Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

and shouted, “Halt! Don’t come any closer!” “This is my house,” Sima Ku retorted coldly.
    Momentarily stunned, the guard fired a shot into the air and screamed wildly, “It’s Sima Ku! Sima Ku is here!”
    Sima Ku watched the militiaman run away, dragging his rifle behind him, and murmured, “What’s he running for? Really!”
    Inhaling another whiff of the yellow flower and humming the anti-Japanese ditty the shepherd had sung, he was determined to make a dignified entrance. But the first step he took landed in thin air, and he tumbled into a hole that had been dug in front of the breach for the sole purpose of catching him. A squad of county policemen who were keeping watch day and night in the field beyond the wall quickly emerged from their hiding places. The black holes of dozens of rifle barrels were pointed at the trapped Sima Ku, whose feet had been cut by sharpened bamboo sticks. “What do you men think you’re doing?” he reviled them as he was racked by pain. “I came to give myself up, so why set a wild boar trap to catch me?”
    The chief investigator reached down, pulled Sima Ku up to level ground, and snapped handcuffs on him.
    “Release the members of the Shangguan family!” he bellowed. “I’m here to answer for my actions!”
9
    To satisfy the demands of Northeast Gaomi residents, the public trial of Sima Ku was held in the square where he and Babbitt had shown their first open-air movie. Originally his family’s threshing ground, it contained a tamped-earth platform that now barely rose above the ground around it; it was the spot where Lu Liren had once led the masses in the land reform campaign. In preparation for the arrival of Sima Ku, district officials had sent armed militiamen to the spot the night before to dig up hundreds of square feet of dirt in order to rebuild the platform until it was as high as the Flood Dragon River dikes, and to dig a trench that ran in front and along the sides of the platform, which was then filled with oily green water. Once that was done, they authorized the expenditure of enough money to purchase a thousand catties of millet, which was then exchanged for two wagonloads of tightly woven, golden yellow matting from a marketplace ten miles out of town, with which they erected a huge tent over the platform, and then covered it with colorful sheets of paper on which were written a variety of slogans, some angry and others jubilant. The leftover matting was spread over the platform itself and its sloping sides, giving it the appearance of golden cascades. The district chief, in the company of the county head, came personally to inspect the interrogation site. Standing on the sleek, easy-on-the-feet platform, which rose like an opera stage, they gazed out at the roiling blue waters of the Flood Dragon River as it flowed east, a cold wind billowing their sleeves and pant legs until they took on the appearance of sausage links. The county head rubbed his red nose as he turned to ask the district chief loudly, “Who’s responsible for this masterpiece?”
    Unable to tell if the county head was being sarcastic or complimentary, the district chief replied ambiguously, “I was involved in the planning, but he was in charge of the work.” He pointed to an official from the District Propaganda Committee standing off to one side.
    The county head glanced over at the beaming official and nodded. Then, lowering his voice, but not enough to keep the people behind him from hearing, he said, “This looks more like a coronation than a public trial!”
    Inspector Yang hobbled up at that moment and bowed respectfully to the county head, who sized him up and said, “The county recognizes your outstanding service in arranging the capture of Sima Ku. But your scheme entailed the torture of members of the Shangguan family, for which you have been censured.”
    “Bringing the murdering devil Sima Ku to justice is what counts,” Inspector Yang responded passionately, “and for that I’d have gladly given my good leg!”
    The public trial was scheduled for the morning of the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month. Residents cloaked in the cold glare of early-morning stars and capped by the chilly countenance of the moon began pouring into the site to be part of the excitement. By dawn the square was black with people, some of whom stood behind railings thrown up on the banks of the Flood Dragon River. When the sun made its shy appearance, casting its rays on