four sorghum funeral

1

in the cruel fourth lunar month, frogs lay their transparent eggs in the black water river underradiant starlight. then, in the sweltering heat of the sun, swarms of inky- black, squirmingtadpoles emerge into the warmth of water that looks like freshly extracted bean oil to form inky-black schools that swim with the slowly flowing river. dog-turd reeds grow in profusion on thebanks; wild mustard flowers so red they seem purple bloom furiously amid the water grasses.

it was a good day for birds. clay-coloured larks covered with white dots soared in the highsky, filling the air with shrill cries. glossy swallows skimmed the mirror-like surface of the river.

the dark, rich soil of northeast gaomi township revolved ponderously beneath the birds’ wings.

hot winds from the west rolled across the land, and murky dust clouds attacked the jiao-pinghighway.

it was also a good day for grandma. granddad, who had joined the iron society, eventuallyreplacing black eye as its leader, was about to fulfill his promise to give her a proper funeral,now that nearly two years had passed. news of the impending ceremony had spread a monthearlier among the villages of northeast gaomi township. the eighth day of the fourth lunarmonth had been chosen. by noon of the seventh day, donkey carts and ox carts began arriving,carrying common folk from far away, including wives and children. hawkers and peddlars had afield day. on the streets and in the shade of trees at the head of the village, dumpling peddlars setup their earthen stoves, flatcake vendors heated their pots, and cold-bean-noodle stands withwhite canvas awnings were thrown up. grey hair and ruddy cheeks, men, women, boys, andgirls, seemed to fill every inch of space in our village.

by the spring of 1941, the leng detachment and the jiao-gao regiment had worn each otherdown with their frequent clashes, and had been further harassed by the systematic kidnappings bygranddad’s iron society and an annihilation campaign by the japanese and their chinese puppettroops. the leng detachment apparently had fled to the three rivers mountain region ofchangyi to rest and build up their strength, while the jiao-gao regiment hid out in the greatmarshy mountain region of pingdu county to lick its wounds. the iron society, under theleadership of granddad and his erstwhile romantic rival, had grown, in a little over a year, into aforce of over two hundred rifles and fifty or more fine horses; but their movements were sosecretive and so shrouded in religious superstition that the japanese and their puppets seemed totake no notice of them.

in national terms, 1941 witnessed the cruellest stage of the war of resistance against japan; thepeople of northeast gaomi township, however, enjoyed a brief respite of peace and quiet. thesurvivors planted a new crop on top of last year’s rotting sorghum. the seeds were barely in theground when a light but adequate rain fell to soak the thirsty earth. then the radiant sun tookover, and, seemingly overnight, tender shoots covered the ground. drops of fragrant dew wereimpaled on the tips of delicate red shoots. grandma’s funeral fell on a day of rest for the farmers.

on the evening of the seventh, the area around the village walls was packed with people, whiledozens of wagons, their donkeys and oxen tethered to trees and axles, were lined up on the dustystreet. the setting sun shone on the glossy spring hides of livestock and turned immature leavesblood-red, their shadows ancient coins stamped on the animals’ backs.

as the sun fell behind the mountain, an herbal physician rode his mule into the village fromthe west. clumps of bristly hairs emerged from the blackness of his nostrils; his scalp andforehead were covered by a tattered felt cap, out of place on this late-spring day, and a sombreglare radiated from beneath his slanting eyebrows.

the physician and his scrawny mule swaggered past the marketplace, drawing curious stares.

the melodious tinkle of a little brass bell in his hand produced an air of unfathomable mystery,and the people fell in behind him instinctively, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on the foul-smelling back of the sweaty mule and on the physician’s greasy face. his eyes blinkedconstantly, and he sneezed with a loud, tinny sound, as his mule released a string of farts. thatbroke the spell. the people laughed and drifted off to find a spot to set up camp for the night.

a new moon covered the village with hazy shadows. cool breezes swept in from the fields,and the croaking frogs in the black water river filled the air; more visitors arrived for thefuneral, but there was no room in the village, so they slept in the fields.

the physician took a tour on his mule around the tent set up by granddad’s iron society. atowering, intimidating presence, it was the largest structure ever seen in our village. grandma’sbier rested in the centre of the tent, through whose seams filtered the light of many candles. twoiron society soldiers with pistols in their belts stood guard at the entrance, their shiny headsshaved back from their foreheads, a sight that instilled fear in whoever saw them. all twohundred soldiers were quartered in satellite tents, while their fifty or more sturdy mounts weretethered to the crotches of willow trunks in front of a long feeding trough. the horses snorted,pawed the ground, and swished their tails to drive off hordes of horseflies. grooms dumped drymash into the trough, saturating the air under the trees with the redolence of parched sorghum.

the aroma caught the attention of the physician’s scrawny mule, which strained toward thetrough. following his mount’s pitiful gaze, he said, as much to himself as to his mule, ‘hungry?

listen to me. rivals and lovers are destined to meet. men die over riches, birds perish over food.

the young must not scoff at the old, for flowers don’t bloom forever. one must know when toyield to others. no sign of weakness, it will work to one’s later advantage.?.?.?.’

the physician’s crazy ramblings and furtive behaviour caught the attention of two iron societysoldiers, disguised as common folk, who fell in behind him as he led his animal towards thehorses. they quickly blocked his way, one in front and one in back, pistols in hand.

showing no sign of fear, he merely split the darkness with a sad, shrill laugh that made thesoldiers’ hands tremble. the one in front saw the physician’s smouldering eyes, the one behindsaw the back of his neck stiffen when he laughed. the heavy silence was broken by the whinniesof two horses fighting over food in the trough.

the central tent was lit up by twenty-four tall red candles that flickered uneasily, casting afearful light on the objects inside. grandma’s scarlet bier was surrounded by snow pines andsnow willows made of paper; beside it stood two papier-m?ché figures – a boy in green on theleft, a girl in red on the right – crafted by baoen, the township’s famous funeral artisan, fromsorghum stalks and coloured paper.

on grandma’s host tablet behind the coffin was an inscription:

for the spirit of my departed mother, surnamed dai.

offered by her filial son, yu douguan.

a drab brown incense-holder in front held smouldering yellow joss sticks, whose fragrant smokecurled into the air, the ash suspended above the scarlet flames of the candles. father had shavedthe front of his scalp to show that he, too, was a member of the iron society. granddad, alsoshaved, sat behind a table next to black eye, the society leader, watching the jiao county funeralmaster instruct my father in the three prostrations, six bows, and nine kowtows. as the funeralmaster droned on with infinite patience, father started getting fidgety, and went through themotions, cutting corners whenever he could.

‘douguan,’ granddad said sternly, ‘stop clowning around! do your filial duties, no matter howunpleasant they may be!’

the iron society, which spent an enormous sum of money on my grandma’s funeral, financedits activities in northeast gaomi township after the departure of the leng detachment and thejiao- gao regiment by issuing its own currency, in denominations of one thousand and tenthousand yuan, printed on coarse straw paper. the designs were very simple (a strange humanoidastride a tiger), the printing haphazard at best (using printing blocks carved for holiday posters).

at the time no fewer than four separate currencies circulated in northeast gaomi, their strengthand fluctuating value determined by the power of the issuing authority. currency backed bymilitary force constituted the greatest exploitation of the people, and granddad was able tofinance grandma’s funeral by relying on this sort of concealed tyranny. the jiao-gao regimentand the leng detachment had been squeezed out, so granddad’s coarse currency was very strongin northeast gaomi township for a while. but then the bottom dropped out, a few months aftergrandma’s funeral, and the tigermount currency wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.

the two iron society soldiers entered the funeral tent with the physician in tow; they blinkedin the bright candlelight.

‘what’s this all about?’ granddad snarled, rising from his seat.

one of the soldiers went down on his knee and covered the shaved part of his head with bothhands. ‘deputy commander, we’ve caught a spy!’

black eye, whose left eye was rimmed by dark moles, kicked the table leg and barked out anorder: ‘off with his head! then rip out his heart and liver and cook them to go with the wine!’

‘not so fast!’ granddad countermanded. he turned to black eye. ‘blackie, shouldn’t we findout who he is before we kill him?’

‘who the fuck cares who he is!’ black eye picked a clay teapot up off the table and threw it tothe ground. then he stood up, his pistol sticking out of his belt, and glared at the soldier who hadmade the report.

‘commander?.?.?.’ the soldier stammered fearfully.

‘i’ll fuck your living mother, zhu shun! “commander” means nothing to you, i see! you sonof a bitch, get out of my sight. you’re a fucking thorn in my eye!’ the ranting black eye lookeddown at the teapot on the ground and gave it a swift kick, sending shards of clay flying; some ofthem landed in the grove of graceful snow willows beside the coffin and made them rustle.

a boy about father’s age bent over, picked up the pieces of the teapot, and tossed them outsidethe tent.

‘fulai,’ granddad said to the boy, ‘put the commander to bed. he’s drunk!’

fulai stepped up and put his arms around black eye, who sent him reeling. ‘drunk? who’sdrunk? you ungrateful shit! i set up shop, and you eat free. a tiger kills its prey just so the bearcan eat it! you little shit, you won’t get away with throwing sand in my black eye! just wait!’

‘blackie,’ granddad said, ‘you don’t want to lay your prestige on the line in front of the men.’

his lips curled in a grim smile, and cruel wrinkles appeared at the corners of his mouth.

black eye rested his hand on the bakelite handle of his pistol. in a tired, strangely hoarse voicehe said, ‘get the fuck out of here! and take that little son of a bitch with you!’

‘it’s easy to invite the gods, hard to send them away,’ granddad said.

black eye drew his pistol and waved it in front of granddad, who held out his green ceramiccup, took a sip of wine, and swished it around in his mouth before leaning forward and spitting itin black eye’s face. then, with a flick of his wrist, he flung the cup at the muzzle of black eye’spistol; the cup shattered on impact, the pieces flying everywhere. black eye’s hand twitched, andthe muzzle of the pistol drooped.

‘put your gun away!’ granddad shouted in a steely voice. ‘i’m not finished with you yet,blackie, so don’t get smart with me!’

black eye’s face was bathed in sweat. he grumbled, picked up his pistol, stuck it in his leatherbelt, and sat down.

the mule-riding physician, who had watched the episode with a disdainful smile, suddenlystarted laughing so hard he could barely stand, so hard that hot tears streamed down his cheeks.

his behaviour made everyone squirm uncomfortably.

‘what’s so funny?’ black eye asked. ‘i’ll fuck your mother! i asked you, what’s so funny?’

the laughter stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and the physician said dryly, ‘fuck away, ifthat’s what you want. my mother’s been dead and buried in the black earth for ten years, andshe’s all yours!’

black eye was speechless. the moles around his eye turned the colour of fresh leaves.

leaping to his feet, he slapped the physician seven or eight times, sending trickles of blood out ofhis nostrils and down the bristly black hairs. the physician licked his lips greedily, his shinywhite teeth stained with blood.

‘how’d you get here?’ granddad asked him.

‘my mule!’ the physician replied, stretching his neck as though he were swallowing amouthful of blood. ‘what have you done with my mule?’

‘i guarantee you he’s a japanese spy!’ black eye said. ‘bring me a whip. i’ll teach the son of abitch something!’

‘my mule! give me back my mule! i want my mule.?.?.?.’ there was panic in the physician’svoice. he tried to run out of the tent, but was stopped by the guards. one of them punched him inthe temple. his head slumped forward, as though his neck had snapped like a sorghum stalk. hecrumpled to the ground.

‘search him!’ granddad ordered.

the iron society soldiers searched him thoroughly, but all they found was a couple of marbles,one bright green, the other bright red, each with a little cat’s-eye bubble in the centre. granddadheld them up to the candlelight to reflect the brilliant rays. they were beautiful. with a perplexedshake of his head, he set them on the table. father reached out and snatched them away.

‘give one to fulai,’ granddad told him.

reluctantly, father held them out to fulai, who was standing beside black eye. ‘which one doyou want?’

‘the red one.’

‘no,’ father said. ‘you can have the green one.’

‘i want the red one.’

‘the green one; take it or leave it.’ fulai grudgingly took the green one out of father’s hand.

as the physician’s neck gradually straightened, the ominous light in his eyes was as strong asever. his bloodstained, wispy beard bristled.

‘talk! are you a japanese spy or not?’ granddad asked him.

like a stubborn child, the physician picked up where he’d left off: ‘my mule, my mule! iwon’t say a word until you bring me my mule.’

granddad laughed mischievously, then said, ‘bring it over. let’s see what he’s trying to sell.’

the scrawny mule was led to the tent, where the dazzling candlelight, the shiny coffin, and thedark, forbidding paper figures so frightened it that it balked at the entrance and refused to takeanother step. the physician covered its eyes with his hands and led the animal inside. its skinnylegs shook, and a rat-tat-tat of loud farts was released towards grandma’s bier.

the physician threw his arms around the mule’s neck and patted its bony forehead. ‘scared,fellow?’ he asked tenderly. ‘don’t be. i’m telling you, don’t be scared. not even if they lop offyour head and leave a scar as big as a bowl! even if it’s the size of a basin, in twenty years you’llcome back as a real hero!’

‘okay, talk! who sent you? what are you here for?’ granddad asked him.

‘my dad’s ghost sent me here to sell my potion.’ he took his saddlebags off the mule’s back,removed a packet of patent medicine, and began to chant, ‘a dash of croton beans, two of bezoar,three of blister beetle, four of musk, seven onion whites, seven dates, seven grains of paper,seven slices of ginger.’

everyone’s mouth dropped in astonishment as they looked at the expression on the physician’sface. the mule, having grown used to its surroundings, began pawing the ground casually withits pale, cracked hooves.

‘what kind of potion?’ black eye asked.

‘fast-action abortion medicine,’ the physician said with a cunning smile. ‘even if you’re madeof bronze, iron, or steel, one packet of this medicine, taken in three portions, will drive the babyright out of you. money-back guarantee.’

‘you goddamned immoral bastard!’ black eye lashed out.

‘there’s more, there’s more!’ he reached into his saddlebags and held up another packet as hechanted, ‘a dog’s penis has the emperor, a goat’s penis has the minister. some rice wine andcrown-prince ginseng, the bark of eucommia, some chain fern and ursine seal, the tips of marchbamboo shoots as a base.’

‘what’s it good for?’ black eye asked.

‘impotence. whether you’re as wispy as a silkworm’s thread or as soft as fluffed cotton, onepacket, taken in three portions, and you’ll have a rod of steel that’ll get you through the night.

money-back guarantee.’

black eye rubbed his shiny forehead with his hand and smiled lewdly. ‘you’re a goddamnwild man engaged in inhuman business!’ he said, and asked to see the potion.

the physician handed black eye something that looked like a withered branch. he held itunder his nose and sniffed it. ‘you call this a goddamn dog’s penis?’

‘the genuine article, the penis of a black dog!’

‘old yu, take a look and tell me if this isn’t the dried root of an ordinary tree.’ black eyehanded it to granddad, who held it up to a candle and examined it through squinting eyes.

the physician suddenly began to quake, and his bristly chin twitched noticeably. fatherstopped playing with his marble, his heart racing as he watched the physician shrink in front ofhis eyes.

suddenly the physician thrust his left hand into his saddlebags and caught everyone by surpriseby spraying a packet of medicine in granddad’s face. something in his left hand flashed – agreen-tinted dagger. everyone stood stupefied as the physician, agile as a black cat, stabbed atgranddad’s throat. but granddad had leaped to his feet and instinctively covered his neck withhis arm, which took a long gash from the physician’s dagger. granddad kicked over the table,whipped out his pistol, and got off three quick shots. but since his eyes were stinging from themedicine powder, his shots went wild, one hitting the tent, another slamming into the heavilyvarnished coffin, and ricocheting out of the tent opening, the third shattering the mule’s rightforeleg. it brayed pitifully as a stream of white and red liquid spurted from its smashed kneecap.

tormented by pain, the mule crashed into the paper snow pines and snow willows, which rustledloudly as they crumpled and fell to the ground. the candles around the coffin were sent flying,their glowing wicks and hot wax quickly igniting the paper and straw and immersing grandma’smomentarily gloomy spirit table in a burst of radiance. the tinder-dry sides of the tent curledtowards the tongues of flame, as iron society soldiers came to life and converged on the tent.

amid the growing conflagration, the physician, whose skin shone like ancient bronze, rushedgranddad again with his dagger. black eye, the trace of a gloating smile on his lips, stood off tothe side but didn’t fire his pistol. father whipped out his luger, cocked it, and fired a singleround, striking the physician squarely in his right shoulder. his arm sagged, and the daggerdropped harmlessly onto the table. father cocked his pistol again and a fresh bullet entered thechamber. granddad shouted, ‘hold your fire!’

bang, bang, bang. black eye’s pistol barked three times, and the physician’s head explodedlike a hardboiled egg. granddad glared at black eye.

iron society soldiers swarmed into the tent, where the fire was raging. the mule, shrouded inflames, writhed on the ground.

a mad dash for the opening.

‘put out the fire!’ black eye screamed. ‘hurry! fifty million tigermount bills to whoever savesthe coffin!’

the spring rains had only recently passed, and the pond at the head of the village was filledwith water. together the iron society soldiers and common folk who had come for the funeralpushed the red billowing cloud of the burning tent to the ground, and put out the fire.

green smoke rose from the seared coffin. in the muted light of the dying flames, it seemed assturdy as ever. the curled body of the mule lay beside it, the stench of its scorched hide fillingthe air.