Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

disgust. So some of the male rightists scrounged up a tattered piece of canvas once used by the tractor unit, wrapped her up in it and fastened the ends with wire, then loaded her onto the back of a cart and carried her over to a grassy spot near the war relic scrapyard, where they dug a hole and buried her next to Huo Lina and in front of the skeleton of Long Qingping, all but the skull, which had been taken away by the medical examiner.
7
    Night fell as Jintong walked into the house he hadn’t seen for a year. The son left behind by Laidi and Birdman Han was standing in a canopied cradle that hung from the parasol tree, holding on to the sides. Although he was dark and very thin, he was healthier than most children of the time. “Who are you?” Jintong asked as he put down his bedroll. The dark-eyed youngster blinked and gazed at Jintong curiously. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m your uncle.” “Gramma … yao yao …” The boy’s speech was muddled; slobber ran down his chin.
    Jintong sat down in the doorway to wait for Mother to come out. This was his first trip home since being sent to the farm, and he was told he didn’t have to return there if he didn’t want to. The thought of all those thousands of acres of millet enraged him, because once the harvest was in, the farm workers were scheduled for a real meal. And that is when Jintong and several other young men had been cut from the workforce. A few days later, his rage lost its meaning, because just as the rightists were driving their red Russian combines out to the fields to begin the harvest, a hailstorm mercilessly pounded the ripe millet into the mud.
    The little boy ignored him as he sat in the doorway. Parrots with emerald green feathers flew down from the parasol tree and circled the cradle. The bright-eyed little boy followed them as they flitted around totally unafraid. Some landed on the edge of the cradle, others perched on his shoulders and pecked him on the ears, while he mimicked their hoarse cries.
    Jintong sat dully in the doorway, his eyelids drooping. He was thinking about the boat ride over, and the surprised look in the eyes of the ferryman, Huang Laowan. The Flood Dragon River Bridge had been washed away by the flood the year before, so the People’s Commune had begun operating a ferry. A talkative young soldier from somewhere down south had accompanied him on the ride across the river. The man waved a telegram under the nose of Huang Laowan and pressed him to get underway. “Let’s shove off, uncle. See here, I’m supposed to be back in my unit by noon today. At times like this, a military order can topple a mountain!” Huang Laowan’s reaction to the hurried soldier was stone-cold silence. With a shrug of the shoulders, he perched on the bow of the ferryboat like a cormorant, gazing out at the rushing river water. A while later, a pair of officials who were returning to the commune from town came aboard and sat on opposite sides of the ferry. “Say, old Huang, let’s get underway!” one of them urged. “We have to be back to pass on the essence of our meeting.” “In a minute,” Huang said in a muffled voice. “I’m waiting for her.”
    She jumped aboard carrying a balloon lute and sat down across from Jintong. She was powdered and rouged, but not enough to conceal her sallow complexion. The officials eyed her wantonly. “What village are you from?” one of them asked in a superior tone.
    Raising her head, she stared at the man. Her gloomy eyes, which had been downcast from the moment she boarded the ferry, suddenly emitted a wild glare of hostility, causing Jintong’s heart to shudder; the look in the eyes of this sallow-faced woman left him with the feeling that she could conquer any man she chose, and could never be conquered by any man. The skin on her face sagged and her neck was deeply wrinkled, but Jintong noticed her slender fingers and polished nails, a good indication that she wasn’t nearly as old as her face and neck made her appear. As she glared at the official, she hugged the lute to her chest, as if it were an infant.
    Huang Laowan got up and walked to the stern, where he picked up a bamboo pole and pushed the ferry out of the shallows, then turned it around and headed out into the river, leaving whitecaps in its wake as it slid forward like a big fish. Swallows skimmed the surface; the chilled stench of water weeds rose all around them. The passengers sat there morosely. But the official