2the date for grandma’s funeral wasn’t changed in spite of the unforeseen events of the nightbefore. the old iron society groom bandaged granddad’s injury as best he could, while blackeye watched with a mocking look and recommended postponing the funeral. granddademphatically rejected the suggestion. he didn’t sleep a wink that night; he sat on a bench withoutmoving, his bloodshot eyes half open, his cold hand resting on the rough bakelite handle of hispistol, as though he were glued to the spot.
father lay on a grass mat and stared at granddad until he drifted off into a troubled sleep. hewoke before daybreak and cast a furtive glance at granddad, intransigent in the flickeringcandlelight. his arm was stained with the dark dried blood that had oozed out from under thebandage. not daring to say anything, father closed his eyes again until the five funeral musicianshired for the event ran up against the envious local musicians, and their battle of horns disruptedeveryone’s sleep. father’s nose began to ache; scalding tears flowed from his eyes and ran intohis ear. here i am, he was thinking, nearly sixteen already. i wonder if these turbulent days willever end. he looked at his father’s bloody shoulder and waxen face, and a feeling of desolationthat didn’t suit his tender years entered his heart.
a lone village rooster announced the coming day, and a predawn breeze carried the acrid smellof spring into the tent, where it caused the candles to flicker. the voices of early risers were nowdiscernible; warhorses tethered to nearby willows began pawing the ground and snorting; fathercurled up comfortably, and thought of beauty, who would one day be my mother, and the tall,robust woman liu, who should rightfully be considered my third grandma. they had disappearedthree months earlier, when father and granddad had gone for training with the iron society to aremote little outpost south of the railway tracks; when they returned, their huts were empty andtheir loved ones gone. the sheds they’d thrown up in the winter of 1939 were covered withcobwebs.
as soon as the red morning sun had made its entrance, the village came to life. food peddlarsraised their voices to attract customers, as the steamy, tantalising odours of buns in ovens, wontons in pots, and flatcakes in skillets began to waft through the air. a pockfaced peasant arguedwith a peddlar of buns, who refused to accept north sea currency; the peasant had none of theiron society’s tiger-mount currency. by then twenty of the little buns had already found theirway into the peasant’s stomach. ‘that’s all i’ve got,’ he said. ‘take it or leave it.’ the crowdurged the peddlar to accept the north sea currency, whose value would be restored as soon as thejiao-gao regiment fought its way back. he did, and moved on, raising his voice: ‘buns! meat-filled buns! fresh from the oven!’
the tent showed the effects of the raging fire of the night before. iron society soldiers haddragged the physician and his scrawny mule the fifty paces or so to the inlet, where the stench oftheir scorched bodies attracted scavenger birds. the area around grandma’s coffin had beenswept clean of torn canvas, and the occasional unbroken wineglass lying in the cinders had beensmashed by rakes. grandma’s coffin shone in the early-morning light, hideous and scary. thedeep-scarlet surface, once so sombre and mysterious, had been eaten away by flames, and thethick varnish had melted and split, leaving a maze of deep cracks. the coffin was so enormousthat, as my father stood at its sweeping head, it seemed like the tallest thing in the world, and hehad trouble breathing. he recalled how the coffin had been seized, and how its owner, an old manwho must have been at least a hundred and still wore his white hair in a little queue, had refusedto let go of the front edge:
‘this is my home.?.?.?. no one else can have it.?.?.?. i was a licentiate in the great qing dynasty,even the county magistrate called me “elder brother”.?.?.?. you’ll have to kill me first?.?.?. youpack of brigands.?.?.?.’ his tears had given way to curses.
granddad had stayed behind that day, sending a cavalry detachment under the command of histrusted lieutenant to confiscate the coffin. father tagged along. he had heard that this particularcoffin had been made in the first year of the republic from four pieces of cypress, four and a halfchinese inches thick. it had been varnished yearly ever since, thirty coats already. the ancientowner rolled on the ground in front of the coffin, and it was impossible to tell if he was laughingor crying. clearly he had lost his mind. the lieutenant tossed a bundle of iron society tiger-mount currency into his hands and said, ‘we pay for what we take, you old bastard!’ the oldman ripped open the bundle and began tearing at the bills with his few remaining teeth as hecursed: ‘you bunch of bandits, not even the emperor stole people’s coffins.?.?.?. you brigands?.?.?.’
‘you old bastard offspring of a stinking donkey!’ the cavalry-detachment commander shoutedback. ‘now, you listen to me. everybody has a role in the war of resistance against japan.
consider yourself lucky if they roll you up in sorghum leaves and dump you in the ground. howthe hell do you rate a coffin like this? this coffin is for a hero of the resistance!’ ‘what hero?’
‘the wife of commander yu, who is now in charge of the iron society, that’s who.’ ‘heaven andearth won’t allow it, they won’t allow it! no woman can sleep in my home.?.?.?. i’ll kill myselffirst.?.?.?.’ he ran towards the coffin and rammed his head straight into it, producing a hollowthud. father saw the scrawny neck bury itself in his chest and the flattened head sink into thespace between his bony shoulders.?.?.?. father could still see the tufts of white hair in the oldman’s nostrils and the wispy goatee on his chin, which jutted up like a gold ingot.
granddad made a sling out of black cloth for his injured right arm; his gaunt face was deeplyetched with exhaustion. the commander of the cavalry detachment walked over from the ring ofhorses and asked him something. father heard him answer, ‘five troubles, you don’t need to askmy permission. go ahead!’
granddad looked long and meaningfully into the eyes of five troubles, who nodded, turned,and walked back to the horses.
just then black eye emerged from one of the other sheds and stood in front of five troubles toblock his way. ‘what the hell are you up to?’ he asked angrily.
‘i’m posting sentries on horseback,’ five troubles said with a scowl.
‘i didn’t give the order!’
‘no, you didn’t.’
granddad walked up and said with a wry smile, ‘blackie, are you sure you want to take meon?’
‘do whatever you want,’ black eye said. ‘i was only asking.’
granddad patted his broad, round shoulder with his good hand and said, ‘you’ve got a role inthis funeral, too. we can settle our differences afterwards.’
black eye just shrugged the shoulder granddad had patted and screamed angrily at the peoplemilling around the village wall, ‘don’t stand so damned close! you women there, are you goingto wear sackcloth head coverings or not?’
five troubles took a brass whistle out of his shirt and blew it three times. fifty iron societysoldiers scrambled out of tents near the willow grove and ran up to their tethered horses, whichwhinnied with excitement. the men were crack soldiers and carried light, excellent weapons:
razor-sharp sabres in their hands and japanese rifles slung over their backs. five troubles andfour of his burliest men had russian submachine guns. they mounted, closed ranks, and formedtwo tight columns. the horses trotted out of the village towards the bridge at the black waterriver. the hair fringing their hooves quivered in the morning breeze; silver light flashed fromtheir glistening metal shoes. five troubles led on his powerful dappled colt. father watched thehorses gallop across the smooth black earth like a dark gathering cloud rolling off into thedistance.
the funeral master, dressed in a chinese robe and traditional overjacket, stood on a stool andshouted at the top of his lungs, ‘drum-and-bugle corps –’
a drum-and-bugle corps in black uniforms with red caps squeezed through the crowd and ranover to the six-foot-high roadside bandstands, built of wood and reeds. they took their positions.
the funeral master raised his voice: ‘ready –’
horns and woodwinds took up sound and the excited people crushed forward, craning theirnecks to get a good look. those behind pushed forward in waves, causing the rickety bandstandsto creak and sway. the frightened musicians broke ranks, screaming like demons, and the oxenand donkeys tied to nearby trees raised a noisy complaint.
‘what now, blackie?’ granddad asked courteously.
black eye shouted, ‘old three, bring out the troops!’
fifty or more iron society soldiers appeared at once. they prodded the crowd, by then out ofcontrol, with their rifles. it was impossible to calculate how many thousands of people hadconverged on the village to watch the funeral, but they simply overwhelmed the exhaustedsoldiers.
black eye whipped out his pistol and fired into the sky, then again, over the sea of blackheads. when the soldiers also began firing wildly into the sky, the front ranks of the surgingcrowd scurried backward, while those behind kept pushing forward, leaving straight up as theonly direction left for those caught in the middle; the crowd looked like a black inchworm inmotion. shrieking children were knocked to the ground. musicians plunged off the swayingbandstands, their screams merging with those of the people being trampled to create the mostpiercing scream in a whirlpool of chaotic screams. at least a dozen old and infirm people weretrampled to death in the stampede, and months later the rotting carcasses still drew flies.
the soldiers finally managed to quell the riot, and the hapless musicians returned to theirbandstands. realising the danger, most of the people headed to the outskirts to line the road tograndma’s gravesite and wait for the procession to pass. five troubles ordered his troops topatrol the road.
the badly shaken funeral master stood on his tall stool and shouted, ‘lesser canopy!’
two iron society soldiers with white sashes around their waists carried up a small, sky-bluecanopy, a yard tall, and rectangular, with a ridge down the middle and curled-up ends, like theheads of dragons. inlaid pieces of glass the colour of blood formed the crown.
‘host tablet, please!’ the funeral master shouted.
mother once told me that a host tablet is used for the ghost of the deceased. later on, i learnedthat the host tablet actually indicates the social status of the deceased at the time of the funeral,and has nothing to do with ghosts; its common name is ‘spirit tablet’. leading the procession,amid the flags of the honour guard, it provides testimony of status. grandma’s original host tablethad been burned to a cinder during the fire, and the black paint on the hurried replacement,carried by two handsome iron society soldiers, was still wet. the script read:
born on the morning of the ninth day of the sixth month in the thirty-second year of the great manchuemperor guangxu. died at midday on the ninth day of the eighth month in the twenty-eighth year of therepublic of china.
daughter of the dai family, first wife of yu zhan’ao, guerrilla commander from northeast gaomitownship, republic of china, and leader of the iron society. age at time of death: thirty-two. interred in theyang of white horse mountain and the yin of black water river.
grandma’s spirit tablet was draped with three feet of white bunting that lent it gracefulsolemnity. the iron society soldiers carefully placed it in the lesser canopy, then stood atattention beside the opening.
the funeral master shouted, ‘great canopy!’
the drum-and-bugle corps struck up the music as a stately procession of sixty-four ironsociety soldiers carried in the large scarlet canopy, on which blue crowns the size ofwatermelons had been inlaid. the buzzing of the onlookers stopped, until the only sounds in theair were the sad strains of the musicians’ pipes and flutes and the anguished wails of motherswhose children had been trampled in the riot.
a solitary, repulsive horsefly flitted around granddad’s injured arm, intent on getting at theclotted dark blood. it darted away when he swatted at it and flew around his head, buzzingangrily. the mournful sound of a brass gong seized his heart and called up a string of tangledmemories from the fleeting past.
he was only eighteen when he murdered the monk, an act that forced him to flee his home andwander the four corners of the earth. by the time he returned to northeast gaomi township at theage of twenty-two to become a bearer for the wedding and funeral service company, he hadendured all the torments of the society of man, and had suffered the humiliation of sweepingstreets in the red-and-black pants of a convict. with a heart as hard as fishbone and the physiqueof a gorilla, he had what it takes to become a formidable bandit. he carried with him always thehumiliation of being slapped in the home of the qi- family hanlin scholar, an incident thatoccurred in jiao city in 1920.
golden rays of blazing light shone down on the musicians in the tilted bandboxes, their cheeksbouncing like little balls as they tooted away, sweat dripping from their faces. people stood ontiptoe to watch the funeral, and the light from hundreds of pairs of eyes settled like anxiousmoonbeams over real people and papier- m?ché figurines inside the circle, over an ancient,resplendent culture, as well as a reactionary, backward way of thinking.
father was wearing thick white knee-length mourning clothes, tied at the waist by a length ofgrey hemp, and a square mourning hat covered the shaved part of his scalp. the sour odour ofsweat from the crowd and the smell of burned varnish from grandma’s coffin fouled the air andmade him weak-kneed. grandma’s pitted coffin had grown hideous beyond belief: it lay on theground, high at the front end and low at the rear, like a huge muddleheaded beast. father had thefeeling that at any moment it might stand up with a yawn and charge the black-massed crowds. inhis mind the black coffin began to billow like a cloud, and grandma’s remains, encased in thickwood and the dust of red bricks, seemed to form before his eyes. she had looked remarkablylifelike when granddad dug up her grassy mound beside the black water river and raked uplayer after layer of rotted sorghum stalks. just as he would never forget the sight of grandmalooking up at the bright-red sorghum as she lay dying, he would also never forget the sight of herface as it came into view in her grave.
he relived these spectacular experiences as he carried out his complicated filial obligations tothe deceased. the funeral master gave the order: ‘move the coffin.?.?.?.’
the sixty-four soldiers who had borne the great canopy rushed up to the coffin like bees.
‘heave!’ they shouted. it didn’t budge, as though it had taken root. granddad swatted the flyaway and stared at the men with scorn in his eyes. he signalled to the officer and said, ‘get somecotton ropes. without them you could struggle with the coffin until sunup and never get it intothe canopy!’ the officer stared at granddad with apprehension, but granddad averted his eyes,looking at the black water river, which cut a swath through the black plain.
two flagpoles, whose red paint had peeled off completely, stood in front of the qi family homein jiao city, the ancient, rotting wood standing as a symbol of the family’s status. the old man, ahanlin scholar in the latter years of the qing dynasty, was dead, and his sons and grandsons, whohad shared the good life with him, made elaborate funeral preparations. although everything wasready, they delayed their announcement of the date of interment. the coffin had been placed in abuilding at the rear of the vast family compound, and in order to move it out to the street theywould have to trundle it through seven narrow gates. the managers of a dozen wedding-and-funeral-service companies had come to look at the coffin and the lay of the land, and all had lefthanging their heads, even though the qi family had promised an astonishingly high fee.
then the news reached the northeast gaomi township wedding and funeral servicecompany. payment of five hundred silver dollars to move a coffin was tempting bait to granddadand his fellow bearers, and threw them into the confusion of a pining young woman who hasbeen given the eye by a handsome young lad.
they went to see the manager, second master cao, and swore they could put northeast gaomitownship on the map with this job, not to mention the five hundred in silver the company wouldmake. second master cao sat stiffly in his wooden armchair without so much as passing wind.
the only movement was in his cold, intelligent eyes, and the only sound was the gurgling of thewater pipe. ‘second master, it’s not for the money!’ granddad and the others argued. ‘a manonly lives once. don’t let the world look down on the people of northeast gaomi township!’ atthis point second master cao shifted his buttocks and slowly farted. ‘you men go and get somerest,’ he said. ‘if you botch the job and some of you are crushed to death, so what? but if youlose face for northeast gaomi township and ruin my business, that’s another matter altogether.
if you’re short of money, maybe i can help you out.’
with that, he closed his eyes. but the bearers began to clamour: ‘second master, don’t destroyour prestige while furthering the ambitions of others!’ second master cao replied, ‘don’tswallow a scythe if your stomach isn’t curved. you think earning that five hundred is going to beeasy? well, there are seven gates in the qi compound, through which you have to carry a coffinfilled with quicksilver! do you hear me? i said quicksilver! mull that over in your dog brains fora while, and figure out how much that coffin must weigh.’ he looked at his bearers out of thecorner of his eye, then snorted derisively. ‘go on, get out of here,’ he said. ‘let the true heroesearn the real money! as for you, well, little men leave little records. go out and earn your twentyor thirty yuan, and be happy to carry the paper-thin coffins of the poor!’
his comments went straight to the bearers’ hearts like poison arrows. granddad strode forwardbefore anyone else moved and said loudly, ‘second master cao, working for someone as stupidas you is goddamned suffocating! a dogshit soldier is one thing, but a dogshit general is another!
i quit!’
the hot-blooded bearers echoed his shouts. second master stood up, thumped granddad hardon the shoulder, and said with genuine feeling, ‘zhan’ao, now you’re a man! the seed ofnortheast gaomi township. the qi family got where it is by taking advantage of people like us,who earn their living as bearers. if you’ll work together and get that coffin out, the reputation ofnortheast gaomi township is assured. you can’t buy glory for any amount of money. but don’tforget that, as the descendants of a qing-dynasty hanlin scholar, they follow strict decorum. thiswon’t be easy. if you can’t sleep tonight, stay up and figure out how you’re going to get throughthose seven gates.’
before the bearers had left the office, two strangers walked in and announced that they werestewards from the hanlin scholar’s home, come to enlist the services of the northeast gaomitownship bearers.
once they had stated their purpose, second master cao asked listlessly, ‘how much will youpay?’
‘five hundred in silver! you won’t see a fee like that many times in your life!’
second master cao tossed his silver water pipe onto the table and sneered. ‘first of all,’ hesaid, ‘we have all the business we need, and second, we’ve got money to burn. maybe you’dbetter go find someone else.’
the qi family stewards smiled knowingly. ‘proprietor,’ one of them said, ‘we are allbusinessmen!’
‘yes,’ second master cao replied, ‘we are. and you will have no trouble finding someone todo the job for that fee.’
he closed his eyes sleepily.
a quick look passed between the two stewards. the one in front spoke up. ‘proprietor, let’snot beat around the bush. name your price!’
‘i’m not about to risk the lives of my men for a few silver dollars,’ second master cao replied.
‘six hundred!’ the steward said. ‘in silver!’
second master cao sat there like a stone.
‘seven hundred! seven hundred silver dollars! in business you have to deal in goodconscience, proprietor.’
second master cao’s lips curled.
‘eight hundred, then, and that’s our final offer!’
second master cao’s eyes snapped open. ‘one thousand!’ he said flatly.
the steward’s cheeks puffed out like those of a man with impacted wisdom teeth. he stared atthe harsh, unyielding expression on second master cao’s face.
‘proprietor?.?.?. we don’t have the authority.?.?.?.’
‘then go back and tell your boss. one thousand. we won’t do it for less.’
‘all right. you’ll have your answer tomorrow.’
the steward rode up from the county town on a lathered horse with purple mane the followingmorning. the date was settled, and a deposit of five hundred silver dollars handed over, theremainder payable when the coffin had been successfully moved.
sixty-four bearers rose well before sunrise on the day of the funeral, ate a hearty breakfast, andset out for jiao city, stepping on starlight. second master cao brought up the rear on his blackdonkey.
granddad recalled that the sky that day was dotted with morning stars. the dew was icy, andthe steel hook he’d tucked into his waistband kept thumping against his hip bone. dawn hadbroken when they reached town, and the streets were already packed with people who had turnedout to watch the funeral. when granddad and the others heard whispers from the crowd, theyraised their heads and thrust out their chests, wanting to leave a gallant impression. deep down,however, they were worried.
the qi compound sported a row of tile-roofed buildings half a block in length. granddad andthe other men followed the family servants through three gates into a garden filled with snowtrees and silver flowers, the ground covered with paper money, and the smoke of incense allaround. few families could match that kind of grandeur.
the steward walked up to second master cao in the company of the head of the household, aman of about fifty with a tiny hooked nose high above a broad mouth on a gaunt face. he glancedat the team of men and, with a nod to second master cao, said, ‘a thousand silver dollarsrequires an appropriate amount of decorum.’
second master cao returned his nod and followed him through the final gate.
when he emerged from the house, his shiny face had turned ashen and his long-nailed fingerstrembled. he called the bearers over to the wall and said with a gnashing of his teeth, ‘we’ve hadit, boys!’
‘what’s the problem, second master?’ granddad asked him.
‘men, the coffin’s as wide as the door, and on top of it there’s a bowl filled to the brim withwine. he says he’ll penalise us a hundred silver dollars for every drop we spill!’
they were speechless. the wails of mourners inside the funeral chamber floated on the air likea song.
‘what should we do, zhan’ao?’ second master cao asked.
‘this is no time for the chickenhearted,’ granddad replied. ‘we’ll carry the thing out even ifit’s filled with iron balls.’
‘okay, men,’ second master cao said in a low voice, ‘let’s go. if you get it out, you’re like myown sons. the thousand-dollar fee is all yours. i don’t want any of it!’
‘no more of that kind of talk!’ granddad said with a quick glance at him.
‘then let’s get ready,’ second master cao said. ‘zhan’ao, sikui, you two man the cable, onein front and one behind. i want twenty of you other men inside, and as soon as the coffin is off theground, slip under it and prop it on your backs. the rest of you stay out here and move in rhythmas i beat the gong. and men, cao the second is in your debt!’ second master cao, normally thetyrant, bowed deeply this time.
the head of the qi household walked up with a retinue of servants and said, ‘not so fast. weneed to search you first.’
‘what sort of decorum is that?’ second master cao shot back angrily.
‘the decorum of one thousand silver dollars!’ the head of the household replied haughtily.
the qi family servants removed the steel hooks the men had hidden in their waistbands andtossed them to the ground.
okay! granddad thought. anybody can lift a coffin by using steel hooks. a stirring emotion,like that of a fearless man on the way to his execution, surged into his heart. after cinching hispant cuffs and waistband as tight as he could, he took a deep breath and entered the funeralchamber. the mourners – boys and girls – stopped wailing and stared wide-eyed at the bearers,then at the bowl of wine on top of the coffin. the smoky air was nearly suffocating, and the facesof the living were like hideous floating masks. the ebony coffin of the old hanlin scholar restedon four stools like a huge boat in drydock.
granddad uncoiled a thick hempen cable and ran it under the coffin from end to end. the tipswere finished with loops of twisted white cotton. the other bearers strung thick, water-soakedcotton ropes under the cable and held on to the ends.
second master cao raised his gong. the sound split the air. granddad squatted down at thehead of the coffin, the most dangerous, the heaviest, the most glorious spot of all. the thickcotton rope pulled hard against his neck and shoulders, and he realised how heavy the coffin wasbefore he’d even straightened up.
second master cao banged his gong three more times. a shout of ‘heave!’ cleaved the air.
granddad took a deep breath and held it, sending all his energy and strength down to hisknees. he dimly heard second master cao’s command; dazed though he was, he forced thestrength concentrated in his knees to burst forth, fantasising that the coffin containing the corpseof the hanlin scholar had begun to levitate and float atop the curling incense smoke like a ship onthe ocean. the fantasy was shattered by the pressure of the brick floor on his buttocks and sharppains up and down his backbone.
the enormous coffin remained anchored in place like a tree with deep roots. second mastercao nearly fainted when he saw his bearers crumple to the floor like sparrows that had smashedinto windows. he knew they were finished. the curtain had come crashing down on this drama!
there was the vigorous, energetic yu zhan’ao, sitting on the floor like an old woman holding adead infant. there was no mistaking it now: the drama had ended in complete failure.
granddad imagined the mocking laughter of the hanlin scholar in his tomb of shiftingquicksilver.
‘men,’ second master cao said, ‘you have to carry it out?.?.?. not for my sake?.?.?. for northeastgaomi township.?.?.?.’
bong! bong! this time the sound of the gong nearly tore granddad’s heart to shreds.
squeezing his eyes shut, he began raising himself up, crazily, suicidally (amid the chaos oflifting the coffin, second master cao saw the bearer called little rooster quickly thrust his lipsinto the bowl on top of the coffin and take a big gulp of wine). with a tremor, the coffin rose upoff the stools. the deathly stillness of the room was broken only by the cracking of human joints.
granddad had no way of knowing that his face was as pale as death. all he knew was that thethick cotton rope was strangling him, that his neck was about to snap, and that his vertebrae werecompressed until they must have looked like flattened hawthorns. when he found he was unableto straighten up, it took only a split second for despair to undermine his resolve, and his kneesbegan to buckle like molten steel. the quicksilver shifted, causing the head of the coffin to pressdown even harder on him. the bowl on top sloped to one side, the colourless wine insidetouching the rim and threatening to overflow. members of the qi family stared at it wide-eyed.
second master cao gave granddad a vicious slap.
granddad would later recall that the slap had set his ears ringing, and that all feeling in hiswaist, legs, shoulders, and neck seemed to be squeezed out of his consciousness, as thoughclaimed by some unknown spirit. a curtain of black gauze fell in front of his eyes, and hestraightened up, raising the coffin more than three feet off the ground. six bearers immediatelyslipped under the coffin on all fours and supported it on their backs. granddad finally released amouthful of sticky breath. the breath that followed seemed to him warm and gentle as it roseslowly and passed through his throat.?.?.?.
the coffin was lugged past all seven gates and placed in a bright-blue great canopy.
as soon as the thick white cloth rope fell from granddad’s back, he forced his mouth open,and streams of scarlet blood spurted from his mouth and nostrils.?.?.?.
