Говард Голдблатт: Chairman Mao Would Not Be Amused - Fiction From Today`s China [редактор Говард Голдблатт]

Junni picked a coat up off the ground and draped it over his shoulders. "What's wrong? We'll be going back soon."

"No way to cut through." Sonny looked over to where the shells continued to explode and shook his head. "I don't think there's a single man left from the Thirty-fourth." He turned to Ji-ming. "Give me some water to wash down these crackers."

As Junni searched through the heap of coats for the canteen, Jiming said, "Look, don't worry about me and Junni-get to a village, dress up like a native, dump the rifle, and make a break for it when you can."

Sonny smiled. "In all these years, I've never known you to give up like this." But the enemy lines were in fact closing in, and the few villages in the area had long ago fallen to the regular forces. Militia stragglers had little choice but to tuck themselves away in a shell hole like the one that sheltered them now.

Jiming lowered his head. "If I'd known this was going to happen, I'd never have left Xuzhou with the Nationalist retreat. Let's wait till the regiment has gone by, then watch for a chance to run."

"And go where?"

"Back home."

"Too risky," Junni said. "The tenant farmers are out of control these days; if we get caught, they'll cut us to pieces. You want us to get our heads chopped off like our dads did?"

She walked over to the two men. "Don't be so depressed. Why do we have to go anywhere? Isn't it nice here, all of us together?" Making a bed out of the coats, she said, "Sonny, why don't you stretch out for a little while; you haven't slept all night."

Sonny lost no time lying down and was soon buried in the pile of coats. "Head or no head, I need to get some fucking sleep."

"How about you, Jiming? You haven't slept a wink either."

Jiming squatted down, holding his head in his hands. He was silent. Junni walked over to rub his scalp. His bandage was caked with dirt and crusty blood. Never before had the two been so close.

Jiming looked up at her. "If I'd known, I never would have sent Sonny to Xuzhou to rescue you from the whorehouse. At least in that hellhole, you'd still be alive."

"Don't go on about what could have been. My uncle was just trying to help me survive. What with all the fighting in the village and the bad blood, I couldn't stay near those people. He said that an orphan girl without a name was bound to run into a kind man eventually, and that way I wouldn't starve."

"Yeah, right, so look where you ended up! Here-with us-at the mercy of your fellow villagers' evil spirits after all." He forced a smile, looking straight at Junni. "I always thought there'd be a day with banging gongs and a big red sedan chair, when I could marry you the proper way."

"Oh, Jiming," she sighed, lowering her gaze. "I got myself dirty a long time ago."

"Nobody at home knows that."

"Nobody at home, maybe, but heaven and earth know." She pressed his head to her breast. The cold wind carried the smell of death in their direction, wave after wave of air so thick that it was impossible to breathe. Jiming pushed her away gently and, with his hand on his head wound, lay down on the ground, sinking into the heap of overcoats rank with blood and smelly shoes. Before he dozed off, he heard what sounded like Junni urinating and buried his head even deeper.

On January 7, 1949, the thirty-eighth year of the republic, snowy winds whipped across the plains of Xuhuai. At about three-thirty in the afternoon, the frozen and hungry militia camped between Chenguanzhuang and the Lu River awoke, stunned by sudden attack. [1] [1] The Huai-Hai Campaign, stretching from November 6, 1948, to January 10, 1949, was the second of three decisive battles contributing to the ultimate defeat of the Nationalists by the Communists.

As artillery shells whined overhead, Jiming tossed aside the coat covering him and jumped up but fell right back to the ground.

The bombing grew louder, as if the shells were about to drop on their heads. It was a gray, wintry day, and evening had set in imperceptibly, the low clouds illuminated only by the explosions. Out on the field, voices called out, soft and feeble. It seemed almost that several hundred thousand soldiers had all perished, leaving behind only these three civilians.

"There's no fucking way out tonight," said Jiming.

Sonny lay on his back, inert, lifting his head from time to time to watch the bursts of light. He knew in his heart what the others were thinking: "Don't run; there's no point."

"It'll be a lot worse for us if we get taken back to Daweiwu by the Communists."

"Who can say what will happen? Let's wait and see."

All three lay there, at the bottom of the crater, no longer speaking. The sound of shelling moved slowly eastward; the sky, red and black, smoked and suffocated till it could no longer support itself. Perhaps it would come crashing down and crush everything beneath it.

Softly, as if to herself, Junni said, "When I first got to the whorehouse, all I could think about was murdering somebody. Then I was going to hang myself."

The others did not reply. Sonny began to sob silently.

"But then I thought, What am I doing? They were soldiers far away from home, so lonely and sad, without very much time to live. Why should I go around killing people-why not give a little pleasure?"

Li Jiming sat up suddenly and turned to Junni. "Huh? Is that what you think? You were better off at the whorehouse? Where there's pleasure!"

Junni pushed herself up to her feet and, forming her words slowly, said, "Don't get all worked up. Look, if we're going to die, why not die happy?" She pulled at Li Jiming. "Come on, Big Brother. You first."

Jiming jumped up from the pile of clothes. "What are you saying? 'Me first!' You stinking whore!" He ran over to the far side of the crater and, opening the pocket of one of the coats, pulled out a hand grenade. "Goddamn it, I went through hell to save a fucking whore like you!"

In no time, Sonny was on his feet, too. "Just calm down; let's talk things over. Don't be messing with a fucking grenade." He was trembling.

"Slow down, Sonny. Your brother didn't mean anything," Junni said.

Sonny walked over to try to take the grenade away, but Jiming wouldn't let go. The two of them rolled around against the wall of the crater, covering themselves with snow and mud.

When the grenade rolled to the ground, Junni picked it up and put it to the side. "What the hell are you boys doing? That's not how brothers act!"

Jiming, weakened by his injury, was soon pinned beneath Sonny, who bound his brother's hands behind his back with one of the coats. Jiming cursed between gasps for air. But the two stopped suddenly at the sight of Junni, who had begun to undo her buttons. They watched her remove the soiled jacket, the flashes far in the distance irradiating her breasts, fine and white. It was as if her body did not belong to this blood-spattered field.

"Don't let the fact that I'm a little dirty bother you. Let me take good care of you one last time." She leaned over, straightened the coats the men had scattered during their scuffle, and then sat down, covering her lower half with an old quilted jacket. "Jiming, come lie down next to me."

Li Jiming's mouth dropped. After a moment, he stammered, "I wanted you to be my fucking wife."

Junni smiled. "I never said I'd marry you. What's the point of bringing that up again. Now is now." She turned around and pulled at Sonny's leg. "Sonny, I'll take care of you first. You've been to a whorehouse before, right? You're not an old hen like your brother."

Sonny nervously turned to look at Li Jiming, then quickly unbuttoned his tattered shirt, revealing his smooth, slight frame. He crawled under the pile of clothing.

A sudden burst of fire; the action was getting closer by the minute. Li Jiming, who had wrestled himself free of the coat, leaned against the crater wall, dully looking in the direction of the clothes. Occasionally a leg appeared, or an arm, and then he heard a rapid panting and Junni's voice: "All right, Sonny, go get your brother. It's his turn."