Red Sorghum

he’ll come back for you.’ But now that you’re the county magistrate you say you don’t know me. . . .’
    ‘The woman is mad, she has mistaken me for someone else!’
    ‘I’m not mistaken! I’m not! Father! My true father!’ She held tightly to Magistrate Cao’s legs and rocked back and forth, glistening tears streaming down her face, the sun glinting off her jadelike teeth.
    Magistrate Cao lifted Grandma up and said, ‘I can be your foster-father!’
    She tried to fall to her knees again, but was supported under the arms by Magistrate Cao. She squeezed his hand and said with childish innocence, ‘Father, when will you take me to see Mother?’
    ‘Soon, very soon! Now, let go, let go of me. . . .’
    Grandma let go of his hand.
    Magistrate Cao took out a handkerchief to wipe his sweaty brow.
    Everyone stared at the two of them.
    Nine Dreams Cao removed his hat and twirled it on his finger as he stammered to the onlookers, ‘Fellow villagers – I have always advocated – stamp out opium – outlaw gambling – annihilate bandits –’
    He had barely finished when –
pow! pow! pow!
– three shots rang out, and three bullets flew over from the sorghum field by the inlet, releasing three puffs of smoke when they hit the brown hat perched atop his middle finger. It sailed into the air, as though in the grip of a demon, and landed in the dirt, still twirling.
    The gunshots were met by gasps and whistles from the crowd. ‘It’s Spotted Neck!’ someone shouted.
    ‘Three-Nod Phoenix!’
    ‘Quiet down! Quiet down!’ Magistrate Cao shouted from his refuge under the table.
    The people, crying for their parents, scattered like wild animals.
    Little Yan quickly untied the black colt from the willow tree, dragged Magistrate Cao out from under the table, helped him onto the horse, and swatted it on the rump. The colt, its mane standing straight up, its tail bristling, ran like the wind with the county magistrate in the saddle, while the soldiers fired a few random shots towards the sorghum field before making themselves scarce.
    The banks of the inlet grew strangely quiet.
    Grandma rested her hand sombrely on the donkey’s head and stared towards the sorghum field. Great-Granddad had thrown himself under the donkey and covered his ears with his hands. Steam rose from the clothes of Uncle Arhat, who hadn’t moved.
    The water in the inlet was smooth as ever; the floating white lilies had spread open, their petals like ivory. The village chief, Five Monkeys Shan, whose face was bruised and swollen by the shoe sole, shrieked ‘Spare me, Spotted Neck! Spare me!’
    His shrieks were answered by three more rapid gunshots, and Grandma saw the bullets strike his head. Three tufts of hair stood straight up as he fell over, kissing the ground with his open mouth, a mottled liquid oozing from the upturned back of his head.
    Grandma’s expression didn’t change; she gazed at the sorghum field as though awaiting something. A breeze swept across the inlet, raising ripples on the surface, setting the lilies in motion, and bending the rays of light on the water. Half of the gathered crows had flown down to the bodies of Shan Tingxiu and his son; the other half remained perched on the willow branches, raising a clamour. Their tail feathers fanned out in the breeze, revealing glimpses of the dark-green skin around their rectums.
    A tall, husky man emerged from the sorghum field and walked along the bank of the inlet. He wore a rain cape that came down to his knees and a conical hat woven out of sorghum stalks. The strap was made of emerald glass beads. Ablack silk bandana was tied around his neck. He walked to the body of Five Monkeys Shan and looked down at it. Then he walked over to Magistrate Cao’s hat, picked it up, and twirled it on the barrel of his pistol before heaving it in the air. It sailed into the inlet.
    The man looked straight at my grandma, who returned his gaze.
    ‘Were you bedded by Shan Bianlang?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes,’ Grandma said.
    ‘Shit!’ He turned and walked back into the sorghum field.
    Uncle Arhat was utterly confused by what he’d seen, and couldn’t have told you which way was up.
    The bodies of the old master and his son were now completely covered by crows, some of which were pecking at the eyes with their hard black beaks.
    Uncle Arhat was trying to make sense of everything that had happened since he’d lodged his complaint at the Gaomi market the day before.
    Magistrate