Shifu, You'll Do Anything For A Laugh Part 7

Panic and confusion at the northern bridgehead - it sounded to me like the frantic dispersal of villagers who had been forcibly mobilized as witnesses to the executions. It didn't sound as if the armed work detachment took out after the deserters?

Once again, footsteps rushed across the bridge from north to south, followed by the shout of "Kneel!" at the southern bridgehead and "Clear the way!" at the northern. Then three more shots - the body of Luan Fengshan, hatless and wearing a ragged padded coat, tumbled head over heels down the riverbank, first b.u.mping into Ma Kuisan, then rolling off to the side.

After that, things were simplified considerably. A volley of shots preceded the sound and sight of two disheveled female corpses tumbling down, arms and legs flying, and crashing into the bodies of their menfolk.

I held tightly to Father's arm, feeling something warm and wet against my padded trousers.

At least a half-dozen people were standing on the bridge directly overhead, and it seemed to me that their weight was pushing the rock flooring down on top of us. Their thunderous shouts were nearly deafening: "Shall we check out the bodies, Chief?"

"What the h.e.l.l for? Their brains are splattered all over the place. If the Jade Emperor himself came down now, he couldn't save them."

"Let's go! Old Guo's wife has fermented bean curd and oil fritters waiting for us."

They crossed the bridge, heading north, their footsteps sounding like an avalanche. The rock flooring, creaking and shifting, could have come crashing down at any moment. Or so it seemed to me.

The quiet returned.

Father nudged me. "Don't stand there like an idiot. Let's do it."

I looked around me, but nothing made sense. Even my own father seemed familiar, but I couldn't place him.

"Huh?" I'm sure that's all I managed to say: "Huh?"

"Have you forgotten?" Father said. "We're here to get a cure for your grandmother. We have to move fast, before the body s.n.a.t.c.hers show up."

The words were still echoing in my ears when I spotted seven or eight wild dogs, in a variety of colors, dragging their long shadows up off the riverbed in our direction; they were baying at us. All I could think of was how they had turned and fled at the first gunshot, accompanied by their own terrified barks.

I watched Father kick loose several bricks and fling them at the approaching dogs. They scurried out of the way. Then he took out a carving knife from under his coat and waved it in the air to threaten the dogs. Beautiful silvery arcs of light flashed around Father's dark silhouette. The dogs kept their distance for the time being. Father tightened the cord around his waist and rolled up his sleeves. "Keep an eye out for me," he said.

Like an eagle pouncing on its prey, Father dragged the women's bodies away, then rolled Ma Kuisan over so he was facing up. Then he fell to his knees and kowtowed to the body. "Second Master Ma," he intoned softly, "loyalty and filiality have their limits. I hate to do this to you."

I watched Ma Kuisan reach up and wipe his b.l.o.o.d.y face. "Zhang Qude," he said with a trace of a smile, "you will not die in bed."

Father tried to unb.u.t.ton Ma Kuisan's leather coat with one hand but was shaking too much to manage. "Hey, Second Son," I heard him say, "hold the knife for me."

I recall reaching out to take the knife from him, but he was already holding it in his mouth as he struggled with the yellow b.u.t.tons down Ma Kuisan's chest. Round, golden yellow, and as big as mung beans, they were nearly impossible to separate from the cloth loops encircling them. Growing increasingly impatient, Father ripped them loose and jerked the coat open, revealing a white kidskin lining. A satin vestlike garment had the same kind of b.u.t.tons, so Father ripped them loose, too. After the vest came a red silk stomacher. I heard Father snort angrily. I have to admit that I was surprised when I saw the strangely alluring clothing the fat old man - he was over fifty - wore under his regular clothes. But Father seemed absolutely irate; he ripped the thing off the body and flung it to one side. Now at last, Ma Kuisan's rounded belly and flat chest were out in the open. Father reached out his hand but then jumped to his feet, his face the color of gold. "Second Son," he said, "tell me if he's got a heartbeat."

I recall bending over and laying my hand on his chest. It was no stronger than a rabbit's, but that heart was still beating.

"Second Master Ma," my father said, "your brains have spilled out on the ground, and even the Jade Emperor couldn't save you now, so help me be a filial son, won't you?"

Father took the knife from between his teeth and moved it up and down the chest area, trying to find the right place to cut. I saw him press down, but the skin sprang back undamaged, like a rubber tire. He pressed down again with the same result. Father fell to his knees. "Second Master Ma, I know you didn't deserve to die, but if you've got a bone to pick, it's with Chief Zhang, not me. I'm just trying to be a filial son."

Father had pressed down with the knife only twice, but already his forehead was all sweaty, the stubble on his chin white with icy moisture. The d.a.m.ned wild dogs were inching closer and closer to us - their eyes were red as hot coals, the fur on their necks was standing straight up, like porcupine quills, and their razor-sharp fangs were bared. I turned to Father. "Hurry, the dogs are coming."

He stood up, waved the knife above his head, and charged the wild dogs like a madman, driving them back about half the distance an arrow flies. Then he ran back, breathless, and said loudly, "Second Master, if I don't cut you open, the dogs will do it with their teeth. I think you'd rather it be me than them."

Father's jaw set, his eyes bulged. With a sense of determination, he brought his hand down; the knife cut into Ma Kuisan's chest with a slurping sound, all the way to the hilt. He jerked the knife to the side, releasing a stream of blackish blood, but the rib cage stopped his motion. "I lost my head," he said as he pulled the knife out, wiped the blade on Ma Kuisan's leather coat, gripped the handle tightly, and opened Ma Kuisan's chest.

I heard a gurgling noise and watched the knife slice through the fatty tissue beneath the skin and release the squirming, yellowish intestines into the opening, like a snake, like a ma.s.s of eels; there was a hot, fetid smell.

Fishing out the intestines by the handful, Father looked like a very agitated man: he pulled and he tugged; he cursed and he swore; and finally, he ran out of intestines, leaving Ma Kuisan with a hollow abdomen.

"What are you looking for, Father?" I recall asking him anxiously.

"The gall bladder. Where the h.e.l.l is his gall bladder?"

Father cut through the diaphragm and fished around until he had his hand around the heart - still nice and red. Then he dug out the lungs. Finally, alongside the liver, he discovered the egg-sized gall bladder. Very carefully, he separated it from the liver with the tip of his knife, then held it in the palm of his hand to examine it. The thing was moist and slippery and, in the sunlight, had a sheen. Sort of like a piece of fine purple jade.

Father handed me the gall bladder. "Hold this carefully while I take out Luan Fengshan's gall bladder."

This time, Father performed like an experienced surgeon: deft, quick, exact. First he cut away the hemp cord that was all Luan Fengshan could afford for a belt. Then he opened the front of his ragged coat and held the scrawny, bony chest still with his foot as he made four or five swift cuts. After that, he cleared away all the obstructions, stuck in his hand, and, as if it were the pit of an apricot, removed Luan's gall bladder.

"Let's get out of here," Father said.

We ran up the riverbank, where the dogs were fighting over the coils of intestines. Only a trace of red remained on the edges of the sun; its blinding rays fell on all exposed objects, large and small.

Grandma had advanced cataracts, according to Luo Dashan, the miracle worker. The source of her illness was heat rising from her three visceral cavities. The cure would have to be something very cold and very bitter. The physician lifted up the hem of his floor-length coat and was heading out the door when Father begged him to prescribe something.

"Hmm, prescribe something. .. ." Miracle worker Luo told Father to get a pig's gall bladder and have his mother take the squeezings, which should clear her eyes a little.

"How about a goat's gall bladder?" Father asked.

"Goats are fine," the physician said, "so are bears. Now if you could get your hands on a human gall bladder... ha, ha... . Well, I wouldn't be surprised if your mother's eyesight returned to normal."

Father squeezed the liquid from Ma Kuisan's and Luan Fengshan's gall bladders into a green tea bowl, which he offered up to Grandma in both hands. She raised it to her lips and touched the liquid with the tip of her tongue. "Gouzi's daddy," she said, "this gall is awfully bitter. Where'd it come from?"

Father replied, "It's gall from a ma [horse] and a luan"

"A ma and a luan, you say? I know what a ma is, but what's a luan?"

Unable to stop myself, I blurted out, "Grandma, it's human gall, it's from Ma Kuisan and Luan Fengshan. Daddy scooped out their bladders!"

With a shriek, Grandma fell backward onto the brick bed, dead as a stone.

Love Story.

THAT AUTUMN THE TEAM LEADER SENT FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD JUNIOR and sixty-five-year-old Guo Three out into the fields to man the waterwheel. Why? To wheel water. For what? To irrigate the cabbage crop. A "sent-down" city girl named He Li-ping, in her mid-twenties, was in charge of the irrigation ditches.

Once the thirteenth solar period - Autumn Beginning - arrives, the cabbage must be watered daily, or the roots will rot. In his orders, the team leader spared the three workers from mustering for duty each morning, since they had to go into the fields to water the cabbage right after breakfast. Which they did, from Autumn Beginning to Frost's Descent, the eighteenth solar period. Naturally, irrigation wasn't all they did; other tasks included spreading fertilizer, controlling pests, binding up drooping cabbage leaves with sweet potato sprouts, and so on. They took four breaks a day, each lasting half an hour or so. The city girl, He Liping, owned a watch. Frost's Descent arrived, and the temperature plunged; the cabbage curled up into b.a.l.l.s, bringing an end to the team's irrigation duties.

They dismantled the waterwheel and transported it back to the production team compound on a handcart, where they turned it over to the storekeeper. After a cursory inspection, he sent them on their way.

The next morning, right after breakfast, they stood beneath the iron bell to wait for new orders from the team leader. He had the old-timer, Guo Three, hitch up the ox to till the bean field and sent Junior out to re-sow millet at the farthest edge of the production team land. "What about me, Team Leader?" He Liping asked. "Go with Junior. You can prepare the furrows while he spreads the seeds."

One of the commune wags extended the team leader's orders: "Junior," he teased, "take good aim on He Liping's furrow. Make sure you spread your seed where it belongs."

While the crowd laughed raucously, Junior felt his heart pound against his chest wall. He sneaked a look at He Liping, who stood stony-faced, obviously unhappy. That really upset him. "f.u.c.k your old lady, Old Qi!" he cursed his playful tormentor.

The cabbage patch was located on the east side of the village, next to the pond. Swollen with rainwater, the pond was a breeding ground for algae and moss, making it greener than green and deeper than anyone could imagine. The main reason the production team had chosen that site to plant cabbage was the proximity of all that water. There was nothing wrong with well water, of course, but it wasn't nearly as good as the water in the pond. Mounted high on the pond's edge, the wa-terwheel looked like a poolside arbor. Junior and the oldster Guo Three stood on a shaky wooden footrest and turned the iron winch handles, one up and one down, squeaking and twisting as water flowed steadily. It didn't rain from Autumn's Beginning to Frost's Descent, not once. The skies were washed clean by the glare of the sun, day in and day out, and the surface of the pond stayed placid, wind or no wind. Clouds in the sky were matched by clouds in the pond that were, if anything, clearer than those above. Sometimes Junior stared at the clouds until he was in a world of his own, and forgot to turn the winch, to Guo Three's vocal displeasure: "Wake up, Junior!" At the northern tip of the pond stood a solitary patch of marshy reeds no larger than a sleeping mat, looking like a mirage. The reeds grew yellower each day, until in the bright rays of the morning sun and slanting rays of the setting sun, they seemed brushed by gold.

Let's say a really large, bright red dragonfly lands on one of the golden leaves, forming a dreamy plateau with the pond and the reeds. Then a dozen or so ducks and seven or eight geese, all pure white, glide across the surface. From time to time the long-necked ganders mount female geese, at other times they grant similar favors to female ducks. Junior stands transfixed when the ganders do that, and of course he forgets to turn the winch, which invariably earns abuse from Guo Three: "Just what are you thinking about?" Quickly averting his eyes from the naughty ganders and ducks, he starts turning the winch extra hard. Out the water gushes, as the rickety waterwheel creaks and groans. Amid the clanks of the chain, Junior hears Guo Three gripe, "Little peach-fuzz doesn't have a man's p.e.c.k.e.r yet, but his head hasn't gotten the message!" Junior is deeply shamed. The lovely bright red dragonfly soaring above the pond has got a new name, thanks to old-timer Guo Three: Little Bride.

He Liping was a tall girl, taller than Guo Three, and she knew martial arts. In fact, they learned, she had performed in Europe with a team of martial arts experts. Most people agreed that she could have made quite a name for herself if not for the Cultural Revolution. Too bad. Ruined by her family background. Proof of the two most frequently heard versions - that her father was a capitalist and that he was a capitalist-roader - was not actively sought, since the difference between the two is negligible. It was enough to know that her background was bad.

He Liping was a taciturn girl who, in the eyes of the villagers, knew her place. She had been sent to the countryside with lots of other educated city kids: some ended up by going on to school, others took jobs, the rest returned to their hometowns. Only she was left behind, and everyone knew it was because of her background.

Only once did He Liping demonstrate her martial arts skills, and that was soon after showing up in the village. Junior was no more than eight or nine at the time. Back then, "Mao Zedong Thought" propaganda meetings were common occurrences. The city kids were terrific talkers and singers, and some played the harmonica or flute or two-string huqin. There was a lot going on in the village back then: during the day the commune members worked in the fields, and at night they made revolution. With all the excitement, every day seemed like New Year's Eve to Junior. One night, very much like all the other nights, everyone poured out of the dining hall after dinner to make revolution. On the dirt platform, which had a post stuck in both ends to support gas lamps, the city kids filled the platform with their songs and instruments. Junior recalled that suddenly the young emcee shouted above the din: "Poor and lower-middle peasant comrades, our great leader Chairman Mao instructs us: Power comes out of the barrel of a gun! Now please turn your attention to He Liping, who will demonstrate her 'nine-stage plum-blossom' spear routine."

Junior recalled that everyone applauded like crazy, antic.i.p.ating the arrival of He Leping. They didn't have to wait long. She came out in a skintight red outfit and white plastic sandals, with her hair coiled atop her head. All the hot-blooded young men buzzed about her pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which nearly popped out of their tight wrappings. Some said they were real, others said they weren't. One of the latter insisted that she was wearing plastic cups. She stood on the stage, striking a martial pose, red-ta.s.seled spear in hand. With her chin held high, her back arched, and her dark eyes sparkling, she cut quite a figure. Then she began to twirl her spear, until all anyone could see on the stage was a red blur, and no one could follow the twists and turns of her lithe body. Finally she stopped spinning and stood ramrod straight with her spear, looking like a column of red smoke. The audience seemed frozen in place for a moment, no one making a peep. Then, suddenly snapping out of their trance, they clapped politely, as if physically drained.

It was a sleepless night for the young men of the village.

The next day, as members of the commune sprawled on the ground to rest, He Liping and her "nine-stage plum-blossom" were all anyone talked about. Someone said the girl's performance was like a flower stand: attractive but hardly practical; but someone else said it was like the wind, so fast she could keep four or five people at bay at the same time, and how much more practical can you get? Then someone said that anybody who took a girl like her for a wife was in for real trouble, that he'd get off lucky if all she did was beat him, that she definitely was a woman who rode her husband in bed, that no man, even one as strong as an ox, was a match for her "nine-stage plum-blossom." At that point the tone of the discussion took a dive, and Junior, who was working with the older men at the time, was a little embarra.s.sed and a little upset by what was being said.

He Liping performed her "nine-stage plum-blossom" only that one time. Apparently, a report was sent to the commune revolutionary committee, from which emerged a p.r.o.nouncement that spears belonged only in the hands of descendants of the reddest of the red. How could anybody have allowed one to fall into the hands of someone who came from the five black categories?

Head bowed and utterly demoralized, He Liping worked silently alongside the other members of the commune. Then when all the other city kids spread their wings and flew off to their homes, she felt all alone and lonely, and that gained her plenty of sympathy. The team leader started giving her light duties. No one gave a thought to whether or not she should get married. The young male villagers hadn't forgotten her skills with a spear, and stayed clear of her.

One day she sat on the footrest of the waterwheel dangling her legs and staring at the placid green water on the pond. Junior, who was resting at the edge of the pond, couldn't keep his eyes off her darkly tanned face; high, bony nose; and eyes so dark and large there didn't seem to be any room for the whites. Her eyebrows swept sharply toward her temple hair, and there was a large, dark red mole squarely in the center of her left brow. Her teeth were very white, her mouth quite large, and her hair so thick and bushy that Junior couldn't see any of her scalp. She was dressed that day in a blue gabardine army-style tunic that was nearly white from all the washings; a snowy white wedge of skin and the lacy trim of an undershirt poked out above the unb.u.t.toned collar of her tunic. As his gaze continued downward, Junior grew so fl.u.s.tered he had to turn his face toward the cabbage patch, over which a pair of b.u.t.terflies frolicked. But he didn't see the b.u.t.terflies, since his head was filled with images of He Liping's tunic pockets, which were thrust outward by the arching b.r.e.a.s.t.s behind them.

The oldster Guo Three was not a true farmer. Junior had heard people say he once worked as a "big teapot" in a Qing-dao wh.o.r.ehouse when he was young. Junior didn't know what a "big teapot" did, and he was too shy to ask.

Guo Three, now wifeless, lived a bachelor's existence, although there was talk that he had something going with the wife of Li Gaofa, who wore her glossy hair pulled straight back above a large fair-skinned face. Broad in the beam, she waddled like a duck when she walked. She lived close enough to the pond so that Junior and Guo Three could see her yard when they worked the waterwheel. A large, black, and very mean dog prowled the area.

They had been irrigating the cabbage patch for four days when the Li woman came over to the pond carrying a straw basket. She sidled up to the edge of the pond, a little at a time, until she was right beside the waterwheel. "Ge-ge-ge-ge," she t.i.ttered.

"Third Uncle," she said to Guo Three, "the team leader gave you the best job."

Guo Three giggled. "It may look easy, but it's not. Just ask Junior."

After working the wheel for several days in a row, Junior had noticed that his arms were, in fact, starting to ache. He just grinned and looked down on the Li woman's greasy, swept-back hair, and had a funny feeling. He didn't like her, not at all.

"That gimpy devil I'm married to was sent on a rock-gathering expedition to South Mountain," the Li woman said. "He took his bedroll, since he won't be back for a month. I think the team leader's out to get me. With all the able-bodied young bachelors around here, why'd he send the gimpy devil?"

Junior noticed that Guo Three was blinking nervously and heard a dry chuckle rattle around in his throat. "He was showing how much he valued you folks," he said.

"Hah!" the Li woman snorted angrily. "The old jacka.s.s is just out to get me."

This time the oldster Guo Three held his tongue. The Li woman stretched lazily and squinted up at the sun. "Third Uncle, it's nearly noon. Time for a break."

Guo Three shielded his eyes with his hand and looked up at the sun. "Yes, I guess it is." He let go of the winch handle and shouted into the field, "Little He, break time!"

"Third Uncle," the Li woman said, "that dog of ours has been off his feed the last few days. How about taking a look at him for me?"

Guo Three glanced at Junior. "After I've smoked a pipeful," he said.

As she walked off, the Li woman looked over her shoulder and said, "Don't be too long."

"I know, I know," he replied with affected agitation, as he took out his tobacco pouch and his pipe. "How about you, lad?" he said to Junior with uncharacteristic warmth. "Smoke?" Then he stuck the pipe into his mouth without waiting for an answer. Junior watched him light it. "I'm getting old," he said as he thumped his waist with his fists. "It doesn't take much for these old bones to start aching."

Guo Three walked off in the footsteps of the Li woman. But instead of watching either of them, Junior turned back toward the cabbage patch, where He Liping was standing stock still on a field embankment, hoe in hand. The sight saddened Junior. The water in the pond, polluted by the leather scoops of the waterwheel, turned muddy and rank-smelling. He could almost taste it. The metal pipe gave out a hollow cough, the chain clanked once or twice, the handlebar turned backward a time or two, and the water drained back into the pond. The waterwheel fell silent.

As he sat on the wooden plank and let his legs dangle over the edge, Junior noticed that his hands had rubbed the rust off the handlebar. On that sunny day, water flowing sluggishly down the furrows in the cabbage patch caught the sun's rays and shone like splintered silver. The plants seemed frozen in place, and so did the high riverbank at the far end of the cabbage patch and the persimmon tree atop it, whose leaves were already starting to turn a fiery red. Junior looked westward just in time to see Guo Three stride into the yard of the Li home, where the big black dog barked once, then wagged his tail in welcome. Guo Three and the dog went inside together. Purple flowers were blooming on lentils climbing a trellis in the yard. Ripples rose on the surface of the pond, where a duck quacked and a goose honked. Two pairs of wings flapped against the water. The white long-necked gander pushed the duck under the water, and when they surfaced, he was riding on her back. Junior jumped to the ground, scooped up a handful of mud, and flung it at the gander. But it was, after all, just mud, which fell apart before it even hit the water, raising only some tiny splashes. The duck, still mounted by the gander, sped around the pond.

Junior was visited by emotions he'd never known before. He felt chilled, and the mist above the pond raised goose b.u.mps. He didn't dare straighten up, suddenly mortified by the bulge in his pants. And, wouldn't you know it, He Liping chose that moment to walk along the embankment toward the waterwheel.

Step by step she drew near to Junior, who by then was sitting on the ground. She seemed much bigger all of a sudden, and her hair shimmered with flecks of golden light. Poor Junior's heart was beating like mad, his teeth were chattering. He rested his hands on his knees, and from there let them slide down to the tops of his feet. Finally he scooped little b.a.l.l.s of mud out of the ground.

He heard He Liping's voice: "Where's Guo Three?"

He heard his own quaking reply: "He went to Li Gaofa's house."

He heard He Liping walk up to the wooden plank, then heard her spit into the pond. When he looked up to sneak a peek, he found she was leaning over the waterwheel, staring at the gander and duck skimming across the pond. Her rear end stuck up in the air. The sight terrified Junior.

After a while, He Liping asked him how old he was. He told her fifteen. She asked him how come he wasn't in school. He said he didn't want to go.

Junior's face was covered with sweat as he stood in front of He Liping, who started to giggle. He didn't dare raise his head.

Every day after that Guo Three went to Li Gaofa's house to treat the black dog, and He Liping came to pa.s.s the time of day with Junior, who was no longer nervous, who no longer broke out in a sweat, who even found the nerve to peek at her once in a while. He could actually smell her.

One very hot day He Liping shed her faded blue tunic, so that she was wearing only a pink undershirt, and when Junior spotted the straps and snaps of her bra he was so happy he nearly wept.

"You little creep," she scolded, "what are you looking at?"

Junior blushed bright red, but still had the courage to say, "I'm looking at your clothes."

With a vinegary frown, she said, "You call these clothes? Wait till you see my nice stuff."

"You look good in anything," Junior said bashfully.

"Quite the little flatterer, aren't we?" He Liping said.

"I've got a skirt," she continued, "that's the same red as those persimmon leaves."

As if on signal, they turned to look at the persimmon tree halfway up the river embankment. After surviving several frosts, the sunlit leaves glowed like bright red flames.

Junior took off running. Halfway up the embankment he climbed the tree and broke off one of the lower branches, which was covered by dozens of glossy red leaves. One had been gnawed by an insect; he plucked it off and threw it away.

The red-leafed branch was a present for He Liping, who sniffed it for its persimmony aroma. Her face was red, maybe a reflection of the leaves.

Guo Three saw Junior give He Liping the red leaves, so when they were back on the waterwheel, he giggled, "Want me to be your matchmaker?"