Red Sorghum

for the time being. We can come back for them after we’ve driven the Japs off.’ Grandmother stood like a block of wood and bowed to his wishes.
    Grandfather took the loose end of rope from the windlass and tied it around my mother’s waist, just as a shriek split the sky above them and a howling black object crashed into the neighbour’s pigsty. There was an ear-splitting explosion, and everything seemed to disintegrate as a column of smoke rose from the sty; pieces of shrapnel, patches of dung, and chunks of pig flew in all directions. A stumpy leg fell right in front of Mother, the white tendons all curled inward like river leeches. It was the first mortar explosion my fifteen-year-old mother had ever heard. The surviving pigs squealed frantically and came dashing out of the sty; Mother and my little uncle were crying hysterically.
    ‘They’re firing mortars!’ Grandfather announced. ‘Beauty, you’re fifteen now, so you’ll have to take care of your brother down in the well. I’ll come back for you after the Japs are gone.’ As another mortar shell exploded in the village, he cranked the windlass and lowered Mother into the well. When her feet touched the broken bricks and crumbling clay at the bottom, she looked up at the ray of light far above her, barely able to make out Grandfather’s face. ‘Untie the rope,’ she heard him yell. After doing as she was told, she watched the rope rise jerkily up the well. She could hear her parents arguing, the exploding Jap mortar shells, and finally the sound of her mother crying. Grandfather’s face reappeared in the ray of light. ‘Beauty,’ he shouted, ‘here comes your brother. Make sure you catch him.’
    Mother observed the wailing descent of my three-year-old uncle, his arms and legs flailing. The rotting piece of ropequivered in the air; the windlass protested with long-drawn-out creaks. Grandmother leaned into the well opening until nearly all the upper half of her body was in view; sobbing uncontrollably, she called out my uncle’s name: ‘Harmony, my little Harmony . . .’ Mother watched Grandmother’s glistening tears fall like crystal beads to the bottom of the well. The rope played out as Little Uncle’s feet touched the bottom, where he tearfully implored his mother, ‘Ma, pull me up, I don’t, I don’t want to be down here, I want to stay with you, Ma, Ma.’
    Grandmother reached out for the rope and strained to pull it back up. ‘Harmony, my darling baby, my precious son . . .’
    Then Mother saw Grandfather grab Grandmother’s hand, which had a death grip on the rope. Grandfather shoved her hard, and Mother saw her fall sideways. The rope snapped taut, and Little Uncle flew into Mother’s arms.
    ‘You fucking woman!’ Grandfather screamed. ‘Do you want them up here so they can die with the rest of us? Get over to the wall, and be quick about it! No one’ll get out alive if the Japs enter the village!’
    ‘Beauty – Harmony – Beauty – Harmony –’ But Grandmother’s shouts seemed so far away. Another mortar shell exploded; earth fell on them. They didn’t hear Grandmother’s voice any more after the explosion. Above them only a single ray of light and the old windlass.
    Little Uncle was still crying as Mother untied the rope from around his waist. ‘Good little Harmony,’ she said to comfort him. ‘Don’t cry, baby brother. The Japs’ll come if you keep crying. If they hear a kid crying they’ll come with their red eyes and green fingernails. . . .’
    That stopped him. He looked up at her with his tiny, round black eyes, and threw his pudgy little arms around her neck. More and more mortar explosions lit up the sky, joined now by machine-gun and rifle fire.
Pop pop pop
, a pause, then
pop pop pop
. Mother looked skyward, listening carefully for movement around the well. She heard the distant shouts of Ruolu the Elder and the screams of the villagers. The well was cold and damp. A chunk of the side fell off, exposing pale earth and the roots of a tree. The bricks were covered with a layer ofdark-green moss. Little Uncle stirred in her arms and began to sob again. ‘Sis,’ he said, ‘I want my mama, I want to go back up. . . .’
    ‘Harmony, good Little Brother . . . Mom went with Dad to fight the Japs. They’ll come get us as soon as they’ve driven them off. . . .’ Mother, who was trying to comfort her baby brother, started to sob, too. They hugged each other tightly as their