Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

stroked her silken locks with a wooden comb, her graceful reflection displaying myriad melancholies. Sha Yueliang was shaken to the depths of his soul. “This will be the headquarters of the Black Donkey Musket Band,” he said decisively to Yao Si. “Shangguan Laidi,” Yao Si called out, “where’s your mother?” Sha dismissed Yao with a wave of his hand before the girl could answer. He walked up to the water vat and looked long and hard at Laidi. She returned the look. “Remember me, girl?” he asked. She nodded, her cheeks reddening.
    My sister then turned and ran into the house. After the fifth day of the fifth month, my seven sisters had moved into the room once occupied by Shangguan Lü and Shangguan Fulu. Their former room was now being used to store three thousand catties of millet. Sha Yueliang followed Laidi into the house, where he saw the other six girls asleep on the
kang.
With a friendly smile, he said, “Don’t be afraid, we’re anti-Japanese fighters who bring no harm to the local populace. You have seen how we fight. That was a heroic battle, heroic and tragic, fiercely fought, the glory of the ages, and the day will come when people act out our exploits and sing our praises.” Eldest Sister lowered her head and twisted the tip of her braid as she recalled the uncommon events of the fifth day of the fifth month, how the man standing in front of her now had peeled away, strip by strip, the tattered remnants of his uniform. “Little girl — no, young mistress, we are linked by fate!” he announced before walking back outside. My sister followed him as far as the doorway and watched him first enter the side room to the east, then the room to the west. In the west room he was startled by the green light in the eyes of Shangguan Lü. Holding his nose, he quickly backed out of the room and gave an order to his troops: “Make some room by stacking the grain and find me a place to sleep.” My sister leaned up against the doorframe as she observed this skinny, stooped, dark-skinned man who looked like a scholar tree that had been struck by lightning. “Where is your father?” he asked her. Yao Si, who was lying low next to the wall, replied solicitously, “Her father was killed on the fifth day of the fifth month by the Jap devils — no, I mean the Imperial Army. Her grandfather, Shangguan Fulu, died the same day.”
    “Imperial Army, did you say? Japs! Little Jap devils!” Sha
    Yueliang roared, stomping his foot to express his loathing. “Young mistress,” he said, “your debt of vengeance, deep as a sea of blood, is our debt, and we will exact it one day, that I promise you. Who is the head of your family now?”
    “Shangguan Lu,” Yao Si answered for her.
    Meanwhile, Eighth Sister and I were being baptized.
    The door of Pastor Malory’s residence opened directly onto the church, where faded oil paintings hung on the wall. Most were of naked winged infants, plump as fat yams. It wasn’t until later that I learned they were called angels. At the far end stood a brick pulpit, a carving from a heavy piece of jujube of a bare-chested man hanging in front. Owing either to the poor skills of the carver or to the hardness of the wood, the hanging man didn’t look much like a man at all. I later learned that it was our Lord Jesus, an amazing hero, a true saint. A dozen or so dusty pews, replete with bird droppings, were scattered here and there in front of the pulpit. Mother walked in with me in one arm and Eighth Sister in the other, startling the resident sparrows, which flew off and banged into the windows. The church’s front door opened onto the street. Through the cracks in the door, Mother could see a number of black donkeys shuttling back and forth outside.
    Pastor Malory was holding a large wooden basin half filled with hot water in which a loofah floated. Steam rose from the basin, through which his slitted eyes showed. Bent over by the weight of the basin, he walked unsteadily, his neck thrust out. When he stumbled, water splashed into his face. But he regained his balance and shuffled on, until he was able to place the baptismal basin on the pulpit.
    Mother walked up and handed us to him. He placed me in the basin, my feet curling inward the moment they touched the hot water. My tearful cries reverberated in the dreary emptiness of the church. Baby swallows in a white nest in the rafters craned their necks over the edge to watch me with their black, beady eyes; just then