Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

might drown. But she climbed up the other side, knife in hand, her skinny legs getting bogged down in the mud. She left her shoes behind as she turned onto the narrow path and disappeared from sight.
    Like an old cow protecting its young, Mother ran up, rocking from side to side, and by the time she reached me, she was out of breath. Her hair was like golden threads, her face was coated with a warm yellow sheen. “Mother —” I shouted. Tears gushed from my eyes. I didn’t think I could stand any longer. I stumbled forward and tumbled into Mother’s hot, moist bosom.
    “My son,” Mother said through her tears, “who did this to you?”
    “Wu Yunyu, and Wei Yangjiao …” I was sobbing.
    “That bunch of thugs!” Mother said through clenched teeth. “Where did they go?”
    “They’re chasing Sima Liang and Sha Zaohua!” I pointed out the
    path.
    Clouds of mist poured from the path; a wild animal called out from deep in the mysterious path; from farther away came the sounds of fighting and shrieks from Zaohua.
    Mother looked back toward the village, which was already cloaked in heavy mist. Taking me by the hand, she decided to go down into the ditch, where the water was warm as axle grease as it rushed up through my pant legs. Mother’s heavy frame and tiny feet made the going hard in all that mud. But by clinging to weeds on the side, she managed to make it to ground level.
    Still holding my hand, she then turned onto the narrow path. We had to walk at a crouch to keep the sharp edges of the leaves from scratching our faces and our eyes. Creepers and wild grass nearly covered the path, the sharp nettles pricking the soles of my feet. I moaned sorrowfully. Having soaked in the water, my wounds hurt like hell, and the only thing that kept me from crumpling to the ground was Mother’s iron grip on my arm. The light was fading, and the strange beasts out in the deep, serene, and seemingly endless croplands around us were stirring. Their eyes were green, their tongues bright red. Snorts emerged from their pointy noses, and I had this vague feeling that I was about to enter Hell; could that person clutching my hand, panting like an ox, and charging ahead single-mindedly really be my mother? Or was it a demon that had taken her form and was leading me down to the depths of Hell? I tried jerking my hand out of the painful grip, but all that accomplished was that she held it tighter than ever.
    At last the frightful path opened out into light. To the south the sorghum field, like a boundless dark forest; to the north a wasteland. The sun was about to set, and the crickets on the vacant land raised a chorus of chirps. An abandoned brick kiln welcomed us with its fiery redness. Behind several piles of unfired bricks, Sima Liang and Sha Zaohua were engaged in a fierce guerrilla war with the four bullies. Each side was dug in behind a row of adobe bricks, which they threw at their enemy. Since they were smaller and weaker, Sima Liang and Zaohua were at a disadvantage, barely able to throw the missiles with their skinny arms. Wu Yunyu and his three buddies were flinging so many pieces of broken brick that Sima Liang and Sha Zaohua didn’t dare poke their heads over the top of their pile.
    “Stop it right now!” Mother screamed. “You bullying bunch of swine!”
    Caught up in the intoxication of battle, the four assailants paid no attention to Mother’s angry outburst. They kept hurling missiles, all the while sneaking around their pile of bricks to outflank Sima Liang and Sha Zaohua. Pulling the girl along with him, Sima darted over to the abandoned kiln. A piece of tile hit Zaohua in the head. She staggered with a yelp of pain and seemed about to fall. The knife was still in her hand. Sima Liang picked up a couple of bricks, jumped into the open, and flung them at the enemy, who quickly took cover. Mother put me down in the sorghum field, hidden from view, spread out her arms, and charged the battlefield, moving as if she were performing a rice-sprout dance. Her shoes stuck in the mud, exposing her pitifully small feet; her heels left holes in the mud from which water seeped.
    Sima Liang and Zaohua showed themselves at the end of the wall of bricks. Hand in hand, they half ran, half stumbled in the direction of the kiln. By then the blood-red moon had already climbed quietly into the sky; Sima Liang and Sha Zaohua’s purple shadows spread out across the ground. The four bullies’ shadows stretched out far