Red Sorghum

Red’s troops surrounded them. They kept firing, killing and wounding dogs until their ammunition was exhausted. Father’s bayonet, which glintedmenacingly in the sun, posed a serious threat to the dogs; but Mother’s and Dezhi’s carbines had no bayonets, so the circling dogs concentrated on them. Three backs were nearly fused together. They could feel one another shaking in fright. ‘Douguan,’ Mother murmured, ‘Douguan . . .’
    ‘Don’t be scared,’ Father demanded. ‘Scream as loud as you can. Try to get my dad to come to our rescue.’
    Seeing that Father was in charge, Red glared contemptuously at the bayonet out of the corner of his eye.
    ‘Dad – help, save us!’ Father screamed.
    ‘Uncle – hurry!’ Mother cried at the top of her lungs.
    A few of the dogs tried to mount an assault but were beaten back. Mother rammed the barrel of her rifle into a charging dog’s mouth, knocking out two of its teeth. Another one recklessly charged Father, whose bayonet sliced open its face. While his troops charged and fell back, Red crouched on the perimeter, his eyes riveted on Father.
    The standoff continued for about as long as it takes to smoke a couple of pipefuls. Father’s legs were getting rubbery, and he could barely lift his arms. He screamed again for Granddad to come and save them. Mother was pressed so tightly to him that he felt as though his back were up against a wall.
    ‘Douguan,’ whispered Dezhi, ‘I’ll draw them away so you two can escape.’
    ‘No!’ Father said emphatically.
    ‘Here I go!’
    He burst out of the encampment and ran like the wind towards the sorghum field, with dozens of dogs on his heels. They quickly caught him and began tearing him to shreds. But Father didn’t dare watch Dezhi’s agonies, for Red continued to stare at him without blinking.
    Two Japanese grenades exploded in the sorghum field where Dezhi had fled. Bent by the concussion, the stalks emitted a sigh that made the skin on Father’s cheeks crawl. First the sounds of broken canine bodies crashing to the ground, then the pitiful wails of dogs wounded in the blasts frightened the ones circling Father and Mother. They backed off, giving Mother the chance she needed to take out a muskmelon grenade and lob it into their midst. They watchedthe scary black object arch toward them, then let out a howl before scattering in panic. But the grenade fell harmlessly to the ground – she had forgotten to pull the pin. All the dogs fled, all except Red. When he saw Father turn to look at Mother, he sprang like lightning; the silvery rays of the sun struck this leader of dogs, his body forming a beautiful arc in the sky. Instinctively Father fell back, as Red’s claws slashed across his face.
    The initial assault had failed, although a piece of skin the size of Father’s mouth had been ripped from his cheek, which was immediately covered with sticky blood. Red charged again, and this time Father raised his rifle to ward him off. Forcing the barrel of the rifle upward with his front paws, Red lowered his head to avoid the bayonet and lunged at Father’s chest. Father spotted the clump of white fur on Red’s belly and aimed a kick, just as Mother fell forward and knocked him flat on his back. Spotting his opportunity, Red fell on Father and shrewdly sank his teeth in his crotch at the very moment that Mother brought the butt of her rifle crashing down on his bony skull. Momentarily stunned, he backed up a few steps, then sprang forward in another attack. He was maybe three feet in the air when his head suddenly slumped forward as a shot rang out. One of his eyes was smashed. Father and Mother looked up to see a spindly, hunched-over, white-haired old man, holding a scorched-looking wooden staff in his left hand and a smoking Japanese pistol in his right – it was Granddad.
    He took a few faltering steps forward and cracked Red over the head with his staff. ‘Rebel bastard!’ he cursed. Red’s heart was still beating, his lungs were still heaving, his powerful hind legs were scratching two deep furrows in the black earth. His rich, beautiful red fur blazed like a million tongues of flame.

8
    THE BITE HAD been absorbed with less than full force, possibly because Father was wearing two pairs of pants, but the resultswere bad enough: the dog’s teeth had ripped open one side of his scrotum, leaving an elliptical testicle the size of a quail’s egg hanging by a thin, nearly transparent thread. When