raised it again, and again it drooped.
blood gushed from the wound. he was clearly finished. green arrogantly bared his fangs andbarked triumphantly. then he turned, and was eyeball to eyeball with the long, cruelly mockingface of red. green shuddered. without warning, red pounced on green, using his favourite trickto flip the wounded dog over on his back, and before green could scramble to his feet, red hadburied his teeth into his chest and was pulling on the ripped flap of skin. with a powerful jerk ofhis head, he prised the skin loose, exposing the raw flesh beneath it. as green struggled to hisfeet, the loose flap of skin hung down between his legs and brushed the ground. his whimpersignalled the knowledge that it was all over for him. red walked up and drove his shoulder intohis barely standing victim, sending him tumbling to the ground, and before he could struggle tohis feet, he was swarmed over by a dense pack of dogs, whose fangs quickly turned him into abloody pulp.
now that red had defeated his most powerful opponent, his tail shot up as he roared at thebattered and bloodied blackie, who barked pitifully, his tail tucked between his legs. he lookedup at red with despairing eyes, silently begging for mercy. but the other dogs, eager to bring thebattle to an end, rushed forward, forcing blackie to make a suicidal leap into the river. his headbobbed into sight once or twice before he sank beneath the surface. a few gurgling bubbles rosefrom the depths.
the dogs formed a circle around red, bared their teeth, and let forth celebratory howls at thebleached sun hanging in the sky on this rare clear day.
the sudden disappearance of the dog pack made father and the others nervous and introducedchaos into their lives. a heavy autumn rain struck all living things with a monotonous sound. thehunters had lost the stimulus of battling the mad dogs and had turned into addicts in need of a fix:
their noses ran, they yawned, they nodded off.
on the morning of the fourth day after the disappearance of the dog pack, father and the otherslazily took up their positions at the edge of the marshland, watching the swirling mist andsmelling the stench of the land.
by then gimpy had handed over his rifle and disappeared to a distant village to help his cousinrun an eatery. since blind eye could not function alone, he stayed back in the tent, company formy ailing granddad. that left only father, mother, wang guang, and dezhi.
‘douguan,’ mother said, ‘the dogs won’t come back. they’re scared of the grenades.’ shegazed wistfully at the three dog paths, shrouded in mystery, more eager than the others to havethe dogs return. all her intelligence had telescoped into the forty-three wooden-handled grenadesburied in the paths.
‘wang guang,’ father ordered, ‘make another reconnaissance!’
‘i just made one yesterday. there was a fight east of the bridge. green’s dead. they must havesplit up,’ wang guang complained. ‘i say, instead of wasting our time here, we should go join upwith the jiao-gao forces.’
‘no,’ father insisted, ‘they’ll be back. they’re not going to pass up a feast like this.’
‘there are corpses everywhere these days,’ wang guang argued. ‘those dogs aren’t stupidenough to come looking for a meal of exploding hand grenades.’
‘it’s the number of corpses here,’ father said. ‘they can’t bear to leave them.’
‘if we’re going to join up with anybody, let’s make it pocky leng’s troops. those greyuniforms and leather belts are really impressive.’
‘look over there!’ mother said.
they crouched and watched the dog path where mother was pointing. the sorghum stalks,pelted by sheets of glistening raindrops, were trembling. everywhere you looked there weretightly woven clumps of delicate yellow shoots and seedlings that had sprouted out of season.
the air reeked with the odour of young seedlings, rotting sorghum, decaying corpses, anddogshit. the world facing father and the others was filled with terror, filth, and evil.
‘here they come!’ father said, betraying his excitement.
the sorghum canopy rustled. the grenades hadn’t gone off.
‘douguan,’ mother said anxiously, ‘something’s wrong!’
‘don’t panic,’ he said, ‘they’ll set them off any minute.’
‘why not scatter them with our rifles?’ dezhi asked.
too impatient to wait, mother fired off a round, causing a momentary confusion in thesorghum field, which was immediately engulfed by exploding grenades. severed sorghum stalksand dog limbs flew into the sky; the painful whimpers of wounded dogs hung in the air. moreexplosions sent shrapnel and debris whistling over the heads of father and his friends.
finally, a couple of dozen dogs emerged from the three paths, only to be met by gunfire thatsent them scurrying back into the protection of the sorghum. more explosions.
mother leaped into the air and clapped her hands.
she and her friends were unaware of the changes in the canine forces. the shrewd red, nowundisputed leader, had led his troops dozens of li away for a thorough reorganisation, and thislatest attack demonstrated a grasp of military strategy with which even humans, given all theirintelligence, could have found no fault. his enemy consisted of a few strange yet cannyyoungsters, including one who seemed vaguely familiar. not until he’d disposed of those littlebastards would his pack be free to enjoy the feast set out in the marshland. so he sent a pointy-eared mongrel to lead half the dogs in a frontal charge from which there would be no retreat.
meanwhile, he led sixty others in a flanking manoeuvre to the rear of the marshland, from wherethey could launch a surprise attack and tear those little bastards, who had blood on their hands, topieces. just before setting out, red, whose tail curled into the air, had brushed his cold nose upagainst the similarly cold noses of each of his troops, then had gnawed at the dried-mud clodsstuck to his claws. the others had done the same.
he had completed his flanking manoeuvre, and had his eyes on those wildly gesturing littlepeople, when he heard the explosions of the hand grenades. the sound struck terror in his heartand, as he immediately observed, threw his troops into a panic. the dogs were terrified, and heknew that if he shrank back now his army would be routed. so he bared his fangs and let loose ablood-curdling cry to the confused troops behind him. then he turned and charged into father’sencampment, his troops on his tail, like a sleek, colourful, ground-hugging cloud.
‘dogs behind us!’ father shouted in alarm as he swung his rifle around and blew away one ofthe attackers without taking aim. the dog, a big brown beast, thudded to the ground, then wastrampled as the rest of the animals charged.
wang guang and dezhi were firing as fast as they could, but for every dog that fell, severalmoved up to take its place. the dogs’ misanthropy had now climaxed; their teeth glinted andtheir eyes shone like ripe red cherries. wang guang threw down his weapon, turned, and ran intothe marshland, where he was immediately surrounded by a dozen dogs. in an instant the littlefellow simply vanished. the animals, used to feeding on human beings, had become true wildbeasts, quick and skilful in their craft. they tore chunks out of wang guang and were soongnawing on his brittle bones.
father, mother, and dezhi stood back to back, so terrified they were shaking like leaves.
mother wet her pants. what began as a calm attack during which they picked off the dogs from adistance evaporated when red’s troops surrounded them. they kept firing, killing and woundingdogs until their ammunition was exhausted. father’s bayonet, which glinted menacingly in thesun, posed a serious threat to the dogs; but mother’s and dezhi’s carbines had no bayonets, sothe circling dogs concentrated on them. three backs were nearly fused together. they could feelone another shaking in fright. ‘douguan,’ mother murmured, ‘douguan?.?.?.’
‘don’t be scared,’ father demanded. ‘scream as loud as you can. try to get my dad to come toour rescue.’
seeing that father was in charge, red glared contemptuously at the bayonet out of the cornerof his eye.
‘dad – help, save us!’ father screamed.
‘uncle – hurry!’ mother cried at the top of her lungs.
a few of the dogs tried to mount an assault but were beaten back. mother rammed the barrel ofher rifle into a charging dog’s mouth, knocking out two of its teeth. another one recklesslycharged father, whose bayonet sliced open its face. while his troops charged and fell back, redcrouched on the perimeter, his eyes riveted on father.
the standoff continued for about as long as it takes to smoke a couple of pipefuls. father’s legswere getting rubbery, and he could barely lift his arms. he screamed again for granddad to comeand save them. mother was pressed so tightly to him that he felt as though his back were upagainst a wall.
‘douguan,’ whispered dezhi, ‘i’ll draw them away so you two can escape.’
‘no!’ father said emphatically.
‘here i go!’
he burst out of the encampment and ran like the wind towards the sorghum field, with dozensof dogs on his heels. they quickly caught him and began tearing him to shreds. but father didn’tdare watch dezhi’s agonies, for red continued to stare at him without blinking.
two japanese grenades exploded in the sorghum field where dezhi had fled. bent by theconcussion, the stalks emitted a sigh that made the skin on father’s cheeks crawl. first thesounds of broken canine bodies crashing to the ground, then the pitiful wails of dogs wounded inthe blasts frightened the ones circling father and mother. they backed off, giving mother thechance she needed to take out a muskmelon grenade and lob it into their midst. they watched thescary black object arch toward them, then let out a howl before scattering in panic. but thegrenade fell harmlessly to the ground – she had forgotten to pull the pin. all the dogs fled, allexcept red. when he saw father turn to look at mother, he sprang like lightning; the silvery raysof the sun struck this leader of dogs, his body forming a beautiful arc in the sky. instinctivelyfather fell back, as red’s claws slashed across his face.
the initial assault had failed, although a piece of skin the size of father’s mouth had beenripped from his cheek, which was immediately covered with sticky blood. red charged again,and this time father raised his rifle to ward him off. forcing the barrel of the rifle upward with hisfront paws, red lowered his head to avoid the bayonet and lunged at father’s chest. fatherspotted the clump of white fur on red’s belly and aimed a kick, just as mother fell forward andknocked him flat on his back. spotting his opportunity, red fell on father and shrewdly sank histeeth in his crotch at the very moment that mother brought the butt of her rifle crashing down onhis bony skull. momentarily stunned, he backed up a few steps, then sprang forward in anotherattack. he was maybe three feet in the air when his head suddenly slumped forward as a shotrang out. one of his eyes was smashed. father and mother looked up to see a spindly, hunched-over, white-haired old man, holding a scorched-looking wooden staff in his left hand and asmoking japanese pistol in his right – it was granddad.
he took a few faltering steps forward and cracked red over the head with his staff. ‘rebelbastard!’ he cursed. red’s heart was still beating, his lungs were still heaving, his powerful hindlegs were scratching two deep furrows in the black earth. his rich, beautiful red fur blazed like amillion tongues of flame.
