Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

longer answer. Little Lion tapped him on the head with his finger and said, ‘Say, men, want to try some human brains?’ ‘Who’d want to eat that stuff?’ they said. ‘It’d make me puke.’ ‘Some people have eaten it,’ Little Lion said. ‘Detachment Leader Chen, for one. Add some soy sauce and strips of ginger, he said, and it tastes like jellied bean curd.’ The man who was digging the other pit climbed out and said, ‘It’s ready, sir!’ Little Lion walked over to take a look. ‘Come over here, my distant aunty, and tell me what you think of this crypt I made for you.’ ‘Lion,’ I said, ‘Lion, show a little mercy and spare this old life.’ ‘What does someone as old as you have to live for? If I let you go, I’ll just have to find someone to take your place, since I need an even hundred.’ So I said to him, ‘Then finish me off with your sword. Being buried alive is just too horrible!’ All that turtle-spawn son of a bitch said was, ‘Life is nothing but suffering. But when you die, you go straight to Heaven,’ before he kicked me down into the pit. That’s when a bunch of people came shouting their way out of Sandy Ridge Village, with Sima Ku, the junior steward of Felicity Manor. I’d taken care of his third wife in the past, and all I could think was, my savior has arrived, swaggering up to us in riding boots. He’d aged a lot in the years since I’d last seen him. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘Me? I’m Little Lion!’ ‘What are you up to?’ ‘Burying people.’ ‘Burying who?’ ‘The head of the Sandy Ridge militia, Jincai, and his family’ Sima Ku walked up to where I was. ‘Who’s that down there?’ ‘Second Master, save me!’ I shouted. ‘I took care of your third wife. I’m the wife of Guo Luoguo.’ ‘Ah, it’s you,’ he said. ‘How did you fall into his hands?’ ‘I talked when I shouldn’t have. Show me some mercy, Second Master.’ Sima Ku turned to Little Lion. ‘Let her go,’ he said. ‘If I do that, Team Leader, I won’t get an even hundred.’ ‘Forget the number. Just kill those who deserve to be killed.’ One of his men reached down with his shovel, so I could climb out of the pit. You can say what you want, but Sima Ku is a reasonable man, and if not for him, that bastard Little Lion would have buried me alive.”
    The officials dragged and pushed old woman Guo out of the room.
    Ashen-faced Teacher Cai picked up her pointer and returned to the spot where she had collapsed and recommenced her descriptions of torture. Even though tears filled her eyes as she droned on in a desolate tone of voice, the students were no longer crying. My gaze swept the faces of all those people who had been pounding their chests and stomping their feet, now showing the effects of exhaustion and impatience. All those drawings, reeking of blood, had turned insipid, sort of like flatcakes that have soaked in liquid for days then laid out to dry. Compared to what we’d heard from old woman Guo, whose personal experience had given her the voice of authority, the drawings and explanations had lost their appeal to our emotions.
7
    They dragged me out of school.
    A crowd had gathered on the street, clearly waiting for me. A pair of grimy-faced militiamen walked over and tied me up with a length of rope that was long enough to wrap around me more than a dozen times and still have enough for one of the armed guards to hold on to as he dragged me along. The other man followed, nudging me along with the muzzle of his rifle. Everyone along the way gawped at me as I passed by. Then, from the far end of the street another group of bound individuals came staggering toward me. It was my mother, my first sister, Sima Liang, and Sha Zaohua. Shangguan Yunii and Lu Shengli, who weren’t tied, kept rushing up to Mother, only to be pushed aside by one of the burly militiamen. We met at the district headquarters — Felicity Manor — where we exchanged looks. There was nothing I could say, and I’m sure they felt the same way.
    Escorted by the militiamen, we passed through several courtyards, all the way to the far end, where they crowded us into the southernmost room. The window on the southern wall was one big hole, its latticework and paper covering smashed and torn, as if to open up the activities inside to public scrutiny. I spotted Sima Ting, cowering in a corner, his face black and blue, front teeth missing. He gazed sadly at us. The furthermost little garden was