by Mo Yan
When she closed her eyes, the tears spilled into the creases all the way to her ears. The door was pushed open, and her mother-in-law said meekly, “Laidi’s mother, what’s wrong? You must hold out, child. Our donkey’s had a lively little mule. Now, if you have this baby, the Shangguan family can be content at last. You might be able to hide the truth from your parents, but not from a doctor. Since it doesn’t matter whether a midwife is male or female, I’ve asked Third Master Fan to come over…”
The rare note of tenderness moved her. Opening her eyes, she looked up into the golden aura of the older woman’s face and nodded weakly. Her mother-in-law turned and summoned Fan Three. “You can come in now.”
He entered with a long face, trying hard to look dignified. But he averted his eyes, as if he’d seen something so terrifying it drained the blood from his cheeks. “Elder sister-in-law,” he said softly as he backed to the door, his gaze resting fearfully on the body of Shangguan Lu, “raise your merciful hand and spare me. Threaten to kill me if you want, but I cannot do what you ask.” He turned and ran out the door, only to bump into Shangguan Shouxi, who was craning his neck to see what was going on inside. With disgust, Shangguan Lu noted her husband’s gaunt, pointy face, looking more like a rat than ever, as her mother-in-law ran out on the heels of Fan Three.
“Fan Three, you fucking dog!”
When her husband stuck his head in the door a second time, she mustered the strength to raise an arm to signal him and say icily — she couldn’t be sure if the words actually emerged from her mouth: “Come over here, you son of a bitch!” By this time, she’d forgotten her hatred and enmity toward her husband. Why take it out on him? He may be a son of a bitch, but it’s my mother-in-law who’s the bitch, an old bitch …
“Are you talking to me?” Shangguan Shouxi asked from where he stood beside the kang, looking out the window in embarrassment. “What do you want?” She gazed up sympathetically at this man with whom she’d lived for twenty-one years, and felt pangs of remorse. A sea of locust blossoms rippled in the wind … in a voice as thin as a single hair, she said:
“This child … it’s not yours …”
In tears, Shangguan Shouxi said, “Mother of my children … don’t die on me … I’ll go get Aunty Sun …”
“No …” She looked into her husband’s eyes and implored him, “Go beg Pastor Malory to come …”
Out in the yard, Shangguan Lü, sensing a pain worse than having her skin flayed, took an oilpaper bundle from her pocket and peeled it back to reveal a shiny silver dollar; she clutched it tightly as the corners of her mouth curled in a grimace and her eyes glowed red. The sun shone down on her gray head; black smoke drifted over in the hot air. She heard a loud disturbance to the north, near the Flood Dragon River; bullets whistled through the air. “Fan Three,” she sobbed, “can you just stand by and watch someone die? ‘There is nothing more poisonous than a hornet’s sting and nothing more ruthless than a physician’s heart.’ They say ‘money can make the devil turn a millstone.’ Well, this silver dollar has rested against my skin for twenty years, but it’s yours in return for my daughter-in-law’s life.”
She laid the silver dollar in Fan Three’s hand, but he flung it to the ground, as if it were a piece of hot metal. A film of sweat covered his oily face, and his cheeks twitched so violently they distorted his features. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he shouted, “Elder sister-in-law, please let me go … I’ll get down on my knees and bang my head against the ground for you …”
He had nearly reached the gate when Shangguan Fulu, stripped to the waist, came barging through. He was wearing only one shoe, and his bare, scrawny chest was smeared with something green, like axle grease, like a gaping, festering wound. “Where have you been, you walking corpse?” Shangguan Lü cursed angrily.
“Elder brother, what’s going on out there?” Fan Three asked anxiously. Ignoring both the curse and the question, Shangguan Fulu stood there with an idiotic smile on his face, a string of duh-duh-duhs streaming from his mouth, like chickens pecking the bottom of an earthenware dish.
Shangguan Lü grabbed her husband by the chin and shook him hard, wrenched his mouth up one minute and down the next, stretching it horizontally and then vertically. A dribble of saliva emerged from one corner. He coughed, then spat up, and finally settled down. “What’s going on out there” He looked at his wife with deep sorrow.
As his mouth twisted, he sobbed. “The Japanese horse soldiers have reached the river …”
The dull thuds of approaching horse hooves froze them in their tracks. A flock of magpies with white tail feathers flew overhead, their cries settling over the compound. Then the stained glass in the church steeple shattered noiselessly, splintered glass glinting in the sunlight. But immediately after the glass began flying, the crisp sound of an explosion engulfed the steeple, sending dull sound waves like the rumble of iron wheels spreading in all directions. A powerful wave of heat toppled Fan Three and Shangguan Fulu like harvested wheat. It sent Shangguan Lü reeling backward into the wall. A black earthenware chimney with ornamental carvings rolled off the roof and landed on the brick path in front of her, where, with a loud crash, it crumbled into pieces.
Shangguan Shouxi ran out of the house. “Mother,” he sobbed, “she’s dying, she’s going to die. Go get Aunty Sun …”
She glared at her son. “If it’s your time to die, then you die. If it isn’t, you don’t. Nothing can change that.”
Listening but not quite grasping her meaning, the three men looked at her with tears in their eyes. “Fan Three,” she said, “do you have any more of that secret potion that speeds the delivery process? If you do, give a bottle to my daughter-in-law. If not, then to hell with it, and with you.” Without waiting for his answer, she tottered in the direction of the gate, head high, chest thrown out, not looking at any of them.
9
On the morning of the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, 1939, in the largest village of Northeast Gaomi Township, Shangguan Lü led her mortal enemy, Aunty Sun, into her house, ignoring the bullets whizzing overhead, to help deliver her daughter-in-law’s baby. At the very moment they walked through the door, out on the open field near the bridgehead, Japanese horse soldiers were trampling the corpses of guerrilla fighters.
Shangguan Fulu and his son were milling in the yard with the horse doctor, Fan Three, who proudly held up a bottle filled with a viscous green liquid. The three men had been in the same spot when Shangguan Lü left to find Aunty Sun, but were now joined by the redheaded Pastor Malory. Wearing a loose Chinese robe, with a heavy brass crucifix around his neck, he was standing beneath Shangguan Lu’s window, head up, facing the morning sun, as he intoned a prayer in the local dialect: “Dear Jesus, Lord in Heaven. Merciful God, reach out to touch the heads of me, Your devoted servant, and the friends gathered here, give us the strength and the courage to face this challenge. Let the woman inside safely deliver her infant, give the goat plenty of milk and the laying hens plenty of eggs, throw a sheet of black before the eyes of the evil invaders, let their bullets jam in their weapons, and let their horses lose their way and perish in bogs and marshes. Dear Lord, send all Your punishments down on my head, let me take unto myself the suffering of all living creatures.” The other men stood silently listening to his prayer. The looks on their faces showed the depths to which they were moved.
With a sneer, Aunty Sun pushed Pastor Malory aside and walked in the door. His “Amen” came as he stumbled wide-eyed to keep his balance, hurriedly crossing himself to bring his prayer to an end.
Aunty Sun’s silvery hair was combed into a bun held in place by a shiny silver ornament; her sideburns were pinned with mugwort spikes. She was wearing a starched white cotton jacket with a slanted lapel that buttoned down the side; a white handkerchief was tucked in between two of the buttons. Her black cotton trousers were tied around the ankles above a pair of green cotton slippers with black embroidery and white soles. The fresh smell of soap clung to her b
ody. She had prominent cheekbones, a high nose, and lips that formed a tight line above her chin. Bright, piercing eyes were set deeply in lovely sockets. Her poise and confident bearing stood in stark contrast to the prosperous, well-fed Shangguan Lü. Taking the bottle of green liquid from Fan Three, Shangguan Lü walked up to Aunty Sun and said softly, “Aunty, this is Fan Three’s potion to hasten childbirth. Will you use it?”
“My dear lady Shangguan,” Aunty Sun said with obvious displeasure, her gaze covering Shangguan Lü with icy beauty, then shifting to the men in the yard, “who have you asked to help with the delivery, me or Fan Three?”
“Don’t be angry, Aunty. As they say, ‘When a patient is dying, find doctors where you can,’ and ‘Anyone with breasts is a mother.’” Forcing herself to be congenial, she kept her voice low and controlled. “I’m asking you, of course. I wouldn’t have disturbed such an eminent personage if I hadn’t reached the end of my rope.”
“Didn’t you once accuse me of stealing your chickens?” Aunty Sun remarked. “If you want me as the midwife, tell everyone else to stand clear!”
“If that’s how you want it, that’s how you shall have it,” Shangguan Lü said.
Aunty Sun removed a thin piece of red cloth from around her waist and tied it to the window lattice. She then strode purposefully into the house, and when she reached the door of the inside room, she stopped, turned, and said to Shangguan Lü, “Lady Shangguan, come with me.”
Fan Three ran up to the window to retrieve the bottle of green liquid Shangguan Lü had left there. He stuffed it into his bag and headed quickly toward the gate, without so much as a backward glance at the Shangguan father and son.
“Amen!” Pastor Malory repeated, making another sign of the cross. Then he nodded to the Shangguan father and son in a show of friendship.
A shriek from Aunty Sun tore from inside the room, followed by horrible wails from Shangguan Lu.
Shangguan Shouxi hunkered down on the ground and covered his ears with his hands. His father began pacing the yard, hands clasped behind his back, head down, as if he were looking for something he’d lost.
Pastor Malory repeated his prayer in a muted voice, eyes cast to the misty blue sky.
Just then the newborn mule emerged from the barn on shaky legs. Its damp hide shone like satin. Its weary mother followed it outside to the accompaniment of Shangguan Lu’s agonizing wails. With its ears standing straight up and its tail tucked between its legs, the donkey wobbled over to the water trough under a pomegranate tree, casting a fearful glance at the men in the yard. They ignored it. Shangguan Shouxi, his ears covered, was weeping loudly. Shangguan Fulu was still pacing the yard. Pastor Malory was praying with his eyes closed. The donkey buried its mouth in the water and drank noisily. When it had drunk its fill, it walked slowly over to the peanut vines held up by stalks of sorghum and began nibbling at the stalks.
Meanwhile, inside the house, Aunty Sun stuck her hand up the birth canal to extract the baby’s other leg. The pregnant mother screeched once before passing out. Then, after inserting some yellow powder into Shangguan Lu’s nostrils, Aunty Sun grabbed the baby’s legs and waited calmly. Shangguan Lu moaned as she regained consciousness, then sneezed, causing a series of violent spasms. Her back arched, then settled back down heavily. That was what Aunty Sun had been waiting for: she pulled the baby out of the birth canal, and as its long, flat head cleared the mother’s body, it made a loud popping sound, as if shot from a cannon. Aunty Sun’s white jacket was spattered with blood.
Hanging upside down in Aunty Sun’s hand was a purplish baby girl.
Shangguan Lü began beating her chest and wailing. “Stop crying! There’s another one in there!” Aunty Sun demanded angrily.
Shangguan Lu’s belly was jerking and twitching horribly; blood gushing from between her legs washed out another down-covered infant.
When she spotted the little wormlike object between the baby’s legs, Shangguan Lü fell to her knees beside the kang.
“What a shame,” Aunty Sun said pensively, “another stillborn.”
Suddenly dizzy, Shangguan Lü fell forward and banged her head on the kang. She stood with difficulty, propping herself up by the kang, and gazed at her daughter-in-law, whose face was stone gray. Then, with a moan of despair, she shuffled out of the room.
A pall of death hung over the yard. Her son was on his knees, the bloody stump of his neck resting on the ground, a stream of fresh blood snaking along the ground; his head, a look of fear frozen on the face, sat perfectly upright in front of his torso. Her husband was gnawing a brick on the path; one of his arms was tucked under his abdomen, the other stretched out in front of him. A mixture of gray matter and bright red blood from a gaping wound in the back of his head stained the path around him. Pastor Malory was on his knees, making the sign of the cross and mumbling something in a foreign tongue. Two massive horses, reins draped across their backs, were eating the sorghum stalks supporting the peanut vines, while the donkey and her newborn mule huddled in a corner of the wall, the young animal’s head tucked under one of its mother’s legs, its tail writhing like a snake. Two Japanese men in khaki stood there, one cleaning his sword with a handkerchief, the other hacking down sorghum stalks with his sword, sending peanuts to the ground, where they were eaten by the two horses, whose tails swished happily.
Suddenly feeling the earth wheel on its axis, Shangguan Lü had a single thought: to rescue her son and her husband. Instead, she crumpled heavily to the ground like a toppled wall.
Aunty Sun quickly skirted Shangguan Lü’s body and strode steadily out of the yard. But one of the Japanese soldiers, who had remarkably wide-set eyes and short eyebrows, threw down his handkerchief and moved to block her way, standing rigidly between her and the gate. Pointing the tip of his sword at her heart, he said something that was only gibberish to her, a loutish expression on his face. She looked at him calmly, the hint of a sneer on her lips. She took a step backward; the Japanese soldier took a step forward. She retreated two more steps, he took two steps forward, the tip of the sword still pressed up against her breast. As he bore relentlessly down on her, Aunty Sun reached up and brushed his sword to the side. Then one of her feet flashed through the air and landed precisely on his wrist, knocking the sword out of his hand. She rushed up and slapped him across the face. With a yelp of pain, he covered his face. His comrade ran up, sword in hand, and aimed it at Aunty Sun’s head. She spun out of the way and grabbed his wrist, shaking it until he too dropped his sword. Then she boxed his ear, and although it didn’t seem to be much of a slap, his face began to swell immediately.
Without so much as looking back, Aunty Sun strode out of the yard, as one of the soldiers raised his rifle and fired. Her body stiffened for a moment, then sprawled forward in the gateway of the Shangguan house.
At that moment, the two youngest mute grandsons, who had come looking for her, were felled by the same bullet on the steps leading up to the Shangguan gate. The three older grandsons were, at the time, occupied with cutting up the rump of a dead horse on the riverbank, where the smell of gunpowder thickened the air.
At around noon, a swarm of Japanese soldiers filled the Shangguan compound. The horse soldiers found a basket in the barn, into which they scooped the loose peanuts and carried them out into the lane to feed their weary horses. Two of the soldiers took Pastor Malory captive. Then a military doctor, eyeglasses perched on the pale bridge of his nose, followed his commander into the room where Shangguan Lu lay. With a frown, he opened his medical kit, donned a pair of surgical gloves, and cut the babies’ umbilical cords with a stainless steel knife. Picking up the infant boy by the feet, he slapped it on the backside until a hoarse cry emerged from the other end. He then picked up the baby girl and repeated the procedure until there were signs of life. After cleaning the cuts on the umbilical cords with iodine, he wrapped the babies in white gauzy cotton and gave Shangguan Lu injections to stop the bleeding. All the while the doctor was performing his lifesav
ing procedures on mother and children, a journalist was taking photographs from various angles. A month later, these photographs would appear in a Japanese newspaper back home to bear witness to the friendship between China and Japan.
Chapter Two
1
The twenty-sixth year of the Guangxu reign of the Great Qing, the Manchu dynasty, the year 1900 in the Western calendar.
My maternal grandfather, Lu Wuluan, was a martial arts practitioner who barely left footprints when he walked. As a leader of the Red Spears, he was active in training and arming troops and in building bunkers and moats to ward off attacks by foreign troops. But after several months of uneventful waiting, the local forces’ vigilance had slackened, and on the foggy seventh morning of the eighth lunar month, German forces under the leadership of County Magistrate Ji Guifen surrounded Sandy Nest Village in Northeast Gaomi Township. When the day’s battle was over, nearly four hundred Sandy Nest residents lay dead. That included my grandfather, who was killed by German soldiers after burying his spear in the belly of their comrade, and his wife, who had hidden her daughter, Xuan’er, in a large flour vat before hanging herself from the rafter to preserve her chastity. My mother, now an orphan, was six months old on that day.
On the following day, my aunt and uncle found my mother in the flour vat, barely alive, her body coated with flour. After clearing the baby’s mouth and nose and patting her on the back, my aunt was relieved to hear her little niece cough and begin to cry.
2
When Lu Xuan’er reached the age of five, her aunt fetched some bamboo strips, a wooden mallet, and some heavy white cloth. “Xuan’er,” she said to her niece, “you’re five years old, time to have your feet bound.”
