at the bottom of the drawings, when Sima Ku was leading the restitution corps on the murderous frenzy in Northeast Gaomi Township, I was with Mother and revolutionary cadres and other activists on their retreat along the northeast coast. Sima Ku, Sima Ku, was he really that cruel? Teacher Cai rested her head against the drawing of the live burial. A little restitution corps member was raising a shovelful of dirt over his head, looking as if he was about to bury her. Translucent beads of sweat covered her face. She began to slide toward the floor, bringing the drawing down with her. Now she was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, the drawing covering her face. Gray flakes of the wall fluttered down onto the white paper.
This turn of events brought to an end the students’ wails. Several district officials came running up and carried Teacher Cai out the door. The district chief, a middle-aged man with regular features, but moles all over the side of his face, kept his hand on the wooden butt of the rifle slung across his back as he said sternly, “Students, comrades, we now invite the elderly poor peasant from Sandy Ridge Village, Mrs. Guo, to report on her personal experiences. Send in Mrs. Guo!”
We turned to look at the battered little door that led from the church to what had been Pastor Malory’s residence. Quiet, quiet, quiet that was abruptly shattered by a drawn-out wail that entered the church from the yard out front. A pair of officials opened the door by backing into it and entered, supporting Mrs. Guo, a gray-haired old woman who was covering her mouth with her sleeve and sobbing piteously. Everyone in the church joined her tearful outburst for a full five minutes, until she wiped away the tears, shook out her sleeve, and said, “Don’t cry, children. Tears can’t bring the dead back to life, and we must go on living.”
The students stopped crying and gaped at her. To my ears, what she said was so simple, yet held profound significance. She seemed somehow reserved as she asked in a sort of confused manner, “What am I supposed to say? There’s no need to talk about the past.” She turned as if to leave, but was stopped by the director of the Sandy Ridge Women’s League, Gao Hongying, who ran up to her and said, “Old aunty, you agreed to address us, didn’t you? You can’t back out now.” Gao was visibly upset. The district head said genially, “Old aunty, just tell them how the members of the Landlord Restitution Corps buried people alive. We need to educate our youngsters that the past cannot be forgotten. As Comrade Lenin said, ‘To forget the past is a form of betrayal.’“
“Well, since even Comrade Lenin wants me to talk, that’s what I’ll do.” Mrs. Guo sighed. “There was a full moon that night, so bright I could have embroidered in its light. There aren’t many nights like that. When I was a girl, an old-timer told me he recalled a white moon like that way back during the Taiping Rebellion. I couldn’t sleep, worrying that something bad was about to happen, so I got up to go borrow a shoe pattern from the mother of Fusheng in West Lane and, while I was at it, talk to Fusheng about finding a wife, since I had a niece who had reached marrying age. As I was walking out the door, I spotted Little Lion, carrying a big, shiny sword, with Jincai’s mother and wife and his two kids, the older one only seven or eight years old, and the younger one, a girl, barely two. The older kid was walking with his grandmother, scared and crying. Jincai’s wife was carrying the little girl, who was also scared and crying. Jincai himself had a sword cut, a big, gaping, bloody wound on his slumping shoulder that scared me half to death. Three mean-looking fellows I thought I knew were walking behind Little Lion, also with swords, and I tried to hide so they wouldn’t see me, but it was too late, and that bastard Little Lion spotted me. Now Little Lion’s mother and I are some sort of cousins, so he said, ‘Isn’t that my aunt over there?’ ‘Little Lion,’ I. said, ‘when did you get back?’ He said, ‘Last night.’ ‘What are you doing?’ I asked him. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just looking for a place for this family to sleep.’ That didn’t sound good, so I said, ‘They’re our neighbors, Lion, no matter how bad things get.’ He said, ‘There are no bad feelings, not even between them and my dad. In fact, my dad and his dad are sworn brothers. But he hung my dad up from a tree and demanded money from him.’ Jincai’s mother said, ‘He didn’t know what he was doing, so forgive him for the sake of the older generation. I’ll get down on my knees and kowtow to you.’ ‘Mother,’ Jincai said, ‘don’t beg.’ Little Lion said, ‘Jincai, you’re starting to sound like a man, so no wonder they made you head of the militia.’ ‘You won’t last more than a few days,’ Jincai said. ‘You’re right,’ Little Lion said, ‘I imagine I’ll last ten days or a couple of weeks. But tonight’s all the time I’ll need to take care of you and your family’ I tried to take advantage of my age by saying, ‘Let them go, Little Lion. If you don’t you’re no nephew of mine.’ He just glared at me and said, ‘Who the hell is your nephew? Don’t pull any of that relation stuff on me! The time I accidentally squashed one of your little chicks that year, you split my head open with a club.’ ‘Lion, what kind of human being are you?’ He turned and asked the men with him, ‘Boys, how many have we killed today?’ One of them said, ‘Counting this family, exactly ninety-nine.’ ‘You old woman, you’re such a distant aunt that you’ll have to sacrifice yourself so I can make it an even number.’ That made my hair stand on edge. That bastard was talking about killing me! I ran into the house, but could I really get away from them? Family meant nothing to Little Lion. When he thought his wife was having an affair, he buried a live grenade in the stove ashes, but his mother got up early to clean out the stove and she was the one who dug out the grenade. I'd forgotten that incident, and now I was going to suffer, all because of my big mouth. They dragged Jincai and his family, plus me, over to Sandy Ridge Village, where one of them starting digging a big pit. It didn’t take him long in that sandy ground. The moon was so bright we could see everything on the ground – blades of grass, flowers, ants, slugs – clear as day. Little Lion walked up to the edge of the pit to take a look. ‘Make it a little deeper, men,’ he said. ‘Jincai’s as big as a fucking mule.’ So the man continued, and wet sand flew. Little Lion asked Jincai, ‘Got anything to say?’ ‘Lion,’ Jincai said, ‘I’m not going to beg. I killed your dad, but if I hadn’t done it, somebody else would have.’ ‘My dad was a frugal man who sold seafood along with your dad. He saved up a little money and bought a few acres of land. Unfortunately for your dad, somebody stole his money. You tell me, what was my dad’s crime?’ ‘He bought land, that was his crime!’ ‘Jincai, tell me the truth, who wouldn’t like to buy some land? How about your dad, for instance? And you yourself.’ ‘Don’t ask me,’ Jincai said. ‘I can’t answer that question. Is the pit deep enough?’ The man said it was. Without another word, Jincai jumped into it. Only his head showed above the ground. ‘Lion,’ he said, ‘I want to shout something.’ ‘Go ahead,’ Lion said. ‘We’ve been friends since we were bare- assed naked kids, so you deserve special treatment. Go ahead, shout whatever you want.’ Jincai thought for a moment, then raised his good arm and shouted at the top of his lungs, ‘Long live the Communist Party! Long live the Communist Party! Long long live the Communist Party!’ Just three shouts. ‘That’s it?’ Little Lion said. ‘That’s it.’ ‘Come on,’ Lion said, ‘let’s hear some more. That’s some voice you’ve got.’ ‘No,’ Jincai said, ‘that’s it. Three times is enough.’ Little Lion nudged Jincai’s mother. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Now you, aunty’ Jincai’s mother fell to her knees and banged her head on the ground, but Little Lion merely took the shovel out of the other man’s hands and used it to push her into the sandy pit. The other men pushed Jincai’s wife and kids in. The kids were bawling. So was their mother. ‘Stop that!’ Jincai demanded. ‘Shut your mouths and spare me the shame.’ His wife and kids stopped crying. Then one of the men pointed to me and said, ‘What about this one, Chief? Toss her down there too?’ Before Little Lion could answer, Jincai shouted, ‘Little Lion, you said this pit was for my family. I don’t want any outsiders down here.’ ‘Don’t worry, Jincai,’ Little Lion said, ‘I understand you perfectly. For this old woman, we’ll -’ He turned to the others. ‘Men, I know you’re tired, but dig another pit to bury this one.’
“The men split into two groups, one to dig a pit for me, the other to fill in the pit with Jincai’s family. Jincai’s daughter began to cry. ‘Mommy, the sand’s getting in my eyes.’ So Jincai’s wife wrapped her wide sleeves around the girl’s head. Jincai’s son struggled to climb out of the pit, but was knocked back down by one of the shovels. The boy began to bawl. Jincai’s mother, on the other hand, sat down, and was quickly buried in sand. She was gasping for air. ‘Communist Party, ah, the Communist Party!’ she grumbled. ‘We women are dying by your hand!’ ‘So you finally got it, now that you’re about to die!’ Little Lion said. ‘Jincai, all you have to do is shout “Down with the Communist Party” three times, and ITI spare a member of your family. That way there’ll be someone to tend your grave in the future.’ Jincai’s mother and wife both pleaded with him, ‘Go ahead, Jincai, do it, and hurry!’ His face nearly covered with sand, Jincai glared fiercely. ‘No, I won’t do it!’ ‘Okay, you’ve got backbone,’ Little Lion said admiringly as he took the shovel from one of his men, scooped up sand, and flung it into the pit. Jincai’s mother wasn’t moving. The sand covered his wife up to her neck; it had already buried his daughter and all but the head of his son, who reached up with his hands to keep struggling to get out. Black blood was seeping out of his wife’s nose and ears, while the words ‘Agony, oh, such agony’ poured out of the black hole that was her mouth. Little Lion paused in his work and said to Jincai, ‘Well, what do you say now?’ Panting like an ox, Jincai, whose head had swelled up like a basket, said, ‘No problem, Little Lion.’ ‘Because we were childhood friends,’ Little Lion said, ‘I’ll give you one more chance. All you have to do is shout “Long live the Nationalist Party,” and I’ll dig you out.’ With wide, staring eyes, Jincai stammered, ‘Long live the Communist Party…’ Infuriated, Little Lion recommenced flinging sand into the pit. Jincai’s wife and kids were quickly buried, but there was still some movement just below the surface, which showed they weren’t all dead yet. All of a sudden, we were shocked to see Jincai’s swollen head stick up in a terrifying manner. He could no longer speak, and blood was seeping from his nose and his eyes. The veins on his forehead were as big as silkworms. So Little Lion started jumping up and down to pack down the sand.
