Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

up to the cart. “You feathered bastards, let’s see which of you has the guts to come down here! I’ll tear you limb from limb!” He banged his gong and began jumping around, shouting curses into the air. Crows circled a good fifty feet above the cart, their caws tumbling earthward along with droppings and worn-out feathers. “Old Titmouse” picked up the red-bannered staff and shook it at the crows, which separated into groups that went into steep, screeching dives, circling the heads of Sima Ting and “Old Titmouse,” with their tiny oval eyes, powerful stiff wings, and hideously filthy talons. The men fought them off, but the unyielding beaks kept finding their mark. So the men used the gong and mallet and the staff as weapons, increasing the sounds of battle. Wounded crows folded their wings and thudded into the velvet grass amid the white flowers, then limped off into the field, dragging their wings behind them. Mad dogs hidden among the stalks were on them like a shot, quickly tearing them to pieces. In no time, sticky feathers littered the ground, while the dogs retreated to the edge of the field to crouch in readiness, panting noisily, scarlet tongues lolling to the sides of their mouths. Some of the uninjured crows kept up their assault on Sima Ting and “Old Titmouse,” but the bulk of their force attacked the cart — noisily, excitedly, repulsively — their necks like springs, their beaks like awls, as they feasted on delicious human carrion, a demonic feast. Sima Ting and “Old Titmouse” fell to the ground, exhausted, runnels of sweat cobwebbed on their dusty exposed faces.
    The pit by then was more than shoulder-deep, and all we could see were the occasional top of someone’s head and soaring clumps of wet, white mud; the air was suffused with the cool, fresh smell of raw earth.
    One of the men climbed out of the pit and walked up alongside Sima Ting. “Town Head,” he said, “we’ve struck water.” Sima looked at him with glazed eyes and slowly raised his arm. “Come take a look,” the man said. “It’s deep enough.” Sima crooked a finger at the man, who was puzzled by the sign. “Idiot!” Sima growled. “Help me up.” The man bent down and helped Sima to his feet. Moaning, Sima thumped his waist with his fists and, with the other man’s help, hobbled over to the ridge of the pit. “Goddamn it,” Sima Ting cursed. “Get up here, you bastards, you’ll dig all the way down to Hell before you know it.”
    The men climbed out of the pit and were pelted by the corrupt stench of the dead. Sima kicked the carter. “On your feet,” he demanded, “and get your cart over there.” The carter didn’t budge. “Gou San, Yao Si,” Sima bellowed, “toss this son of a bitch in first!”
    Gou San, who was standing with the other men, grunted a reply.
    “Where’s Yao Si?” Sima asked. “The itchy-footed prick slipped away already,” Gou San said angrily. “Smash that bastard’s rice bowl when we get back,” Sima said as he gave the carter another kick. “Let’s see if this one’s dead.”
    The carter climbed to his feet, a hangdog look on his face, and cast a fearful glance at his cart standing at the edge of the graveyard. The crows were clustered on the bed, hopping up and down with loud, piercing cries. The horses were lying on the ground, their noses buried in the grass, crows perched on their backs. The rest of the crows were on the grassy ground, feasting. Two of them were fighting over a large morsel, one backing up, the other reluctantly surging forward and forcing the other to keep retreating. From time to time, neither would budge, as they dug in their talons, flapped their wings frantically, thrust out their heads, neck feathers standing straight up to reveal the purple skin beneath, both necks seemingly about to detach themselves from the torsos behind. A dog came out of nowhere and snapped up the entrails, dragging the two birds tumbling through the grass.
    “Spare me, Town Head,” the carter implored as he fell to his knees in front of Sima Ting, who picked up a dirt clod and hurled it at the crows. They barely noticed. He then walked up to the families of the deceased and muttered, “That’s it, that will do it. You folks go home.”
    Mother was the first of the stunned crowd to get down on her knees, followed by the others, who raised a piteous howl. “Elder Sima, lay them to rest,” Mother begged. The rest of the crowd pleaded with him,