Finally, Aunty Sun seemed to deflate in front of his eyes, like a punctured ball; her eyes went from blazing to mournfully gentle. She stepped down on the rooster’s legs, wrapped her left hand around the base of its wings, and pinched its neck. Unable to move, it gave up the struggle. Then, with her right hand, she began plucking the fine throat feathers until its reddish purple skin showed. Finally, after flicking the rooster’s throat with her index finger, she picked up the shiny knife, shaped like a willow leaf, made a single swipe, and the throat opened up, releasing a torrent of inky red blood, large drops pushing smaller ones ahead of them. Aunty Sun slowly got to her feet, still holding the bleeding rooster, and looked around wistfully. She squinted in the bright sunlight. Shangguan Shouxi felt lightheaded. The smell of poplars was heavy in the air. Scat! He heard Aunty Sun’s voice and watched as the black rooster tumbled through the air and thudded to the ground in the middle of the yard. With a sigh, he let his hands drop from the wall.
Suddenly, he remembered that he was supposed to be getting Third Master Fan to help with the donkey. But as he was turning to leave, the rooster, bloody but fighting to stay alive, struggled miraculously to its feet, propped up by its wings. Shorn of feathers, its tail stood up in all its strange, hideous nakedness, frightening Shangguan Shouxi. Blood still streamed from its open throat, but the head and comb, bled dry, were turning a deathly white. Yet it kept fighting to hold it up. Struggle! It held its head high, but then it sagged and hung limply. Again it rose in the air, then drooped, and rose one more time, this time, it seemed, to stay. It shook from side to side, as the rooster sat down, blood and foamy bubbles seeping from its beak and then from the opening in its neck. Its eyes glittered like gold nuggets. Distressed by the sight, Aunty Sun wiped her hands with straw and seemed to be chewing on something, even though her mouth was empty. She spat out a mouthful of saliva and yelled at the five dogs, “Go!”
Shangguan Shouxi fell flat on his backside.
When he pulled himself back to his feet, black feathers were flying all over the yard; the arrogant rooster was being torn apart, splattering the ground with raw meat and fresh blood. Like a pack of wolves, the dogs fought over the entrails. The mutes clapped their hands and laughed -
5
The seven daughters of the Shangguan family – Laidi (Brother Coming), Zhaodi (Brother Hailed), Lingdi (Brother Ushered), Xiangdi (Brother Desired), Pandi (Brother Anticipated), Niandi (Brother Wanted), and Qiudi (Brother Sought) – drawn by a subtle fragrance, came out of the side room to the east and huddled under Shangguan Lu’s window. Seven little heads, pieces of straw stuck in their hair, crowded up to see what was happening inside. They saw their mother sitting on the
Laidi’s voice cracked as she cried out, “Mother!” Her six younger sisters followed her lead. Tears washed all seven girls’ cheeks. The youngest, Qiudi, cried pitifully; her little legs, covered with bedbug and mosquito bites, began to churn, and she broke for the door. But Laidi ran over and swept her up in her arms. Still bawling, the little girl pummeled her sister’s face.
“I want Mommy, I want my Mommy…”
Laidi’s nose began to ache, and there was a lump in her throat. Hot tears streamed down her face. “Don’t cry, Qiudi,” she coaxed her little sister as she patted her on the back, “don’t cry. Mommy’s going to give us a baby brother, a fair-skinned, roly-poly baby brother.”
Shangguan Lu’s moans emerged from the room. “Laidi,” she said weakly, “take your sisters away. They’re too small to understand what’s going on. You should know better.” Then a shriek of pain tore from her mouth, and the remaining five girls crowded up to the window again.
“Mommy,” fourteen-year-old Lingdi cried out, “Mommy…”
Laidi put her sister down and ran to the door on feet that had been bound briefly then liberated. She tripped on the doorsill’s rotting boards and crashed into the bellows, smashing a large dark green ceramic bowl filled with chicken feed. When she clambered to her feet, she spotted her grandmother, who was kneeling at the Guanyin altar, where incense smoke was curling into the air.
Quaking from head to toe, she righted the bellows, then bent down to pick up the pieces of the broken bowl, as if by somehow putting it back together she could lessen the severity of her blunder. Her grandmother stood up quickly, like an overfed horse, swaying from side to side, her head shaking crazily, as a string of strange sounds spilled from her mouth. Shrinking into herself and holding her head in her hands, Laidi braced for the anticipated blow. But instead of hitting her, her grandmother pinched her thin, pale earlobe and pulled her up, then propelled her toward the door. With a screech, she stumbled into the yard and fell on the brick path. From there she watched her grandmother bend down to scrutinize the broken bowl, her posture now resembling a cow drinking from a river. After what seemed like a very long time, she straightened up, holding some of the pieces in her hand and tapping them with her finger to produce a pleasantly crisp sound. Her wrinkled face had a pinched quality; the corners of her mouth turned down, where they merged with two deep creases running straight to her chin, making it seem as if it had been added to her face as an afterthought.
Kneeling on the path, Laidi sobbed, “Grandma, you can come beat me to death.”
“Beat you to death?” Shangguan Lu said sorrowfully. “Will that make this bowl whole again? It comes from the Yongle reign of the Ming dynasty, and was part of your great-grandmother’s dowry. It was worth the price of a new donkey!”
Her face ashen, Laidi begged her grandmother for forgiveness.
“It’s time for you to get married!” Shangguan Lu sighed. “Instead of getting up early to do your chores, you’re out here causing a scene. Your mother doesn’t even have the good fortune to die!”
Laidi buried her face in her hands and wailed.
“Do you expect me to thank you for smashing one of our best utensils?” Shangguan Lu complained. “Now quit pestering me, and take those fine sisters of yours, who aren’t good for anything but stuffing their faces, down to Flood Dragon River to catch some shrimp. And don’t come home until you’ve got a basketful!”
Laidi clambered to her feet, scooped up her baby sister Qiudi, and ran outside.
After shooing Niandi and the other girls out the door like a brood of chickens, Shangguan Lu picked up a willow shrimping basket and flung it to Lingdi. Holding Qiudi in one arm, Laidi reached out with her free hand and took the hand of Niandi, who took the hand of Xiangdi, who took the hand of Pandi. Lingdi, shrimping basket in one hand, took Pandi’s free hand with her own, and the seven sisters, tugging and being tugged, crying and sniffling, walked down the sundrenched, windswept lane, heading for Flood Dragon River.
As they passed by Aunty Sun’s yard, they noticed a heavy fragrance hanging in the air and saw white smoke billowing out of the chimney. The five mutes were carrying kindling into the house, like a column of ants; the black dogs, tongues lolling, kept guard at the door, expectantly.
When the girls climbed the bank of the Flood Dragon River, they had a clear view of the compound. The five mutes spotted them. The oldest boy curled his upper lip, with its greasy mustache, and smiled at Laidi, whose cheeks suddenly burned. She recalled the time when she’d gone to the river to fetch water, and the mute had tossed a cucumber into her bucket. He had grinned at her, like a sly fox, but with no sinister intent, and her heart had leapt, for the first time in her life. With blood rushing to her cheeks, she’d gazed down at the glassy surface of the water and seen how flushed her face had become. Afterwards, she’d eaten the cucumber, and the taste had lingered long after it was gone. She looked up at the colorful church steeple and the watch-tower. A man at the top was dancing around like a golden monkey and shouting:
“Fellow villagers, the Japanese horse soldiers have already set out from the city!”
People gathered below the tower and gazed up at the platform, where the man grabbed the railing from time to time and looked down, as if answering their unasked questions. Then he’d straighten up again, make another turn around the platform, cupping his hands like a megaphone to warn one and all that the Japanese would soon be entering the village.
