3

mother and my three-year-old little uncle already had spent a day and a night hiding in the drywell. the morning before, she had gone to the working well with two earthenware jugs over hershoulder. no sooner had she bent over to see her face in the water than she heard the clang of agong from the village wall and the shouts of the night watchman, old man wu: ‘the japs arehere, they’ve surrounded the village!’ she was so frightened she dropped the jugs and carryingpole into the well, spun on her heel, and ran home. but before she got there she met her parents,my maternal grandfather and grandmother; he was armed with a musket, his wife was carryingher son and a cloth-wrapped parcel.

ever since the battle at the black water river, the villagers had been preparing for thecalamity they expected to come any day. only three or four families had gone into hiding; theothers, though frightened, were reluctant to give up their broken-down homes, their wells – bitterand sweet – and their quilts, no matter how thin and tattered they might have been. during theweek of the lull, granddad had taken father into the country town to buy bullets, driven by adesire to settle accounts with pocky leng. it never occurred to him that the japanese bloodbathwould inundate his own village.

on the evening of the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month, zhang ruolu the elder – he withone large eye and one small, he with the extraordinary bearing, he the intellectual who hadstudied in a private school, he who had played such a vital role in the burial of the martyredwarriors – mobilised all able-bodied residents to reinforce the village wall and repair the gates,and appointed night watchmen to bang gongs and shout warnings at the first sighting of enemytroops. the villagers, male and female, young and old, took turns manning the wall. mother toldme that the voice of ruolu the elder was loud and crisp, almost metallic. ‘fellow villagers,’ hesaid, ‘a people united in spirit can move mount tai. only if we’re united in spirit can we keepthe japs out of our village!’

as he was speaking, a shot rang out from the farmland beyond the village, and an elderlywatchman’s head exploded; he rocked back and forth, then tumbled off the wall, sending thevillagers scurrying for cover. ruolu the elder, dressed in tight pants and shirt, stood in the middleof the road and shouted, ‘fellow villagers, calm down! mount the wall as we planned! don’t beafraid to die. those who fear death will find it, those who don’t will live on! our lives are all thatstand between the japs and our village!’

mother watched the men run to the wall and throw themselves down on their bellies. mymaternal grandmother, whose knees were knocking, was frozen to the spot. ‘beauty’s dad,’ sheshouted tearfully, ‘what about the children?’ my maternal grandfather ran back to her, rifle inhand, and lashed out, ‘what are you wailing about? now that it’s come to this, it makes nodifference whether we live or die!’ she didn’t dare utter a sound, but the tears kept flowing. heturned to look at the village wall, which hadn’t yet come under fire, grabbed mother with onehand and her brother with the other, and ran with them to the vegetable garden behind the house,where there was an old abandoned well, its rickety windlass still in place. he looked down intothe well and said, ‘since there’s no water, we’ll hide the children here for the time being. we cancome back for them after we’ve driven the japs off.’ grandmother stood like a block of wood andbowed to his wishes.

grandfather took the loose end of rope from the windlass and tied it around my mother’swaist, just as a shriek split the sky above them and a howling black object crashed into theneighbour’s pigsty. there was an ear-splitting explosion, and everything seemed to disintegrateas a column of smoke rose from the sty; pieces of shrapnel, patches of dung, and chunks of pigflew in all directions. a stumpy leg fell right in front of mother, the white tendons all curledinward like river leeches. it was the first mortar explosion my fifteen-year-old mother had everheard. the surviving pigs squealed frantically and came dashing out of the sty; mother and mylittle uncle were crying hysterically.

‘they’re firing mortars!’ grandfather announced. ‘beauty, you’re fifteen now, so you’ll haveto take care of your brother down in the well. i’ll come back for you after the japs are gone.’ asanother mortar shell exploded in the village, he cranked the windlass and lowered mother intothe well. when her feet touched the broken bricks and crumbling clay at the bottom, she lookedup 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. shecould hear her parents arguing, the exploding jap mortar shells, and finally the sound of hermother crying. grandfather’s face reappeared in the ray of light. ‘beauty,’ he shouted, ‘herecomes 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 rope quivered 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 hismother, ‘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 darlingbaby, 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, andlittle uncle flew into mother’s arms.

‘you fucking woman!’ grandfather screamed. ‘do you want them up here so they can die withthe rest of us? get over to the wall, and be quick about it! no one’ll get out alive if the japs enterthe 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 anymore 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 littleharmony,’ she said to comfort him. ‘don’t cry, baby brother. the japs’ll come if you keepcrying. 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 pudgylittle arms around her neck. more and more mortar explosions lit up the sky, joined now bymachine-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 elderand 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 of dark-greenmoss. little uncle stirred in her arms and began to sob again. ‘sis,’ he said, ‘i want my mama, iwant to go back up.?.?.?.’

‘harmony, good little brother?.?.?. mom went with dad to fight the japs. they’ll come get usas 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 sobs and tears merged.

dawn was breaking, as mother could tell from the pale light above her. somehow they’d gotthrough the long night. an eerie, frightening silence hung over the well. she looked up and saw aray of red light illuminate the walls far above her. the sun was up. she listened carefully, but thevillage seemed as still as the well, although every once in a while she thought she heard whatsounded like a peal of thunder rolling across the sky. she wondered if her parents would come totake them out of the well on this new day, back to the world of light and air, a world where therewere no banded snakes or skinny toads. the events of the previous day seemed so far away thatshe felt as though she’d spent half her lifetime at the bottom of the well. dad, she was thinking,mom. if you don’t come, brother and i surely will die down here. she resented her parents forcasting their own children into the well and simply vanishing, not caring whether they were deador alive. the next time she saw them, she’d make a huge scene to release the bellyfull ofgrievances she’d already stored up. how could she have known that, as she was being carriedaway by these hateful thoughts, her mother – my maternal grandmother – had been blown topieces by a japanese mortar shell, and her father – my maternal grandfather – had exposedhimself to enemy gunfire on the wall, only to have half of his head blown away by a bullet thatseemed to have eyes?

mother prayed silently: dad! mom! come back, hurry! i’m hungry, i’m thirsty, and brother’ssick. you’ll kill your own children if you don’t come fast!

she heard the faint sounds of a gong from the village wall, or maybe it was from somewhereelse, then a distant shout: ‘is there anybody here – is there anybody left – the japs are gone –commander yu’s here –’

mother picked little uncle up in her arms and got to her feet. ‘here!’ she shouted hoarsely.

‘here we are – we’re down in the well – save us, hurry –’ she reached up and began to shake therope hanging from the windlass, keeping at it for nearly an hour. gradually her arms grew slack,and her brother fell to the ground with a weak groan. then silence. she leaned against the walland slid slowly down, until she was sitting on the cold broken bricks, drained and totallydejected.

little uncle climbed into her lap and said calmly, ‘sis?.?.?. i want my mama.?.?.?.’

a powerful sadness overcame mother as she wrapped her arms around little uncle.

‘harmony,’ she said, ‘mom and dad don’t want us any more. you and i are going to die here inthis well.?.?.?.’

he was burning up with fever, and hugging him was like holding a charcoal brazier. ‘sis, i’mthirsty.?.?.?.’

mother’s gaze fell on a puddle of filthy green water in a corner of the well. a scrawny toad satin the middle of the pool, its back covered with ugly bean-sized warts, the yellowish skin beneathits mouth popping in and out, its bulging eyes glaring at her. she shuddered, her skin crawled,and she squeezed her eyes shut. her mouth was parched, too, but she’d rather have died of thirstthan drink that nasty toad-water.

since the previous morning, not a minute had passed when mother wasn’t in the grip of terrorand panic: terror caused by the sounds of gunfire in and around the village, panic over her babybrother’s struggle to survive. at fifteen, she was still a frail child, and it was a strain to have tocarry her pudgy little brother all the time, especially when he was constantly squirming andmaking the pitiful sounds of a dying kitten. she spanked him once, and the little bastardresponded by sinking his teeth into her.

now that he was feverish, little uncle drifted in and out of consciousness and lay limp in thearms of my mother, who sat on a piece of broken brick until her buttocks were painfully sore,then totally numb. the gunfire, dense one minute and scattered the next, never completelystopped. sunlight crept slowly over the western wall, then the eastern wall, as darkness spreadinside. mother knew she’d spent a whole day in the well, and that any time now her parentswould be coming back. she stroked her baby brother’s scalding face; his breath burned herfingers. she laid her hand over his rapidly beating heart and could hear a wheeze in his chest. atthat moment it occurred to her that he might very well die, and she shuddered. but she forced thethought out of her mind. any minute now, she thought, to keep her spirits up, any minute now.

it’s getting dark outside, and even the swallows have gone home to roost, which means that momand dad will be here soon.

the light on the walls turned dark yellow, then deep red. a cricket hidden in one of the cracksbegan to chirp; mosquitoes warmed up their engines and took off into the air. just then motherheard the sound of a mortar barrage from somewhere near the village wall, and what soundedlike human and animal screams from the northern end of the village. this was followed by blastsfrom a machine gun in the southern end. when the gunfire ended, sounds of shouting men andgalloping horses swept into the village like a tidal wave. utter chaos. pounding of hooves andtramping boots around the opening of the well. gulugulu – loud japanese voices. little unclebegan to whimper, but mother clapped her hand over his mouth and held her breath. his facetwisted violently under her hand, and she could feel the thumping of her own heart.

as the sun’s rays died out, mother looked up at the red sky. fires crackled all around, sendinghot ashes over the opening of the well; mixed with the sound of licking flames were the cries ofchildren, the screams of women, and the bleating of goats, or maybe it was the tearful lowing ofcows. even from the bottom of the well, she could smell the stench of burning.

she had no idea how long she’d shuddered over the fires raging above her, since she’d lost allsense of time, but she could tell from the tiny slice of darkening sky that the fires were dying out.

at first she heard an occasional burst of gunfire and the sound of a roof collapsing. but after awhile there was nothing but silence, plus a few dim stars that appeared in the circle of sky above.

mother fell asleep, and awoke chilled. by now her eyes had grown accustomed to thedarkness, and when she looked up at the pale-blue sky and the gentle rays of the morning sunreflected off the walls, she felt giddy. her clothes were soggy from the dampness; the cold airtouched her bones. she hugged her little brother tightly. even though his fever seemed to haveabated during the night, he was still much hotter than she. so mother soaked up little uncle’swarmth, while he was cooled by her; during their time together at the bottom of the well, theyachieved true life-sustaining symbiosis. mother, who did not know that her parents were dead,expected to see their faces and to hear their familiar voices at any time; had she known, shemight not have survived those days and nights in the well.

when i look back upon my family’s history, i find that the lives of all the key members have atsome point been linked inextricably with some sort of dark, dank cave or hole, beginning withmother. granddad later outdid all the others, setting a record among civilised people of hisgeneration for living in a cave. finally, father would produce an epilogue that, in political terms,would be anything but glorious, but when viewed from the human angle must be consideredsplendid. when the time came, he would wave his sole remaining arm towards the red clouds ofdawn and come running on the wind to mother, elder brother, elder sister, and me.

mother was freezing on the outside but burning up inside. she hadn’t eaten or drunk anythingsince the previous morning. a searing thirst had tormented her since the night before, when thevillage was engulfed in flames; then, in the middle of the night, an overwhelming hunger reachedits peak. as dawn was about to break, her guts seemed to twist into knots, until all she could feelwas the gnawing pain in her belly. but now the mere thought of food nauseated her; it was thethirst she found unbearable. her lungs felt dry and chapped, each breath producing the rustlingsound of withered sorghum leaves.

once again little uncle said meekly through blistered lips, ‘sis?.?.?. i’m thirsty.?.?.?.’ motherdidn’t have the heart to look into his small, wizened face, and there were no words to consolehim. the promises she’d made throughout the day and night had come to nothing. no sound, noteven the bark of a dog, emerged from the village. that was when it occurred to her that herparents might be dead or might have been captured by the japs. her eyes stung, but she had nomore tears to shed – the wretched state of her baby brother had forced her to grow up.

momentarily forgetting her suffering, she laid him down on the brick floor and stood up tosurvey the walls around her. they were damp, of course, and the luxuriant appearance of mossbriefly gave her new hope; but it offered no relief for their thirst, and it wasn’t edible. shesquatted down and picked up a brick, then another. they were very heavy, as though water wasstored up inside them. a red centipede crawled out of the hollow where the bricks had been, andmother jumped away, not daring to pick up any more. nor did she dare sit down, for somethinghorrible had occurred the morning before that made her realise she was now a woman.

years later, mother told my wife that her first menstrual period had come while she was downin that dark, dank well, and when my wife told me, the two of us felt enormous compassion forthe fifteen-year-old girl who would later give birth to me.

mother had no choice but to pin her final scrap of hope on that puddle of filthy water in whichthe toad was soaking, no matter how much its hideous features frightened or disgusted her.

nothing had changed from the day before: the toad hadn’t moved, its sombre eyes still glaring ather with hostility, its warty skin still making her skin crawl. her new-found courage quicklyevaporated. poison darts emanating from the toad’s eyes prickled her all over. she averted hereyes, but that didn’t blot out the terrifying image of the toad.

mother turned to look at her dying brother, and as she did so, her eye caught a tiny clump ofmilky-white mushrooms growing beneath two bricks. her heart racing with excitement, she slidthe bricks away and picked some of the mushrooms. her innards twisted into knots as she gazedat the food in her hand. she shoved a mushroom into her mouth and swallowed it whole. it tastedso good that her hunger pangs returned in a flash. she put another in her mouth. little unclemoaned softly, but mother consoled herself with the thought that she should try them first, incase they were toadstools. that’s right, isn’t it? of course it is. she put one into little uncle’smouth, but his jaws didn’t move; he just looked at her through tiny slits. ‘harmony, eat it. i foundit for you. eat it.’ she held up another and waved it under his nose. his jaws twitched, as thoughhe were chewing, so she fed him another one. but he coughed and spat them both out. by thenhis lips were so chapped they bled. he lay on the brick floor, close to death.

mother swallowed a dozen or so little mushrooms, and her intestines, which had gone intohibernation, suddenly came to life, writhing painfully and making a huge racket. she wassweating more than she had at any time since being lowered into the well; it would be the lasttime. sweat drenched her clothes; her armpits and the backs of her knees were wet and sticky.

the chilled air seemed to penetrate the marrow of her bones, and she slumped unaware to thefloor and lay beside her baby brother. at noon on her second day in the well, mother fell into aswoon.

when she woke up, dusk was falling. she saw reddish-purple rays of light on the eastern wallas the sun sank in the west. the ancient windlass was bathed in the sunset, giving her thecontradictory sensations of seeing remote antiquity and the approach of doomsday at the sametime. the ringing in her ears, which hardly ever stopped, was now joined by the sound offootsteps out there, but she couldn’t tell if it was real or an illusion. she no longer had thestrength to cry out, and was so thirsty her chest seemed to be baking in a fire. even the act ofbreathing brought excruciating pain. little uncle was already beyond suffering, beyond joy; helay on the brick floor, a pile of withered yellow skin. when mother looked down into his glazedeyes, everything turned dark in front of her: the black shroud of death was settling over the drywell.

the second night at the bottom of the well seemed to fly by; mother passed it in a semiwakefulstate. several times she dreamed she’d sprouted wings and was circling ever upward towards theopening of the well. but the shaft seemed endless, and no matter how far she flew she never drewany closer to the opening. she tried flapping her wings faster, but the elongation of the shaft keptpace with her. once during the night she awoke briefly to feel her brother’s cold body beside her.

unable to bear the thought that he was dead, she tried to convince herself that she must be hotand feverish. a curved ray of moonlight fell on the puddle of greenish water, illuminating thetoad like a precious gem bobbing in a sea of emeralds. at that moment mother imagined that sheand the sacred amphibian had reached an understanding: it would give up as much of its water asshe needed, for which she would fling it out of the well, like a stone, if that was what it wanted.

tomorrow, she thought, if i hear footsteps tomorrow, i’ll hurl pieces of brick out of the well,even if it’s japanese soldiers or chinese puppet troops passing by. she needed to let people knowthere was somebody down there.

when dawn broke again, mother had learned everything there was to know about the bottomof the well. taking advantage of her early-morning energy level, she scraped off a layer of greenmoss and stuffed it into her mouth. it didn’t taste bad, maybe a little pungent. the problem washer throat, which was so dry it wouldn’t function properly, and the chewed moss came right backup when she tried to swallow it. her gaze returned to the puddle of water and the toad, whichmaintained its venomous glare. finding it more than she could bear, she turned her head andcried angry, fearful tears.

at around noon, she was certain she heard footsteps and human voices. overjoyed, she roseunsteadily to her feet and shouted at the top of her lungs; but no sound emerged. though shegrabbed a piece of brick, she was able to lift it no higher than her waist before it slipped out ofher hand and fell to the ground. her last gasp. hearing the footsteps and voices disappear in thedistance, she sat crestfallen beside the body of her brother, and as she looked into his face sheacknowledged the fact that he was dead. she laid her hand on his cold face, revulsion welling upin her chest. death had separated them. the glare in his sightless eyes belonged to a differentworld.

she spent that night in a state of absolute terror, for she believed she had seen a snake as thickas the handle of a sickle. it was black with little yellow spots down the centre of its back. its headwas flat, like a spatula, its neck ringed by a yellow band. the cold, gloomy atmosphere of thewell originated in this snake’s body. several times she thought she could feel it wrapping itselfaround her, its flicking tongue aiming red darts at her and exhaling blasts of cold air.

eventually, she did in fact spot the clumsy, slow-moving snake in a hole in the wall above thetoad, only its hideous head sticking out. covering her eyes with her hands, she backed up as faras she could. gone were all thoughts of trying to drink the dirty water, now guarded by avenomous snake above and a toad below.