Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

held his arms. The procession halted at the edge of the pond, the infamous execution site. Sima Ku turned to face the dike. Maybe he spotted us, and maybe he didn’t. Sima Liang called out, “Daddy,” but Mother quickly clapped her hand over his mouth.
    “Liang,” she whispered in his ear, “be a good boy, and do as I say. I know how you feel, but it’s important that we don’t make your daddy feel any worse than he does now. Let him face this last challenge free from worries.”
    Mother’s words worked like a magic charm, transforming Sima Liang from a mad dog into a tame sheep.
    A pair of powerful-looking soldiers grabbed Sima Ku’s shoulders and forced him to turn around to face the execution pond, whose thirty-year accumulation of rainwater had the appearance of lemon oil, in which his gaunt face and scarred cheeks looked back at him. With his back to the squad of soldiers and facing the pond, he saw countless women’s faces reflected in the water, their smell floating up from the surface, and he was suddenly overcome by a sense of his own frailty; turbulent waves of emotion overwhelmed the calmness in his heart. He wrenched himself from the grip of the soldiers to turn back around, throwing a fright into the director of the Judicial Department of the County Security Bureau, as well as the executioners, who were known for their ability to kill without batting an eye.
    “I won’t let you shoot me in the back!” he shouted shrilly.
    Facing the stony stares of his executioners, he felt stabs of pain from the scars on his cheeks. Sima Ku, for whom face was so important, was overcome with regret as the events of the day before surfaced in his mind.
    When the legal representative had handed down the article of execution, Sima Ku had received it joyfully. The representative had asked if he had any last requests. Rubbing his stubble, he’d said, “I’d like to have a barber shave my head,” to which the representative had replied, “I’ll take that back to my superiors.”
    The barber arrived, carrying his little case, and approached the condemned cell with obvious trepidation. After haphazardly shaving his head, he turned his razor to the beard. But about halfway, he nicked Sima Ku on the cheek, drawing a screech from the victim, so frightening the barber that he leaped back toward the cell door and placed himself between the two armed guards.
    “That guy’s hair is pricklier than hog bristles,” the barber said as he showed the guards the nicked razor. “The blade’s ruined. And his beard’s even worse. It’s like a wire brush. He must concentrate his strength at the roots of his beard.”
    So the barber gathered up his stuff and was about to leave, when he was stopped short by a curse from Sima Ku: “You son of a bitch, what do you think you’re doing? Do you expect me to go to meet my ancestors with half my face shaved?”
    “You, there, condemned man,” the barber shot back. “Your beard’s tough enough already, and then you go concentrating your strength there.”
    Not knowing whether to laugh or to cry, Sima Ku said, “Don’t blame the toilet when you can’t do your business. I have no idea what you mean by concentrating my strength somewhere.”
    “The way you keep grunting, if that isn’t concentrating your strength, what is it?” the barber replied cleverly. “I’m not deaf, you know.”
    “You bastard!” Sima Ku said. “I’m groaning from all the pain.”
    One of the guards said to the barber, “You’ve got a job to do. So suck it up and finish shaving him.”
    “I can’t,” he said. “Go find a master barber.”
    Sima Ku sighed and said, “Shit, where in the world did you find this piece of rubbish? Take off these handcuffs, men, and I’ll shave myself.”
    “Not on your life!” one of the guards said. “If you used that as a ploy to attack us and run off, or kill yourself, it would be on our heads.”
    “Fuck your old lady!” Sima Ku bellowed. “I want to see whoever’s in charge.” He banged his handcuffs noisily against the window bars.
    A security officer came running over. “What do you think you’re doing, Sima Ku,” she demanded.
    “Look at my face,” Sima said. “He shaved half and then stopped because he said my beard’s too tough. Does that make sense to you?”
    “No,” she said as she slapped the barber’s shoulder. “Why won’t you finish shaving him?”
    “His beard’s too tough. And he keeps concentrating his strength in