where it puddled before showering into the river, becoming a cascade by the time all twelve baskets were empty, and washing the stone facing clean. The straw changed color, a transparent sheet of liquor falling into the water below, and before long, little white fish were popping up on the surface. Laidi’s sisters wanted to wade out into the river and scoop up the drunken fish, but she stopped them: “Stay away from there! We’re going home!”
But they were mesmerized by the activity on the bridge. In fact, Laidi was as curious as they were, and even as she tried to drag her sisters away, her gaze kept returning to the bridge, where Sima Ku stood, smugly clapping his hands; his eyes lit up and a smile creased his face. “Who else could have devised such a brilliant strategy?” he crowed to the servants. “No one but me, damn it! Come on, you little Nips, get a taste of my might!”
The servants roared in response. “Second Steward, shall we light it now?” one asked.
“No, not until they arrive.”
The servants escorted Sima Ku over to the bridgehead and the Felicity Manor wagon headed back to the village. The only sound was of liquor dripping into the river.
Shrimp basket in hand, Laidi led her sisters to the top of the dike, parting the shrubbery that grew on the slope on her way up. Suddenly, a skinny, black face materialized in the brush in front of her. With a shriek, she dropped the basket, which bounced on the springy shrubbery and rolled all the way down to the edge of the water, spilling the shrimp, a shimmering, squirming mass. Lingdi ran down to pick up the basket, while her sisters went after the shrimp. As Laidi retreated toward the river, she kept her eyes fixed on that black face, on which an apologetic smile appeared, exposing two rows of teeth that shone like pearls. “Don’t be afraid, little sister,” she heard him say softly. “We’re guerrilla fighters. Don’t scream. Just get away from here as fast as you can.”
Looking around, she spotted dozens of men in green clothing hiding in the shrubs, hard looks in their staring eyes; some were armed with rifles, others held grenades, and others still carried rusty swords. The man behind the dirty, smiling face held a steel blue pistol in his right hand and a shiny, ticking object in his left. It wasn’t until much later that she learned that the object was a pocket-sized timepiece; by that time, she was already sharing her bed with the dark-faced man.
6
Third Master Fan, drunk as a lord, walked grumbling into the Shangguan house. “The Japanese are on their way. Bad timing by this donkey of yours. But what can I say, since it was my horse that impregnated her? Whoever hangs the bell on the tiger’s neck must take it off. Shangguan Shouxi, I see you’ve got enough face to pull this off, oh shit, what face do you have? I’m only here because of your mother. She and I… ha ha… she made a hoof-scraper for my horses…” Shangguan Shouxi, his face covered with sweat, followed Third Master Fan in the door.
“Fan Three!” Shangguan Lu cried out. “You bastard, the local god makes a rare appearance!”
Feigning sobriety, Third Master Fan announced, “Fan Three has arrived.” But the sight of the donkey lying on the floor turned him from completely drunk to half sober. “My god, would you look at that! Why didn’t you send for me earlier?” He tossed his leather saddlebag to the floor, bent down to stroke the donkey’s ears, and patted its belly. Then he went around to the animal’s rear, where he tugged on the leg protruding from the birth canal. Straightening up, he shook his head sadly, and said, “I’m too late, it’s a lost cause. Last year, when your son brought the donkey over for mating, I told him the donkey was too scrawny, and that you should mate it with one of its own. But he insisted on mating it with a horse. That horse of mine is a thoroughbred Japanese stallion. His hoof is bigger than your donkey’s head, and when he mounted your animal, she nearly crumpled under the weight. Like a rooster and a house sparrow. But he’s a good stud horse, so he just closed his eyes and humped away. If it’d been another horse, shit! See, the foal won’t come out. Your donkey isn’t made to have a mule. All she’s good for is producing donkeys, a scrawny donkey…”
“Are you finished, Fan Three?” Shangguan Lu interrupted his monologue angrily.
“Finished, yes, I’ve said what I wanted to say.” He picked up his leather bag, flung it over his shoulder, and, returning from half sober to completely drunk, stumbled toward the door.
Shangguan Lu grabbed him by the arm. “You’re leaving?” she said.
Fan Three smiled grimly. “Old sister-in-law,” he said, “haven’t you been listening to the Felicity Manor steward? The village is almost deserted. Who’s more important, that donkey or me?”
“Three, you’re afraid I won’t make it worth your while, is that it? Well, you’ll get your two bottles of fine liquor and a fat pig’s head. And don’t forget, in this family, what I say goes.”
Fan Three glanced at father and son. “I’m well aware of that,” he said with a smile. “You’re probably the only old woman anywhere in this country who’s a true blacksmith. The strength in that bare back of yours…” A strange smile creased his face.
“Up your mother’s ass!” Shangguan Lu cursed as she thumped him on the back. “Don’t go, Three. We’re talking about not just one, but two lives here. That stud horse is your son, which makes this donkey your daughter-in-law, and the mule in her belly your grandson. Do what you can. If the mule lives, I’ll thank you
“You’ve gone and made these four-legged creatures my family,” Fan Three said unhappily, “so what can I say? I’ll see if I can bring this half-dead donkey back to the land of the living.”
“That’s right, why listen to the ravings of that crazy Sima? What would the Japanese want with a backwater village like ours? Besides, by doing this, you’ll be storing up virtues, and the ghosts always steer clear of the virtuous.”
Fan Three opened his bag and took out a bottle filled with an oily green liquid. “This is a secret family tonic, handed down for generations. It works miraculously on breech births and other obstetric irregularities in animals. If this doesn’t do it, even the magical Monkey couldn’t bring that animal into the world. Sir,” he summoned Shangguan Shouxi, “come over here and lend a hand.”
“I’ll do it,” Shangguan Lu said. “He’s a clumsy oaf.”
Fan Three said, “The Shangguan hen goes and blames the rooster for not laying eggs.”
“If you have to insult someone, Third Younger Brother,” Shangguan Fulu said, “do it to my face, and don’t beat around the bush.”
“Is that anger I hear?” Fan Three asked.
“This is no time to bicker,” Shangguan Lu said. “What shall I do?”
“Raise the donkey’s head,” he said. “I’m going to give it the tonic.”
Shangguan Lu spread her legs, mustered her strength, and picked up the donkey’s head. The animal stirred; bursts of air snorted from its nostrils.
“Higher!” Fan Three said.
She strained to lift it higher; bursts of air were now snorting from her nostrils, too.
“Are you two dead or alive?” Fan Three complained.
The two Shangguan men rushed up to help, and nearly tripped over the donkey’s legs. Shangguan Lu rolled her eyes; Fan Three shook his head. Finally, they got the donkey’s head up high enough. It curled its lips back and showed its teeth. Fan Three stuck a funnel made of an ox horn into the animal’s mouth and emptied the contents of the bottle into it. “That’ll do it,” Fan said. “You can lower its head.”
As Shangguan Lu tried to catch her breath, Fan Three took out his pipe, filled it, and hunkered down to smoke. Two streams of white smoke quickly exited through his nostrils. “The Japanese took the county town and murdered the county chief, Zhang Weihan, then raped all the women in his family.”
“Did you hear that from the Simas?” Shangguan Lu asked him.
“No, my sworn brother told me. He lives near Eastgate in the county seat.”
Shangguan Lu said, “The truth never travels more than ten li.”
“Sima Ku took the family servants to set fires on the bridge,” Shangguan Shouxi said. “That’s more than a rumor.”
Shangguan Lu looked at her son angrily. “I never hear an encouraging, proper sentence from that mouth of yours, and you never tire of spouting nonsense and rumors. Fancy you, a man and the father of a large brood of children, and I can’t tell if that thing on your shoulders is a head or an empty gourd. Haven’t any of you considered the fact that Japanese have mothers and fathers, just like everybody else? There’s no bad blood between them and us common folk, so what are they going to do with us? Run off? Do you think you can outrun a bullet? Hide out?
