Red Sorghum

seemed otherworldly.
    ‘Who’ll go down for a silver dollar?’ Five Monkeys Shan asked in a booming voice.
    The ninety-two-year-old woman from our village told me, ‘No man would have dared go into an inlet filled with the blood of a leper, not even for his own mother! If he did, he’d come out infected. If two went in, they’d both come out infected. Not for any amount of money . . . All that evil was caused by your grandma and your granddad!’ I wasn’t happy with the old hag for placing the blame on Granddad and Grandma, but as I looked at her clay-pot head I just smiled weakly.
    ‘Nobody’s willing to go down? Not a fucking one of you? Then we’ll just let father and son cool off in the water! Old Liu, Arhat Liu, since you’re the foreman, go into town and report this to Shoe Sole Cao the Second.’
    In preparation for the trip, Uncle Arhat Liu wolfed down some food, followed it with half a gourdful of wine, then led out one of the black mules, tied a burlap bag over its back, and mounted it. He headed west, towards the county town.
    Uncle Arhat wore a sombre expression that morning, from either anger or resentment. He was the first to suspect that something terrible had befallen his master and the master’sson following the suspicious fire. Up at the first light of dawn, he was surprised to note that the western compound gate was wide open. He spotted blood on the ground as soon as he walked into the yard, and more of it inside the house. Even in his confused state he knew that the fire and blood-letting were linked.
    Since he and all the other hands knew that the young master had leprosy, they did not enter the western compound unless it was absolutely necessary, and then only after spraying mouthfuls of wine over their bodies. Uncle Arhat believed that sorghum wine was an effective disinfectant for all kinds of dangerous germs. When Shan Bianlang’s bride entered the compound three days earlier, no villagers were willing to assist, so naturally he and an old distillery hand were left to help her out of the sedan chair. As he held her arm and walked her into the house, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, seeing her delicate bound feet and her plump wrist, as big around as a lotus root, and he couldn’t stifle a sigh. In the midst of his shock over the murder of Old Man Shan and his son days later, the image of Grandma’s tiny feet and full wrist appeared and reappeared in his mind. He didn’t know if the sight of all that blood made him sad or happy.
    Uncle Arhat whipped the big black mule, wishing it could sprout wings and fly him to town. He knew there would be more excitement to come, since the flowery, jadelike little bride would be returning from her parents’ home tomorrow morning on her donkey. Who would be the beneficiary of the Shan family’s vast holdings? Things like that were best left to Nine Dreams Cao to decide. After having overseen Gaomi County for three years, Cao had earned the sobriquet ‘Upright Magistrate’. People talked about how he dispatched cases with the wisdom of the gods, the vigour of thunder, and the speed of wind; about how he was just and honourable, never favouring his own kin over others; and about how he meted out death sentences without batting an eye. Uncle Arhat smacked the mule’s rump harder.
    The mule flew west towards the county town, pounding the ground with its rear hooves when its front legs were curled up,then stretching out its front legs and curling its rear legs. The movement produced a rhythm of hoofbeats that belied the seemingly chaotic motion. Dust flew like blossoming flowers in the glinting light of the horseshoes. The sun was still in the southeastern corner of the sky when Uncle Arhat reached the Jiao-Ping–Jinan rail line. The mule balked at crossing the tracks so Uncle Arhat jumped down and tried to pull it across. But since he was no match for the animal’s strength, he sat down on the ground, gasping for breath and trying to figure out what to do next. The sunlight hurt his eyes. He stood up, wrapped his jacket around the mule’s eyes, and led it in a circle a few times before crossing the tracks.
    Two black-uniformed policemen guarded the town’s northern gate, each armed with a Hanyang rifle. Since it was market day in Gaomi County, a stream of pushcarts, peddlars with carrying poles, and people on mules and on foot passed through the town gate. Ignoring the traffic, the policemen busied themselves leering