Red Sorghum

another, each of which was stacked alongside the pile of firewood. Suddenly Yu Zhan’ao climbed down off the pile, undid his pants, and pissed into one of the brimming crocks. The shocked men numbly watched the steam of clear liquid splash into the wine crock and send sprays over the sides. When he’d finished, he smirked and staggered up to Grandma, whose cheeks were flushed. She didn’t move as he wrappedhis arms around her and planted a kiss on her face. She paled, stumbled, and sat down hard on the stool.
    ‘That child in your belly,’ he demanded angrily. ‘Is it mine or isn’t it?’
    Grandma was crying. ‘If you say so . . .’
    Yu Zhan’ao’s eyes blazed and his muscles grew taut, as if he were a workhorse standing up after rolling in the dirt. He stripped down to his shorts. ‘Now watch me clean the distiller!’
    Cleaning the distiller is the hardest job of all. Once the wine has stopped flowing through the spouts, the pewter distiller is removed; then the honeycombed wooden lid is lifted from the wooden distiller, which is filled with sorghum mash, dark yellow and scalding hot. Yu Zhan’ao climbed onto a bench, wielding a short-handled wooden spade, and scooped the mash out into the frame. His movements were so slight he seemed to be using only his forearms. The heat turned his skin scarlet, and sweat ran down his back like a river, smelling strongly of wine.
    My granddad Yu Zhan’ao worked with such consummate skill that Uncle Arhat and the other men looked on in awe. Talents hidden for months were now on display. When he’d finished, he drank some wine, then said to Uncle Arhat, ‘Foreman, that’s not all I can do. Now look. When the wine comes down the spouts, the steam dissipates. If you put another, smaller distiller over the spouts, you’d have nothing but the best wine.’
    Uncle Arhat shook his head. ‘I doubt that,’ he said.
    ‘If not,’ Granddad said, ‘you can chop off my head!’
    Uncle Arhat glanced at Grandma, who sniffed once or twice. ‘That’s not my business. I don’t care. Let him do what he wants.’
    She returned to the western compound, sobbing.
    From that day on, Granddad and Grandma shared their love like mandarin ducks or Chinese phoenixes. Uncle Arhat and the hired hands were so tormented by their naked, demonic exhibition of desire that their intelligence failed them, and even though they had a bellyful of misgivings, in time, one after another, they became my granddad’s loyal followers.
    Granddad’s skills revolutionised the operation, giving Northeast Gaomi Township its first top-line distilled wine. As for the crock into which he had pissed, since the men dared not dispose of it on their own, they just moved it over to a corner and left it there. Late one overcast afternoon, as a strong southeast wind carried the aroma of sorghum wine across the compound, the men were suddenly aware of an unusually rich and mellow fragrance. Uncle Arhat, whose sense of smell was keenest, sought out the source, and was astonished to discover that it came from the piss-enhanced crock in the corner. Without a word to anyone, he lit the bean-oil lantern, turned up the wick, and settled down to study the phenomenon.
    First he scooped out a dipperful of the wine, then let it drip slowly back into the crock and watched it form a soft green liquid curtain that was transformed into a multipetaled flower, like a chrysanthemum, when it hit the surface. The unique fragrance was more volatile than ever. He scooped up a tiny bit of the wine, tasting it first with the tip of his tongue, then taking a decisive swig. After rinsing his mouth with cool water, he drank some ordinary sorghum wine from one of the other crocks. He flung down the dipper, rushed out, burst through the western compound gate, and ran across the yard, shouting, ‘Mistress, joyful news!’

9
    AFTER BEING SENT away by Grandma with a bundle of hot buns, Great-Granddad led his donkey home, cursing all the way. As soon as he arrived, he blurted out to Great-Grandma how my grandma had acknowledged Magistrate Cao as her foster-dad and had disowned her real father. Enraged by the news, Great-Grandma added her fulminations to his, and the two of them looked like old toads fighting over a cicada. After a while, she said, ‘Forget your anger, old man. As they say, “Strong winds eventually cease, unhappy families return to peace.” Go seeher in a couple of days. She’s inherited so much wealth that we could