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early-morning gunfire beyond the village startled second grandma out of a dream in whichshe was fighting grandma tooth and nail. she sat up, her heart thumping wildly, and, try as shemight, she couldn’t decide if the noise had just been part of the dream. the window was coatedwith pale morning sunlight; a grotesque pattern of frost had formed on the pane. shuddering fromthe cold, she tilted her head so she could see her daughter, my aunt, who was lying beside her,snoring peacefully. the sweet, even breathing of the five- year- old girl soothed secondgrandma’s fears. maybe it was only old geng shooting at wild game, a mountain lion orsomething, she consoled herself. she had no way of knowing how accurate her prediction was,nor could she have known that while she was sliding back under the covers the tips of japanesebayonets were jabbing old geng’s ribs.
little auntie rolled over and nestled up against second grandma, who wrapped her armsaround her until she could feel the little girl’s warm breath against her chest. eight years hadpassed since grandma had kicked her out of the house. during that time, granddad had beentricked into going to the jinan police station, where he nearly lost his life. but he managed toescape and make his way home, where grandma had taken father to live with black eye, theleader of the iron society.
when granddad fought black eye to a standstill at the salty water river, he touchedgrandma so deeply she followed him home, where they ran the distillery with renewed vitality.
granddad put his rifle away, bringing his bandit days to an end, and began life as a wealthypeasant, at least for the next few years. they were troubling years, thanks to the rivalry betweengrandma and second grandma. in the end, they reached a ‘tripartite agreement’ in whichgranddad would spend ten days with grandma, then ten days with second grandma – ten dayswas the absolute limit. he stuck to his bargain, since neither woman was an economy lantern,someone to be taken lightly.
second grandma was enjoying the sweetness of her sorrows as she hugged little auntie. shewas three months pregnant. a period of increased tenderness, pregnancy is a time of weaknessduring which women need attention and protection, and second grandma was no exception.
counting the days on her fingers, she longed for granddad. he would be there tomorrow.
another crisp gunshot sounded outside the village, and second grandma scrambled out of bed.
she, too, had heard rumours that the japanese would be coming to sack the village, and she wasunable to drive away the dark premonition of impending doom. she’d willingly go home withgranddad, even if it meant putting up with grandma’s abuse, for it couldn’t be worse than livingin saltwater gap in constant dread. but granddad had flatly refused, most likely, i believe,because by then he was cowed by the irreconcilable differences between the two women. hewould come to regret this decision, for on the following morning he stood in a yard bathed by thewarm rays of the late-october sun and gazed upon the tragic consequences of his mistake.
little auntie, awake by now, let out an affected yawn, her eyes shining like small bronzebuttons; then she sighed, just as if she were a grown-up. that frightened second grandma, whosepower of speech momentarily deserted her.
‘help me get dressed, mommy,’ little auntie said.
as second grandma picked up little auntie’s padded red jacket, she looked with unconcealedsurprise at her daughter, who didn’t have to be coaxed out of bed for a change. there werewrinkles on her face, her eyebrows sagged, and her mouth was drooping – suddenly she lookedlike a little old woman. poor second grandma’s heart constricted, and the red jacket felt as coldas ice. she called out little auntie’s pet name, her voice quivering like a frayed zither string:
‘xiangguan?.?.?. xiangguan?.?.?. wait a minute?.?.?. till mommy warms your jacket over thefire.?.?.?.’
‘that’s okay, mommy, you don’t have to warm it.’
unable to hold back her tears, and not having the courage to look into her daughter’s face, sheran to the stove as though fleeing for her life, and lit a fire to warm the jacket, heavy in her hands.
the straw crackled like gunfire and burned itself out as easily as it had caught fire, one stalk afteranother transformed into a cindery replica of its original shape.
little auntie’s loud breathing from the inner room brought her out of her daze. she carried thesteaming jacket inside, where little auntie was sitting up in bed, the deep purple of thecomforter contrasting sharply with her delicate white skin. second grandma draped the sleevesover little auntie’s slight shoulders as explosions rocked the village.
they seemed to be coming from beneath the ground: heavy, rumbling noises that shook thepaper window-coverings and sent sparrows scurrying into the air, wings flapping. the soundshad barely died out when another barrage followed, and screams and shouts erupted in thevillage. second grandma picked up little auntie and hugged her tightly, mother and daughtertrembling as one.
the shouts died out for a moment as a deathly still terror settled over the village, broken onlyby the dull tramping of feet and the occasional bark of a dog or the harsh crack of a rifle. then,all of a sudden, the village erupted tumultuously, like a river that has broken through its dikes,producing a cacophony of women’s shrill cries, children’s tortured wails, chickens’ loud cacklesas they flew up into trees and onto the village wall, and the braying of mules straining at theirtethers.
second grandma bolted the front door and wedged two poles up against it, then climbed ontothe kang and huddled up against the wall to await the coming disaster. she longed desperately forgranddad, but she hated him, too. when he came tomorrow, she’d have a good cry in front ofhim, then give him hell. the village was immersed in a hail of gunfire, and women’s screamscame from all directions. second grandma knew only too well why they were screaming, for shehad heard that the japanese soldiers were like beasts who wouldn’t even spare seventy-year-oldwomen.
the smell of smoke and fire seeped into the room; she heard the crackling of flames,punctuated by the occasional shouts of men. she grew numb with fear when she heard apounding on her gate and frenzied gibberish. little auntie’s eyes widened for a moment, thenshe started to bawl, but second grandma clapped her hand over her mouth. the gate creaked andgroaned. second grandma jumped down off the kang and ran to the stove, scooped out twohandfuls of ashes, and smeared them over her face to make herself appear as ugly as possible.
she did the same to little auntie’s face. the gate was about to splinter under the assault, and hereyelids fluttered wildly. maybe they wouldn’t spare an old woman, but they’d surely let apregnant woman go, wouldn’t they? taking a bundle from the head of the bed, she undid herpants, stuffed it down the front, and retied her belt with a double knot. little auntie huddledagainst the wall, watching her mother’s strange behaviour.
the gate burst open, one of its broken panels crashing loudly to the ground. shutting thebedroom door, second grandma jumped up onto the kang and wrapped her arms tightly aroundlittle auntie. the japanese shouted as they battered down the front door with their rifle butts;flimsier than the gate, it splintered easily, and she heard the poles clatter to the floor. now thatthe japanese were inside, the last remaining obstacle was the paper-thin bedroom door. it wasonly a matter of whether or not they felt like breaking it down, whether or not they were drivenby a desire to seize their prey.
yet even then she trusted to luck; as long as the door was in place, the dangers would foreverremain only in rumours and in her imagination, never becoming a reality. she stared with weakanxiety at the door panels as she heard the heavy footsteps of the japanese and their urgentconversations. the panels were painted a deep red, the frame was coated with grey dust, and thewhite wooden bolt was spotted with dark-red stains – the blood of a black-mouthed weasel.
second grandma remembered how she’d beaten the animal with the wooden bolt and listened toits screeches as its head cracked open like a peanut shell; it rolled on the ground for a moment, itsbushy tail swishing back and forth across the powdery snow, before going into convulsions andheaving one final shudder. how she had despised that potent weasel!
on an autumn day in 1931, just as night was falling, she went out to the sorghum field to dig upsome bitter greens, and there, at the head of a weed-covered grave mound bathed in the blood-redrays of the setting sun, sat the weasel, its coat golden, its mouth as black as ink. she spotted itwhile she was squatting down relieving herself. it rested on its haunches, slowly twitching itspaws at her, and she reacted as though she’d been struck by lightning: a powerful spasm shot upher back, like a leaping snake. she fell forward, screaming like a madwoman. by the time she’dcome to her senses, the field was dark, and bright stars leaped through the black sky, restlessly,mysteriously. she felt her way out of the sorghum field, found the dirt path, and walked back tothe village. the fanciful image of the weasel, its golden coat emitting a lustrous sheen likewhiskers of grain, appeared and disappeared in front of her eyes, over and over, vivid and real. itwas all she could do to contain the screams ready to rip from her throat; some did in fact getloose – she heard them. but they weren’t human screams, and she was shocked and frightened bytheir sound.
second grandma’s deranged state lasted a long time, leading her fellow villagers to concludethat she’d been possessed by the weasel. she was convinced that it had absolute control over herin some deep, dark place. whatever it ordered her to do, she did: cry, laugh, speak in tongues,perform strange acts. whenever the lightning bolt hit her in the middle of her back, it was asthough she’d been split in two, and was struggling in a dark- red quagmire filled with theseductiveness of lust and death, sinking beneath the surface, then floating back to the top, only tosink once again. spotting a rope with which she could pull herself out of the quagmire of lust, shegrabbed it with both hands, but it too became part of the quagmire of desire, and she sankhelplessly beneath the surface again. always, the image of the potent, black-mouthed weaselswayed before her eyes, grinning hideously and whisking her vigorously with its tail; each timeits tail brushed against her skin, a shout of uncontrollable excitement burst from her mouth.
finally, the exhausted weasel walked off, and second grandma crumpled to the ground, spittledrooling from the corners of her mouth, her body lathered in sweat, her face the colour of goldfoil.
in order to free second grandma from her demon, granddad rode his mule to the market atcypress orchid to fetch the taoist exorcist mountain li, who lit incense and burned candles,then drew strange symbols on a piece of paper with a brush dipped in red ink, after which hemixed some dog blood with the incense ashes, pinched second grandma’s nose shut, and pouredthe concoction into her mouth. the stuff streamed down her throat and she cried, she tried toscream, she flailed her arms and legs, as the soulful essence oozed out through her pores.
her condition began to improve after that, and some time later the weasel came to steal achicken. while it was locked in a desperate struggle with a large yellow-legged, fiery-red rooster,one of its eyes was pecked out by its feathered adversary. it was writhing in agony in the snowwhen second grandma ran into the yard, stark-naked yet oblivious to the cold, holding the whitewooden bolt in her hands and bringing it down with all her might on the weasel’s shameless,pointed snout. having got her revenge, finally, she stood absently in the snow for quite a while,the bloody wooden bolt still in her hands. then she bent over and beat her mentor, the weasel, toa pulp. her madness spent, she turned and went back inside, carrying a residue of hatred withher.
as second grandma stared at the dried weasel blood on the white wooden bolt, she was suddenlygripped by a dormant and profoundly disturbing terror; she knew that her eyeballs were rollingwildly, and she heard a terrifying shriek erupt from her throat.
the flimsy door rocked only slightly before it came crashing open, and a golden- huedjapanese soldier, bayonet-tipped rifle in his hands, leaped nimbly into the room. in that shriekingsplit second, his ratlike features and crafty expression were transformed into the black-mouthedweasel that had died at her hands. his pointy chin, his black moustache above a pointy mouth,and his sly look were the spitting image of the weasel. from a hidden recess of secondgrandma’s memory, her derangement resurfaced, stronger and more violent than before. littleauntie, her ears still ringing from second grandma’s shriek, was scared witless by the sight ofher mother’s mouth distorted with hate on her ash-smeared face. straining with all her might, shebroke free of second grandma’s vicelike grip and jumped up onto the windowsill, where shestared at the six japanese soldiers – the first and the last that she would ever see.
light glinted off the bayonets as the japanese soldiers walked up to second grandma’s kangand stood shoulder to shoulder. to little auntie their weasely faces were like sorghum cakesright out of the pan: brown with dark-red edges, warm and beautiful, lovely and inviting. thoughshe was only slightly frightened by their bayonets, her mother’s face terrified her.
the japanese soldiers grinned, baring their teeth, some even, some bright. second grandma,torn between derangement and terror, stared at the soldiers’ ominous grins. she shrieked as shewrapped her arms tightly around her belly and pressed up against the wall. one of the soldiers,who must have been about five feet four and somewhere between thirty-five and forty years old,edged up to the kang, removed his cap, and scratched his balding scalp. in pidgin chinese hesaid, ‘you, pretty girl, no be scared.?.?.?.’ he leaned his rifle against the edge of the kang, thencrawled up clumsily, like a fat, squirming maggot. second grandma wished she could crawl intothe cracks of the wall.
the tears running down her cheeks formed ruts in the ashes on her face. the japanese soldier’sthick lips parted as he reached out with a coarse, fleshy finger and touched her face, making herskin crawl, as though a slimy toad had wriggled into the crotch of her pants. she shrieked louderthan ever, and the soldier grabbed her legs, pulling her towards him, banging her head loudlyagainst the wall. she lay there flat on her back with her belly sticking up like a little mound. thesoldier rubbed it with his hand, then, his eyes nearly bursting with anger, drove his fist down intoit, hard. then, pinning her legs with his knees, he reached down and undid his belt. by then shehad begun to fight back; struggling to a sitting position, she sank her teeth into his garlic-shootnose.
the japanese soldier let out a strange scream and released her belt. grabbing his bleedingnose, he glared at second grandma, as though seeing her in a new light. his buddies roared withlaughter as he pulled a grimy handkerchief out of his pocket and held it against his nose. hestood up, his expression swiftly transformed from that of a poet passionately declaiming hisundying love into the savage look of a jackal, which suited him better. he picked up his rifle andheld the glinting tip of his bayonet against second grandma’s belly. the final shriek burst fromher mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut.
little auntie, still perched on the windowsill, read no malicious intent in the cold soldier’sfleshy round face; in fact, she even tried to grab the curious light reflected off his bald head, andwas disgusted with second grandma for shrieking like a wild animal. but when she noticed thesudden change in his expression and saw him aim his bayonet at her mother’s belly, fear and anoverpowering sense of love flooded her heart. she jumped down from the windowsill and rushedup to second grandma.
the rat-faced, shrunken-cheeked japanese soldier who’d been the first into the room saidsomething to his fat comrade, then jumped up onto the kang and dragged him back down to thefloor, mocking him with laughter. still holding on to the rifle, he reached out his other bonyyellow hand and grabbed little auntie by the hair, tearing her violently from second grandma’sgrasp, as if he were yanking a carrot out of the hard ground. he flung her against the window,then back onto the kang. little auntie forced back the sobs in her throat as the colour drainedfrom her face. the form and spirit of that part of second grandma controlled by the loathsomefanciful image of the weasel was suddenly released, and she flung herself like a she-wolf at thejapanese soldier, who deftly met the charge by kicking her in the belly. although the force wasabsorbed by the bundle of clothes, the kick sent her reeling up against the thin connecting wall ofthe bedroom.
the sobs little auntie had been holding back suddenly burst forth, loud and resounding.
second grandma’s head quickly cleared, and the gaunt japanese soldier standing in front of herwas no longer linked to the phantasm of the weasel. his face was thin, the bridge of his nosehigh, sharp, and hooked, his eyes black and shiny; he looked like an articulate man of wideexperience and considerable learning, someone well read and clever. second grandma knelt onthe kang and pleaded in a sobbing voice: ‘mister?.?.?. honourable commander?.?.?. spare us?.?.?.
please spare us.?.?.?. don’t you have wives and daughters at home?.?.?. sisters?.?.?. ?’
the ratty pouches on the soldier’s cheeks twitched a couple of times beneath his black eyes.
although he couldn’t have understood second grandma’s tearful pleas, he seemed to know whatthey meant, for she saw his shoulders slump briefly in the din of little auntie’s wails. whensecond grandma glanced furtively at the other five japanese soldiers, their expressions were alldifferent; but she saw an oily-green, watery softness rolling gently beneath the hard crust ofmalevolence on their faces. trying hard to maintain their malicious mockery, they stared at theskinny soldier standing on the kang. he quickly looked away; second grandma just as quicklysought out his eyes. gnashing his teeth as though trying to control some deep emotion, he stuckthe tip of his glinting bayonet against little auntie’s open mouth.
‘you, drop your pants! you, drop your pants!’ he spoke chinese as though his tongue werepetrified.
at that moment second grandma began to crumple under the spell of the weasel again; shesaw the japanese soldier standing on her kang as a gentle, bookish man one instant and thespitting image of the black-mouthed weasel the next. she was racked by loud, spasmodic sobs.
the tip of the bayonet was nearly buried in little auntie’s mouth. a rush of concern for heryoung and a total disregard for her own well-being snapped her back to her senses. she quicklytook off her pants, her underpants, and her shirt, then lay back and said resolutely, ‘come on,come on and do it! but don’t touch my child! don’t you touch my child!’
the japanese soldier on the kang withdrew his bayonet and dropped his weary arms. secondgrandma lay there, her naked body the burnt, aromatic colour of fried sorghum. a radiant,almost magical ray of sunlight shone between her legs, as though illuminating an ancient,beautiful myth or legend, a fairy grotto, the kindly yet majestic eye of god. as the japanesegazed at the path through which all mankind must pass, at the same organ possessed by their ownloved ones, their eyes glazed over and their faces hardened, like six clay statues. secondgrandma waited for them, her mind a grey void.
i sometimes wonder if second grandma might have avoided being ravaged if it had only beenone japanese soldier facing her splendid naked body that day. i doubt it, for a sole virile beast inhuman form, freed of the need to act like a performing monkey, might have been even morefrenzied, shedding his handsomely embroidered uniform and pouncing on her like a wild animal.
under normal circumstances, it is the power of morality that keeps the beast in us hidden beneatha pretty exterior. a stable, peaceful society is the training ground for humanity, just as cagedanimals, removed from the violent unpredictability of the wild, are influenced by the behaviourof their captors in time. do you agree? yes? no? well, say it, yes or no? if i weren’t a manmyself, and if i were holding the sword of vengeance in my hand, i’d slaughter every last man onearth! if there had been just one japanese soldier facing second grandma’s naked body that day,maybe he would have thought of his mother or his wife, and left quietly. what do you think?
the six soldiers didn’t budge. they were gazing upon second grandma’s naked body asthough it were a sacrificial offering. none was willing to leave; none dared to. she layoutstretched like a huge dogfish baking under a blazing sun. little auntie’s voice was hoarsefrom all her crying, the sound growing weaker, the intervals longer. the once animated soldiershad been subdued by second grandma’s offering up of her body, her stretching out on the kanglike a loving mother in front of her sons, each of whom was thinking about the path he hadtravelled.
i believe that if second grandma had been able to hold out just a bit longer she might haveachieved victory. second grandma, why, after lying there like that, did you have to get up andstart putting your clothes back on? you had barely managed to stick one leg into your pants whenthe japanese soldiers began to get restless. the one you’d bitten on the nose threw down his rifleand climbed onto the kang, and as you looked at him in disgust, your derangement took over.
then the skinny jap who had found the way to subdue you jumped up and kicked his fat buddyaway, swinging his fists and growling at his buddies in a language you didn’t understand. then,before you knew it, he was on top of you, gasping like a rooster and breathing foul air into yourface.
the black-mouthed weasel flashed before your eyes, and once again you shrieked madly. butyou only stimulated the madness of the japanese soldiers; your shrieks were met by a concert ofshrieks from them.
it was the balding, middle-aged soldier who dragged the skinny one off you. then he pressedhis savage face up to yours, and you closed your eyes in revulsion. you thought you could feelyour three-month-old foetus writhing in your belly, and could hear the desperate screeches oflittle auntie, like a rusty knife being drawn across a whetstone. the balding jap chewed on yourface with his daggerlike teeth, as though he wanted to pay you back for biting his nose. your facewas covered with tears, fresh blood, and his thick, sticky slobber. hot red blood suddenly gushedfrom your mouth, and a vile stench filled your nostrils. the squirming foetus in your bellyproduced waves of liver-rending, lung-filling pain; every muscle, every nerve in your bodytensed and knotted up, like so many bowstrings. the foetus seemed to be burrowing into somedeep recess of your body to hide from a shame that could never be washed away. anger festeredin your heart, and when the japanese soldier’s greasy cheeks brushed up against your lips youmade a feeble attempt to bite his face. his skin was tough and rubbery and had a sour taste.
the last one to mount second grandma was a short young soldier. only shame showed on hisface, and his lovely eyes were filled with the panic of a hunted rabbit. his body smelled likeartemisia; the silvery glint of his teeth shone between trembling, fleshy red lips. second grandmafelt a rush of pity for him, as she recognised his tortured look of self-loathing and shame under athin layer of beaded sweat. he rubbed against her body at first, but then stopped and didn’t daremove any more. she felt his belt buckle press up against her belly and his body quake.
the soldiers around the kang roared with laughter and shouted derisively at this impotentyoung soldier. having got his second wind, the skinny one jumped up onto the kang, jerked theyoung soldier away roughly, and flaunted his own abilities without a trace of shame orembarrassment, making a grand display. second grandma felt dead below the neck. somethingyellow spun around in her brain, yellow and elliptical.
afterwards, way off in the distance, she heard little auntie let out a blood-curdling scream.
struggling to open her eyes, she could not believe what she saw. the young soldier with thelovely eyes stood on the kang and lifted little auntie on the point of his bayonet, swung her in acouple of arcs, then flung her away. like a huge bird flapping its wings, she sailed slowlythrough the air and landed on the floor next to the kang. her little red jacket fell open in thesunlight and began to spread out like a piece of soft, smooth red silk, gradually filling the roomwith undulating waves.
during her flight, little auntie’s arms froze in the air and her hair stood up like porcupinequills. the young japanese soldier, rifle in hand, wept clear blue tears.
second grandma screamed for all she was worth and strained to sit up. but her body was deadby then. a wave of yellow flashed before her eyes, followed by a green light. finally, she wasswallowed up by an inky-black tide.
swing your sabres at the heads of japs!
the sorghum is red, the japs come from the east.
trampling our soil and disgracing my second grandma.
patriotic brethren everywhere, the day of resistance is now!
