bottles, and the policewoman held a ladle.
At the tap the water pressure was so strong it made Zhu’s pail sing; he filled it to overflowing and carried it away without turning off the water, which sloshed over the bricks and tiles on the ground. The fragrance of fresh water drifted on the air to Gao Yang, who breathed it in deeply. It was almost as if a strange beast in his stomach were calling out: “Water… Your Honor… be merciful… water, please” Zheng no sooner put one of his bottles under the tap than it was full, froth quickly gathering at the top. He walked up to Gao Yang with three full bottles. “Want some?”
Gao Yang nodded vigorously. He could smell the water, and the sight of Zheng’s puffy face filled him with such gratitude he nearly wept.
Zheng held one of the bottles up to Gao Yang, who grabbed the mouth with his teeth and sucked in thirstily, taking a huge slug, some of it taking a wrong turn down his windpipe. He choked so violently his eyes rolled back in his head. Zheng tossed the bottle to the ground and began pounding him on the back. Water shot out of Gao Yang’s mouth and nose.
“Slow down,” Zheng said. “There’s plenty.”
Even after polishing off three bottles of water, Gao Yang was still thirsty. His throat was on fire, but he could see by the look of displeasure on Zheng’s face that it would be unwise to ask for more.
The horse-faced young man struggled to his feet and was helped to some water by Whiskers Zhu. Gao Yang stared greedily as he drank five bottles. Two more than me, he grumbled inwardly.
Fourth Aunt was probably unconscious, since the policewoman was ladling water over her. Clear when it hit her, the water dripped to the ground a dirty gray. Her short-sleeved jacket, made of mosquito netting and long a stranger to soap and water, regained some of its original whiteness in the dousing. With wet clothes clinging to her back, she looked skeletal, her shoulder blades poking up like sharp crags. Hair stuck to her scalp, from which dirty water dripped to the ground and formed shiny puddles.
The stink rising from her body made Gao Yang’s stomach lurch. Maybe, he thought, she’s already dead. But just as he shivered from the fearful thought, he saw her white head rise slowly, straining the poor woman’s neck to its limit. The water made her hair look thinner than ever, and all he could think of was how much uglier bald women are than bald men. That in turn reminded him of his mother, who was bald when she died, and he nearly wept.
At one time his mother, too, had been a white-haired yet energetic old woman. But that changed halfway through the Cultural Revolution, when her nice white hair was ripped out by poor and lower-middle-class peasants. Maybe she deserved it, since she had married a landlord. Who else could they attack, if not her? A husky, middle- aged member of the Guo family named Qiulang grabbed her by the hair and pushed her head down with all his might. “Bend over, you old silverhead!” he growled. Gao Yang watched from a distance, and the scene was as vivid in his mind now as the day it happened. He could hear his white-haired old mother whimper like a little girl…
Brought to her senses by the dousing, Fourth Aunt twisted her lips around her toothless gums and began to whimper like a little girl…
“Thirsty?” he heard the policewoman ask Fourth Aunt with a hint of tenderness. But instead of replying, she just whimpered. Her voice was hoarse and shrill at the same time, and her sobs lacked the crispness and force of a moment before.
“What happened to all that window-smashing bravado?” the policewoman asked as she dumped another ladleful of cool water over Fourth Aunt’s head as a final gesture before picking up the pail of water and walking over to Gao Yang. Unable to see her eyes because of the mirror lenses, he focused his attention on the narrow slit formed by her tightly shut lips. He shuddered, reminded for some reason of a debristled hog. She didn’t say a word as she set the pail down, ladled out some water, and splashed it on his chest; involuntarily he tucked his neck between his shoulders and uttered a strange muffled cry. She grinned, her pretty, even teeth sparkling in the light, then scooped out some more water and dumped it over his head. No shudder this time, since he knew it was coming, and after the cool water ran slowly down his back and chest it left gray streaks on his legs. Suddenly revitalized and uncommonly clear-headed, he sensed that the cool water was the greatest source of joy he had ever known. Now as he gazed at the policewoman’s lovely mouth, it was with an enormous sense of gratitude.
She doused him only twice before moving on to the horse-faced young man, who stood deathly pale, one eye swollen shut, the other opened wide; his lip curled in a grin for the policewoman’s benefit. Insulted by the look, she scooped out a ladleful of water and hurled it into his pallid face with all her might. He, too, tucked his neck down between his shoulders.
“What do you say to that?” she snarled angrily.
He shook his drenched head. “Nice and cool,” he replied, still grinning. “Just wonderful.”
She scooped out another ladleful and hurled it in his face, not caring where or how forcefully it struck him. “I’ll show you nice and cool!” she screeched. “Well see how wonderful it is!”
“Nice and cool feels good nice and cool feels good…? he was screaming, twisting at the waist, kicking out with both feet, and jerking his head back and forth.
Tossing the ladle to the ground, the policewoman picked up the pail and dumped it over his head. But even that didn’t exhaust her anger, so she rapped him several times on the head with the rim of the pail, as if to make sure that every drop of water wound up on him. Then she flipped the pail to the ground and stood in front of him, hands on her hips, her chest heaving. -
To Gao Yang, the sound of the pail banging against the young man’s head was muffled and wet, and it set his teeth on edge.
The young man, sputtering now, rested his long head-which seemed to swell and turn a mahogany color- against the tree trunk. Gao Yang heard the man’s stomach growl and watched his neck stretch forward until the tendons seemed about to pop through the taut skin. Over and over he tried to close his mouth, but couldn’t. Then, all of a sudden, it gaped wide, and a gusher of filthy water spewed out, hitting the policewoman full in the chest before she could scramble out of the way.
She shrieked and hopped around. But the horse-faced young man was too busy puking to pay any attention to her chest.
“Okay, Song,” Zheng said, looking at his watch. “It’s nearly dinner. We’ll finish up here after we eat.”
Whiskers Zhu picked up the pail and ladle, then fell in behind old Zheng and Song Anni.
Gao Yang heard Whiskers Zhu shout into the office phone to speed up delivery of the stuffed dumplings they had ordered, and felt total revulsion; he had to clench his teeth to keep from regurgitating the three badly needed bottles of water he had just finished. The horse-faced young man was still puking, though by now it was just dry heaves. Gao Yang noticed a frothy string of bloody sputum at the corner of his mouth and felt sorry for the sharp- tongued fellow.
The setting sun had lost some of its sting; that and the fact that he had no feeling in his arms instilled in Gao Yang a sense of well-being. A slight breeze rose to cool his scalp, which had been sun-baked, then doused with water until it tingled. All in all, he still felt pretty good-so good, in fact, that he wanted to talk. The horse-faced young man’s dry heaves were getting on his nerves, so Gao Yang cocked his head and said, “Say, pal, can’t you stop that?”
It had no effect. The heaves just kept coming.
A couple of trucks and a blue minivan were parked at the far end of the township compound, where a boisterous gang of supervised men loaded cartons, cabinets, tables, chairs, stools. Probably helping some official move, he surmised as he became absorbed in the activity. But after a while, the sight of all that stuff was more than he could bear, so he looked away.
Fourth Aunt knelt silently, her hair brushing the ground. When he heard a soft rattle in her throat, he assumed she must be asleep. Another image from the Cultural Revolution flashed before his eyes: his aging mother being vilified on her hands and knees. He shook his head to drive away some bottleneck flies straying from the vile puddle in front of the horse-faced young man. Mother was kneeling on bricks, her arms pulled behind her… she rested a hand on the ground to ease the pain, only to have it stepped on by a rough leather boot… she screamed… fingers bent and twisted so badly she couldn’t straighten them out…
“Fourth Aunt,” he whispered. “Fourth Aunt…”
She grunted softly, in what he took to be a reply.
The restaurant delivery boy rode skillfully up on his bike. This time he carried the food in one hand and steered with the other as he threaded his way between a couple of white poplars, trailing the fragrance of vinegar and garlic.
