Red Sorghum

‘stop clowning around! Do your filial duties, no matter how unpleasant they may be!’
    The Iron Society, which spent an enormous sum of money on my grandma’s funeral, financed its activities in Northeast Gaomi Township after the departure of the Leng detachment and the Jiao-Gao regiment by issuing its own currency, in denominations of one thousand and ten thousand yuan, printed on coarse straw paper. The designs were very simple (a strange humanoid astride a tiger), the printing haphazard at best (using printing blocks carved for holiday posters). At the time no fewer than four separate currencies circulated in Northeast Gaomi, their strength and fluctuating value determined by the power of the issuing authority. Currency backed by military force constituted the greatest exploitation of the people, and Granddad was able to finance Grandma’s funeral by relying on this sort of concealed tyranny. The Jiao-Gao regiment and the Leng detachment had been squeezed out, so Granddad’s coarse currency was very strong in Northeast Gaomi Township for a while. But then the bottom dropped out, a few months after Grandma’s funeral, and the tigermount currency wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.
    The two Iron Society soldiers entered the funeral tent with the physician in tow; they blinked in the bright candlelight.
    ‘What’s this all about?’ Granddad snarled, rising from his seat.
    One of the soldiers went down on his knee and covered the shaved part of his head with both hands. ‘Deputy Commander, we’ve caught a spy!’
    Black Eye, whose left eye was rimmed by dark moles, kicked the table leg and barked out an order: ‘Off with his head! Then rip out his heart and liver and cook them to go with the wine!’
    ‘Not so fast!’ Granddad countermanded. He turned to Black Eye. ‘Blackie, shouldn’t we find out who he is before we kill him?’
    ‘Who the fuck cares who he is!’ Black Eye picked a clay teapot up off the table and threw it to the ground. Then he stood up, his pistol sticking out of his belt, and glared at the soldier who had made the report.
    ‘Commander . . .’ the soldier stammered fearfully.
    ‘I’ll fuck your living mother, Zhu Shun! “Commander” means nothing to you, I see! You son of a bitch, get out of mysight. You’re a fucking thorn in my eye!’ The ranting Black Eye looked down at the teapot on the ground and gave it a swift kick, sending shards of clay flying; some of them landed in the grove of graceful snow willows beside the coffin and made them rustle.
    A boy about Father’s age bent over, picked up the pieces of the teapot, and tossed them outside the tent.
    ‘Fulai,’ Granddad said to the boy, ‘put the commander to bed. He’s drunk!’
    Fulai stepped up and put his arms around Black Eye, who sent him reeling. ‘Drunk? Who’s drunk? You ungrateful shit! I set up shop, and you eat free. A tiger kills its prey just so the bear can eat it! You little shit, you won’t get away with throwing sand in my black eye! Just wait!’
    ‘Blackie,’ Granddad said, ‘you don’t want to lay your prestige on the line in front of the men.’ His lips curled in a grim smile, and cruel wrinkles appeared at the corners of his mouth.
    Black Eye rested his hand on the bakelite handle of his pistol. In a tired, strangely hoarse voice he said, ‘Get the fuck out of here! And take that little son of a bitch with you!’
    ‘It’s easy to invite the gods, hard to send them away,’ Granddad said.
    Black Eye drew his pistol and waved it in front of Granddad, who held out his green ceramic cup, took a sip of wine, and swished it around in his mouth before leaning forward and spitting it in Black Eye’s face. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he flung the cup at the muzzle of Black Eye’s pistol; the cup shattered on impact, the pieces flying everywhere. Black Eye’s hand twitched, and the muzzle of the pistol drooped.
    ‘Put your gun away!’ Granddad shouted in a steely voice. ‘I’m not finished with you yet, Blackie, so don’t get smart with me!’
    Black Eye’s face was bathed in sweat. He grumbled, picked up his pistol, stuck it in his leather belt, and sat down.
    The mule-riding physician, who had watched the episode with a disdainful smile, suddenly started laughing so hard he could barely stand, so hard that hot tears streamed down his cheeks. His behaviour made everyone squirm uncomfortably.
    ‘What’s so funny?’ Black Eye asked. ‘I’ll fuck your