Big Breasts and Wide Hips (49 page)

That night, as a freezing rain fell, a shadowy figure climbed the wall into our yard. “Who's there?” Mother whispered. The man rushed up and knelt on the path. “Help me, Sister-in-law,” he said. “Is that you, Sima Ting?” “It's me,” he said. “Help me. They're going to hold a big assembly tomorrow and put me in front of a firing squad. We've been fellow villagers for all these years, and I'm asking you to save my life.” Mother opened the door, and Sima Ting slipped quickly inside. He was trembling in the darkness. “Can I have something to eat? I'm starving!” Mother handed him a flatcake, which he grabbed out of her hand and gobbled down. Mother sighed. “It's my brother's fault,” he said. “He and Lu Liren have become mortal enemies, even though we're all related.” “That's enough,” Mother said. “I don't want to hear any more. You can hide out here, but I am, after all, his mother-in-law.”

At last the mysterious VIP showed his face. He was seated in a tent, writing brush in hand. A large inkstone carved with a dragon and a phoenix lay on the table in front of him. He had a pointed chin and a long, narrow nose; he was wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses, behind which his tiny black eyes glistened. His fingers were long, thin, and ghostly pale, like the tentacles of an octopus.

The greater half of the Sima family's threshing floor was thronged with poor-peasant representatives from Northeast Gaomi Township's eighteen villages. They were ringed with sentries every four or five paces, members of the county and military district production teams. The VIP's eighteen bodyguards were lined up on the stage, faces hard as steel, murderous looks in their eyes, like the Eighteen Arhats of legend. Not a sound from the area below the stage, not even the crying of children old enough to know better. Those too young to know better had nipples stuffed in their mouths at the first whimper. We sat around Mother. In contrast with the anxious villagers sitting nearby, she was surprisingly calm, absorbed in strips of hemp lying on her exposed calf, which she twisted into shoe soles. The white strips rustled as they turned on one leg and merged into identical strands of twisted rope on the other. That day a freezing northeast wind brought cold air over from the icy Flood Dragon River and turned the people's lips purple.

Before the assembly was called to order, a disturbance occurred as the mute and members of the military district team marched Zhao Six and a dozen or so other men up to the edge of the threshing floor. They were bound and wore placards with black lettering over which red Xs had been drawn. When the villagers spotted them, they lowered their heads and said nothing.

People tucked their heads between their legs to keep the VIP from actually seeing their faces as his black eyes swept the crowd. But Mother kept twisting hemp, her eyes never leaving the work in front of her, and I sensed that the sinister gaze rested on her for a long time.

Lu Liren, wearing a red headband, addressed the audience, spittle flying everywhere. He had been suffering migraine headaches, and nothing worked to stop them, although the headband lessened the pain a little. When he was finished, he asked the VIP for instructions. The man slowly got to his feet. “Welcome Comrade Zhang Sheng, who will instruct us on what to do,” Lu Liren said as he began to clap. The villagers sat dumbfounded, wondering what was going on.

The VIP cleared his throat and began to speak, slowly drawing out each and every word. His speech was like a strip of paper dancing in the cold northeast wind, and over the decades that followed, whenever I saw one of those white funeral paper cutouts that are filled with incantations to ward off evil spirits, I was reminded of that speech.

When the speech ended, Lu Liren stepped up and ordered the mute and his men, plus several officers with holstered Mausers, to drag the prisoners up to the stage like a string of pinecones. The men filled the stage and blocked the villagers' view of the VIP. “Kneel!” Lu Liren commanded. Quick-witted men fell to their knees. Dull-witted ones were kicked to theirs.

Below the stage, people glanced at one another out of the corners of their eyes. A few of the bolder ones stole a glance at the stage, but the sight of all those men kneeling, snot dripping off the tips of their noses, drove their heads back down.

A skinny man in the crowd stood up on shaky legs and announced in a hoarse, quaking voice, “District Commander… I… I have a grievance …”

“Good!” Pandi shouted excitedly. “There's nothing to be afraid of. Come up onto the stage!”

The crowd turned to look at the man. It was the one called Sleepyhead. His gray silk robe was ripped and torn; one sleeve hung by a thread, exposing his swarthy shoulder. His hair, once neatly combed and parted, had turned into a crow's nest. He quaked in the cold wind as he looked around fearfully.

“Come up and speak your piece!” Lu Liren said.

“It's no big deal,” Sleepyhead said. “I'll tell you from down here, all right?”

“Come up!” Pandi said. “You're Zhang Decheng, aren't you? I recall that your mother was once forced to go around with a basket begging for food. You have suffered bitterly and your hatred is deep. Come up and tell us about it.”

Bowlegged Sleepyhead made his way through the crowd up to the front of the stage, which, made of rammed earth, was a meter or so high. He jumped, but only managed to further dirty his robe. So a soldier bent down, grabbed his arm, and jerked him into the air, his legs curling beneath him as he cried out in pain. The soldier deposited him on the stage; he landed on unsteady legs, which swayed as if he were standing on springs until he was finally able to steady himself. Raising his head, he looked out over the crowd below and was startled by gazes that hid countless emotions. His knees knocked as he bashfully stammered out something that no one could hear, let alone understand, then turned to climb down. Pandi grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him back, nearly causing him to lose his footing. Looking increasingly pathetic, he said, “Please let me go, District Commander. I'm a nobody, please let me go.” “Zhang Decheng,” she said truculently, “what are you afraid of?” “I'm a bachelor, stiff when I'm lying down and straight when I'm standing up. I've got nothing to be afraid of.” Pandi said, “Well, since you're afraid of nothing, why don't you speak up?” “I told you, it's no big deal,” he said. “So let's just forget it.” “Do you think this is some sort of game?” “Don't get mad, District Commander. I'll talk. What happens happens.”

Sleepyhead walked up in front of Qin Two and said, “Mr. Two, you're an educated man. That time I went to study with you, all I did was fall asleep, right? So why did you smack my hand with a ruler until it looked like a warty toad? Not only that, you gave me a nickname. Remember what you said?” “Answer him!” Pandi roared. Mr. Qin Two looked up until his goatee stuck out straight and muttered, “That was a long time ago. I've forgotten.” “Of course you don't remember,” Sleepyhead said, with rising excitement and increasing clarity. “But I'll never forget! What you said, old master, was ‘Zhang Decheng, in my book you're a sleepyhead.' That is all it took for me to be saddled with the name Sleepyhead from then on. That's what men call me and what women call me. Even snot-nosed kids call me Sleepyhead. And because I'm stuck with a rotten name like that, I still don't have a wife at the age of thirty-eight! What girl would marry a man called Sleepyhead? That name ruined me for the rest of my life.” Poor Sleepyhead was so upset by then that his face was awash with snot and tears. The county official with the brass-capped teeth grabbed a handful of Qin Two's gray hair and jerked his head back. “Speak up!” the man demanded. “Is what Zhang Decheng said true?” “Yes, yes it is,” Qin Two replied as his goatee quivered like a goat's tail. The official shoved Qin Two's head forward until his face was in the dirt. “Let's hear more accusations,” he said.

Sleepyhead wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, squeezed a gob of snot with his fingers, and flung it away; it landed on the tent. Scowling in disgust, the VIP took out a white handkerchief to clean his glasses. “Qin Two,” Sleepyhead continued, “you're an elitist. Back when Sima Ku was going to school, he stuffed a toad down your chamber pot and climbed up on the roof to sing a bad song about you. Did you smack him? Yell at him? Give him a nickname? No, no, and no!”

“This is wonderful!” Pandi said excitedly. “Zhang Decheng has brought a serious problem out into the open. Why didn't Qin Two have the guts to punish Sima Ku? Because of Sima Ku's wealthy family. And where did their wealth come from? They ate buns made of white flour, but never worked a field of wheat. They wore silk, but never raised a silkworm. They were drunk every day, but never distilled a drop of liquor. Fellow villagers, these rich landlords have fed on our blood, sweat, and tears. Redistributing their land and wealth is simply taking back what's rightfully ours.”

The VIP applauded lightly to show his appreciation for Pandi's impassioned speech. All the county and district officials, as well as the armed guards, joined in the applause.

Sleepyhead wasn't finished. “Sima Ku is only one man, but he had four wives, while I have none. Is that fair?”

The VIP frowned.

Lu Liren said, “We don't need to go into that, Zhang Decheng.”

“No?” Sleepyhead argued. “That's the source of my bitterness. I may be Sleepyhead, but I'm a man, aren't I? I've got a man's tool hanging between my legs …”

Lu Liren walked up to Sleepyhead to stop the performance and raised his voice to drown out Sleepyhead's monologue. “Fellow villagers,” he said, “Zhang Decheng's words may be a little coarse for our ears, but his meaning is clear and undeniable. Why can some men take four, five, or more wives, while somebody like Zhang Decheng here can't even find one?”

Debates broke out below the stage, and many eyes turned to Mother, whose face darkened; but there was no sign of anger or hate in her eyes, which were as serene as a placid lake in autumn.

Pandi nudged Sleepyhead. “You can go back down now.”

He took a couple of steps and was about to climb down off the stage when he was reminded of something. He turned and walked up to Zhao Six, grabbed him by the ear, and gave him a resounding slap. “You son of a bitch,” he growled. “Today's your day too. You probably forgot the time you used the authority you received from Sima Ku to mistreat me!”

Zhao twisted his neck and drove his head into Sleepyhead's belly. With a yelp, Sleepyhead fell to the ground and rolled off the stage.

The mute rushed up and kicked Zhao Six to the ground. Then he stepped down on Zhao's neck, twisting the poor man's face out of shape. He was gasping for breath, but even then he cried out like a man possessed, “You'll never get me to admit a thing, never! Where's your conscience? Your crimes are unspeakable …”

Lu Liren bent down to ask the VIP what to do. The man banged his red inkstone on the table, the sign for Lu Liren to read from a slip of paper: “Rich peasant Zhao Six has lived by exploiting others. During the war against Japan, he fed their fellow travelers. When Sima Ku governed the area, he supplied food to bandit soldiers. Now that land reform is underway, he has spread ugly rumors in open defiance of the People's Government. If a die-hard element like him is not killed, the people's anger will never be quelled. In the name of the Northeast Gaomi County People's Government, I hereby sentence Zhao Six to death, judgment to be carried out at once!”

Two of the soldiers picked up Zhao Six and dragged him off like a dead dog. When they reached the weedy edge of the pond, the men backed away to let the mute step up and put a bullet in the back of Zhao's head. His body lurched into the water. With the smoking gun still in his hand, the mute walked back onto the stage.

The terrified prisoners on stage began banging their heads on the ground. By then they'd all soiled themselves. “Spare me, spare me …” The cooking oil shop proprietress, Old Jin, crawled on her knees up to Lu Liren and wrapped her arms around his legs. “County Head Lu,” she sobbed, “spare me. I'll give everything to the villagers — my oil, my sesame seeds, all my family property, I won't keep anything, not even a chicken-feed trough — just don't take my life. I'll never do business that exploits people again …” Lu Liren tried to break free of her grasp, but she held on for dear life until an official came up and pried her fingers away. She then crawled toward the VIP. “Take care of her!” Lu Liren commanded. The mute raised his pistol and struck her in the temple. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she fell backward, her single breast pointing at the gloomy sky.

“Who else wants to pour out their bitterness?” Pandi shouted down at the crowd.

Someone began to wail. It was the blind man, Xu Xian'er, who propped himself up on a yellow bamboo staff.

“Lift him up onto the stage,” Pandi said.

No one did. So he made his way toward the stage by tapping his staff on the ground; people jumped out of his way. Then two officials hopped down and hoisted him up onto the stage.

Filled with hatred, Xu Xian'er banged the ground with his staff, punching holes in the loose dirt.

“Speak your piece, Uncle Xu,” said Pandi.

“Commander,” Xu Xian'er said, “can you really exact revenge for me?”

“Don't worry. You see what we did for Zhang Decheng just now.”

“Then Fll say it,” he said, “I'll say it. That bastard Sima Ku drove my wife to her grave, and my mother died of anger because of it. He owes me two lives.” Tears fell from his blind eyes.

“Take your time, uncle,” Lu Liren said.

“In the fifteenth year of the Republic, 1926, my mother spent thirty silver dollars to get me a wife, the daughter of a beggar woman in West Village. She sold a cow and a pig, plus two pecks of wheat, and all she got was thirty silver dollars. Everyone said my wife was pretty, but that word — pretty — spelled disaster. Sima Ku was only sixteen or seventeen at the time, but even at that age he was no good. Since his family had money and power, he made a habit of coming over to my house to sing and play his two-stringed
huqin.
Then one day he took my wife to see a local opera, and after he brought her home, he had his way with her. My wife swallowed opium and died, which upset my mother so much she hanged herself… Sima Ku, you owe me two lives! I want the government to right the wrong for me …”