Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

hiding in a bellows, a person hated by both sides. Why did you accept the job?”
    “That’s shit! What you’re saying is pure shit!” Sima Ting defended himself. “Only a damned idiot would take on the job willingly. The Japanese stuck a bayonet up against my belly. Through Ma Jin-long, the interpreter, their commander said, ‘Your younger brother Sima Ku joined the bandit Sha Yueliang to burn a bridge and launch an ambush. They inflicted heavy casualties on the Imperial Army. At first we planned to burn down your residence, Felicity Manor, but since you seem like a reasonable man, we have spared you.’ So you are one of the reasons I am the new head of the Peace Preservation Corps.”
    Sima Ku, having lost the argument, cursed angrily, “This goddamned ass of mine, I wonder if it will ever heal.”
    “I’d be happy if it never healed,” Sima Ting said heatedly. “You’ll give me a lot less trouble that way.” Turning to leave, he spotted a smiling Sha Yueliang standing at the door. Yao Si stepped forward, but before he could make the introductions, Sha announced, “Corps Head Sima, I am Sha Yueliang.”
    Sima Ku rolled over in bed before his brother could react. “I’ll be damned, so you’re Sha Yueliang, nicknamed Sha the Monk.”
    “At present I am the commander of the Black Donkey Musket Band,” Sha replied. “My thanks to the Sima brothers for setting the bridge on fire. You and I, hand in glove.”
    “So you’re still alive, are you? What sort of birdshit battles are you fighting these days?”
    “Ambushes!” Sha said.
    “Ambushes, is it? If not for me and my torch, you’d have been trampled into the mud!” Sima Ku said.
    “I have a salve for treating burns,” Sha said with a broad smile. “I’ll have one of my men bring it over.”
    “Lay out some food,” Sima Ting instructed Yao Si, “to welcome Commander Sha.”
    Yao Si replied timidly, “All our money went to set up the Peace Preservation Corps.”
    “How stupid can you be?” Sima Ting said. “The Imperial Army doesn’t serve our family alone, it serves eight hundred households. And the musket band was raised not for our family, but for all the citizens of the township. Get every family to contribute some food and money, since these men are the people’s guests. We’ll supply the wine and liquor.”
    “Corps Head Sima serves two masters well, and gains equally from both.”
    “What can I do?” Sima Ting pleaded. “As old Pastor Malory said, ‘Who will go to Hell, if not me?’“
    Pastor Malory took the lid of his pot and dumped noodles made of the new flour into the boiling water, then stirred them with chopsticks before replacing the lid. “The fire needs to be a little hotter,” he shouted to Mother, who nodded and stuffed more golden, fragrant wheat stalks into the belly of the stove. Without letting go of the nipple, I looked down at the flames licking out of the stove and listened to the stalks crackle and pop as I thought back to what had just happened: They had laid me in the basket — on my back at first, although I quickly rolled over onto my belly, so I could watch Mother roll the noodles. As her body moved up and down, those two full gourds on her chest bounced around, summoning me, passing me a secret sign. Sometimes they threw the two datelike heads together, as if kissing or whispering to one another. But most of the time they were bouncing up and down, bouncing and calling out, like a pair of happy white doves. I reached out to touch them, saliva oozing from my mouth. Then, all of a sudden, they turned bashful and edgy, as a blush fell over their faces and delicate pearls of sweat streamed down the valley between them. I saw a pair of blue lights dancing on them; they were spots of light from Pastor Malory’s eyes. Then two hands with blond hair reached out from the blue eyes to take my food from me, sending yellow flames leaping from my heart. I opened my mouth to cry, but that only made things worse. The tiny hands retreated back into Malory’s eyes, but the big hands attached to his arms reached out to Mother’s chest. He stood tall and massive behind her; those ugly hands reached around and covered the two white doves. He stroked their feathers with his coarse fingers, then pinched and scissored their heads. My poor gourds! My precious doves! They struggled to free their wings, then tucked them close to their bodies, close and tight, until they were as small as they were ever going to