Mo Yan - Pow!

The face of Cheng Tianle, who had just lost a tooth, was mapped with more than eighty creases. Chosen as the master of ceremonies for the memorial service, he had a white ribbon draped over his shoulders and wore a white, heavily pleated hat like a rooster's coxcomb. He made a late appearance, though, causing people to wonder where he'd hidden himself for so long. He smelt heavily of alcohol, salted fish and damp earth, which made me surmise that he'd spent the time in Lao Lan's cellar. Well on his way to being drunk, he had trouble focusing his bleary eyes, almost gummed together with sticky residue. His assistant was Shen Gang, the man who'd once borrowed money from my mother. Smelling the same as Cheng Tianle—his cellar mate, obviously—he was dressed in black, with a pair of white oversleeves. In one hand he carried a hatchet and in the other a rooster—white with a black cockscomb. An important individual who walked into the room with them cannot go unmentioned—Su Zhou, younger brother of Lao Lan's wife, a close relative of some note who ought to have made an early appearance. His late arrival was either planned or was the result of his being delayed on the road.

Father, Yao Qi, Xiao Han and a clutch of brawny fellows followed the trio into the main room. A pair of low benches had been set up in the yard, where men with poles waited under the veranda eaves.

‘Homage to the coffin—’

As Cheng Tianle's shout echoed in the air, Lao Lan rushed out of his room and fell to his knees in front of the coffin. ‘Oh, dear mother of our daughter—ah huh huh huh—’ he wailed, pounding the lid, ‘you have cruelly left Tiangua and me behind—’

He thumped the coffin lid loudly with his hand and tears streaked his face, revealing the depth of his overwhelming grief (and immediately squelching a good many rumours).

Out in the yard the musicians played a dirge as the monks chanted, loudly and with enthusiasm. Inside and out, sound triumphantly created an aura of unbearable grief. For the moment I had no thoughts for the evil spirit across from me, as tears cascaded down my face.

Even the heavens lent a hand, first with rolling thunder, then with raindrops the size of old coins that beat a tattoo on the ground. The rain pounded the monks’ shaved heads and battered the faces of the musicians. Soon the drops grew smaller and the curtain of rain grew denser. But the monks and musicians persisted. The water splashing on the monks’ heads had a relaxing effect on the people, though the brassy sound of horns and funereal strains of the suona became increasingly sorrowful. But nothing suffered more than the paper figures. Pounded by the relentless rain, they softened, then began to fall apart, with gaping holes in the front and at the back revealing the sorghum stalk frames on which they were fashioned.

With a silent signal from Cheng Tianle, Yao Qi led the grief-stricken Lao Lan to one side. Mother had me stand at the head of the coffin; Huang Biao's wife had Tiangua stand at the foot. Our eyes met across its length. Like a conjurer, Cheng Tianle whisked out a brass gong and brought an abrupt end to the chants and the music outside. Now the only sound was the patter of raindrops. Shen Gang walked up stiffly to the coffin and laid his rooster, legs tightly bound, on top. He raised his hatchet over his head. The gong rang out. The rooster's head rolled to the ground.

‘Lift the coffin—’ shouted Cheng Tianle.

The pallbearers stepped up, prepared to pick up the coffin and carry it out into the yard, then place it atop the benches, fit it with ropes and shoulder it out the gate onto the street all the way to the cemetery. It would be interred in the waiting tomb, which would then be sealed; once a headstone was in place, everything would be brought to an orderly end. But it was not to be.

Lao Lan's young brother-in-law, Su Zhou, abruptly rushed up and threw himself across the coffin. ‘Elder Sister—my beloved elder sister ‘he wailed, ‘how tragically you died—how unjustly—how suspiciously—’

As he pounded the coffin lid, staining his hand with chicken blood, the congregation fell into an awkward silence. We could only look on, wide-eyed and helpless.

Finally Cheng Tianle regained his senses; he walked up and tugged at the man's clothing. ‘That's enough, Su Zhou. Now that you've poured out your grief, it's time to bury your sister and let her rest in peace.’

‘Rest in peace?’ Su Zhou demanded, his wailing abruptly ended. He jerked up straight, turned away from the coffin and then leapt backward to sit on it. Rays of green light emerged from his eyes and shone over the crowd. ‘Rest in peace? You will not destroy the evidence of a heinous crime. I won't let you!’

Lao Lan kept his head down and held his tongue but Su Zhou's outburst made it impossible for others to intervene. So it was up to Lao Lan to reply, however dispiritedly: ‘Go ahead, Su Zhou, say what you have to say.’

‘What I have to say?’ the man was boiling over with rage. ‘I have to say that you murdered your wife, you evil man!’

Lao Lan shook his head, his anguish obvious: ‘You're not a child, Su Zhou, who can get away with saying anything. You have to weigh your words. The law does not permit that sort of libel.’

‘Libel?’ Su Zhou sneered. ‘Ha-ha, ha-ha, libel, he says. What does the law say about the murder of one's wife?’

‘Where's your proof?’ asked Lao Lan calmly.

Su Zhou banged the coffin with his bloodied hand. ‘Here's my proof!’

‘You're going to have to be clearer than that.’

‘If you weren't hiding something, why were you in such a hurry to cremate her? Why didn't you wait for me to come and seal the coffin?’

‘I sent people for you more than once—they told me you were off in the northeast replenishing your stock or having a good time on Hainan Island. It's so hot that even the rolling pins are sprouting, but still we waited two full days for you.’

‘Don't assume you've destroyed the evidence by cremating her body,’ Su Zhou said with an icy laugh. ‘Years after Napoleon's death they were able to determine that he'd died of arsenic poisoning by examining his bones. Pan Jinlian burnt up Wu Dalang, but Wu Song discovered scars on his bones. You won't get away with this.’

‘What a monumental joke,’ Lao Lan said to the crowd as tears gushed from his eyes. ‘If my marriage had been an unhappy one, I could easily have demanded a divorce. Why in the world would I do what he's saying? My fellow villagers are not easily fooled. I ask you, is Lao Lan capable of anything so stupid?’

‘Then tell me: how did my sister die?’ Su Zhou demanded fiercely.

‘You give me no choice, Su Zhou,’ Lao Lan said as he crouched down and wrapped his arms round his head. ‘You're forcing me to reveal a family disgrace. For some idiotic reason, your sister took the easy way out—she hanged herself…’

‘Why?’ Su Zhou insisted tearfully. ‘Tell me, why did she hang herself?’

‘Mother of my children, how could you be so foolish…’ Lao Lan wept as he pounded his head with his fist.

‘You bastard, Lao Lan,’ Su Zhou said through clenched teeth, ‘you and your secret mistress killed my sister, then made it look like suicide. Now I'm going to avenge her death!’ He grabbed the hatchet, jumped off the coffin and rushed at Lao Lan.

‘Stop him!’ Mother shrieked.

People leapt to their feet and grabbed Su Zhou round his waist. But not before he flung the hatchet at Lao Lan's head. It glinted in the light as it sliced through the air, trailing a bloody path above our heads. Mother quickly pushed Lao Lan out of the way. The hatchet dropped harmlessly to the floor and she kicked it across the room. ‘Su Zhou,’ she cried out in alarm, ‘what savage impulse drove you to try to kill him in broad daylight?’