Mo Yan - Frog

At the time we kids, who lived in an out-of-the-way village, had no idea that Sino-Russian relations were deteriorating. Chen Bi’s unflattering comparison of Soviet and Chinese fliers made us all — especially me — unhappy, but no one’s thoughts went beyond that. Years later, at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, when we were in the fifth grade, our classmate Xiao Xiachun exposed this incident from the past, not only causing trouble for Chen Bi, but leading ultimately to the deaths of his parents. The Soviet novel A Real Man , about a Soviet Air Force hero who returned to active duty after both feet were amputated, was discovered in his house. Based upon a true story, this novel of revolutionary inspiration was proof to the mobs that Chen Bi’s mother, Ailian, was the Soviet hero’s lover and that Chen Bi was their bastard offspring.

While the Jian-5 fighter planes were training, the Jiaozhou airfield aircraft were not idle. They went out at night, every night around nine o’clock, which was about the time the nightly local broadcast was coming to an end. Airfield searchlights abruptly lit up the sky, their broad beams beginning to break up in the sky above our village, though they sent shivers through us anyway. I was always saying stupid things at the worst possible moment. Wouldn’t it be great if I had a flashlight like that! I remarked. Stupid! Second brother said as he rapped my head with his knuckles. Of course, since we were about to gain a special uncle, my second brother had become a sort of expert in flying affairs; he’d committed to memory the names of all the volunteer pilots and could recite the details of their heroic achievements. He was also the one who told me once, when he asked me to check him for fleas, that the explosion that ripped the paper in our window coverings was called a sonic boom, caused by a plane breaking the sound barrier. What does that mean? I asked. It means going faster than the speed of sound, you dope. When the Jiaozhou bombers flew training missions, the mesmerising searchlight beams were the only things worth talking about. Some people said they weren’t for the sake of training, but were intended to guide lost planes home. The beams swung back and forth, crossing in places, moving together in others, occasionally capturing a bird in mid flight and throwing it off balance, like a fly caught in a bottle. In the end, after a few minutes of watching the searchlights, we heard the roar of an aeroplane engine, and then spotted the outline of a big black object in the sky, its outline visible because of the lights on its nose, tail and wingtips. It gave the impression of sliding down a beam of light to its nest. Aeroplanes have nests, just as chickens do.

In the second half of 1960, that is, not long after our coal-eating incident, word spread that Gugu would soon be marrying the air force pilot. Her mother came over to our side of the wall to discuss a dowry with Mother, and together they decided to cut down the hundred-year-old catalpa tree on the other side of the wall and have a man named Fan, the finest carpenter in the township, make a set of furniture from it. I saw Father and Fan come over to measure the tree, which shook so hard from fright as it anticipated its death that leaves fell to the ground, as if the tree were crying.

In the end, nothing came of the plan, and Gugu was away a long time. I ran over to Great-Aunt’s to see if there was any news, for which I got a taste of her cane. That’s when I discovered that she was older than those old midwives I’d heard about.

On the morning of the season’s first snowfall the sun shone bright red. On our way to school in our hempen sandals, our hands and feet were half frozen. We were running around the playground, whooping and hollering to keep warm, when suddenly we heard a frightening roar in the sky. We looked up, mouths agape, and spotted an enormous object — dark red — trailing black smoke — a pair of staring red eyes — gigantic white teeth — shuddering in the sky — coming right at us. Aeroplane, damn, it’s an aeroplane! Was it going to land on our playground?

None of us had ever seen an aeroplane so close before, so close its wings blew feathers and dead leaves off the ground to swirl in the air. Just think how great it would be if it could land on our playground! We could walk up and get a good look, we could touch it, and if our luck held, we’d be allowed to climb into its belly and have a great time. We might even be able to talk the pilot into telling us war stories. Maybe he was one of my future uncle’s comrade-in-arms. No, my uncle-to-be flew a Jian-5, which was much better looking than this dark thing. My uncle-to-be wouldn’t have a comrade-in-arms who flew something this big and slow. But, how should I put it, anyone who could fly anything was pretty impressive, don’t you think? Anyone who could get something this big, made of steel, up into the air had to be a hero. I couldn’t see the pilot’s face, but years later, lots of my classmates swore up and down that they saw it through the windshield. The aircraft, which we thought was going to land in our midst, veered to the right almost reluctantly and scraped its belly on the top branches of a poplar tree on the eastern edge of the village before crash-landing in a wheat field. We heard a thunderous explosion, louder and deeper than a sonic boom, and we felt the ground shake. Our ears rang and we saw spots in front of our eyes. A pillar of dense smoke and fire blasted into the sky, immediately turning the sunlight a deep scarlet and releasing into the air a strange smell that made it hard to breathe.

It took us a long time to snap out of our stunned state. We started running to the head of the village, and when we reached the road, we were nearly overcome by heat. The plane lay in pieces, one of its wings stuck in the ground like a gigantic torch. The field was on fire, filling the air with a burnt leather odour. Then a second explosion sent shock waves through the air. Wang the cook, who had plenty of experience, screamed, Hit the deck!

We did as he said and, following his lead, began to crawl.

Crawl fast, there are bombs under the wings!

We were later told that the aircraft was outfitted for four bombs, but only carried two that day. If there had been four, none of us would have made it out alive.

Three days after the crash, Father and other village men carried remnants of the destroyed aeroplane and the body of the pilot to the airport on their carts and wagons. They had barely returned to the village when Eldest Brother came running up out of breath. Our champion athlete had run all the way home from County High without stopping. Fifty li, just short of marathon distance. The moment he entered the yard, he sputtered a single word — Gugu — and simply collapsed, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolled back into his head. He was out.

Everyone rushed to his side. Someone pinched the spot over his upper lip, someone else pinched the spot between his thumb and finger, and a third person thumped him on the chest.

What about Gugu?

Finally, he came around. His mouth twisted and he burst into tears.

Mother rushed up with water in a gourd and poured some into his mouth. The rest she flung into his face.

Out with it. What about your aunt?

Gugu’s pilot defected with his aircraft…

The gourd fell out of Mother’s hand and smashed to pieces.

Defected to where? Father asked.

Where else? My brother wiped his face with his sleeve and clenched his teeth. Taiwan! The traitor, the turncoat flew to Taiwan to join Chiang Kai-shek!

What about your aunt? Mother asked.

Taken away by county security agents, Eldest Brother said.

Tears fell from Mother’s eyes. Do not tell your maternal grandmother, not a word, she commanded. And don’t talk about this outside.