Ocean of Words Page 6

“Who’s the robber, do you know?” I asked.

  “It’s a louse on a bald head — everybody can see it. He must be one of Dragon Head’s men. Who else wants army hats?”

  “I’m going to Dragon Head to question him.”

  “Wait a minute, Old Gao,” Commissar Diao broke in. “Don’t be hotheaded. We have to think about the whole thing before taking any action.”

  “Why is it so complex, Commissar Diao?” Ma asked.

  “Because if we don’t handle it well, it will damage our relationship with the villagers, which is vital for us now.”

  “Old Ma, I think Commissar Diao’s right,” I said. Then I turned to Diao and asked, “What do you think we should do?”

  “I suggest we hold a meeting this evening. Discuss it first and see what we should do. For the time being, let’s keep quiet about it.”

  We all agreed. Together with Ma Yibiao, I went to the Second Battery. On the drill ground made out of a small soccer field, the soldiers were practicing directed fire. In the line of six cannons, the third one stood under its canvas cover. Ma pointed at it and said, “See, four men in the Third Squad have no hats and cannot come outside in the cold, so this cannon is not operated.”

  I was enraged again and went directly to the Third Squad. In a small farmhouse, six bareheaded men were sitting on three benches, studying Chairman Mao’s “On Protracted War.” When they saw me come in, they bent their heads lower. I sat down and asked them what the robber looked like.

  “We couldn’t see his face, Commander Gao,” said the squad leader, Li Lin. “He wore a pair of sunglasses and a gauze mask.”

  “How tall and how big is he?” I asked.

  “About a hundred and seventy centimeters tall, I guess, and of slender build.”

  “I saw a wart under his left ear,” said a short man, whose name I remembered was Ding Zhi.

  “Yeah, I saw the wart too,” another put in.

  “You mean here?” Commander Ma asked, pointing his finger at the spot beneath his earlobe.

  “Yes.” They nodded.

  “Damn his grandma, he’s nobody but Wang Si, one of Dragon Head’s bodyguards,” Ma concluded.

  “Good, we have clarified that,” I said. “Did you write your names inside your hats?”

  “No.” They all shook their heads.

  “Tell everybody to put his name inside his hat,” I told Ma.

  Not knowing what the next step should be, we left the squad and returned to the drill ground. I was not very satisfied with the Second Battery’s training in directed fire, but I didn’t say anything, because it took time to master the skills and we would mostly use point-blank shooting in fighting the Russians’ tanks.

  That evening all the battery commanders and political instructors gathered at Battalion Headquarters. Commissar Diao presided over the discussion. In the beginning, most of us suggested holding a formal talk with Dragon Head and requiring him to return the hats with a promise that this sort of thing would not happen again. But Commissar Diao disagreed. He argued, “Comrades, we have to think about this matter in connection with the overall situation. If you view it this way, six hats are nothing — ”

  “It’s not a matter of hats,” I interrupted him. “I would give him sixty if we had that many extras. Because of the loss of those hats, a squad can’t go into action in such cold weather. Say an emergency arises now; a cannon will be automatically disabled. Isn’t it absurd?”

  “I fully understand your point, Old Gao,” he said. “Wait till I finish, and see if I can make some sense.” He turned to all the officers and continued, “We live in the villagers’ homes, and you all know what kind of man Dragon Head is. In a way he’s the head of the village. If we get on bad terms with him, we may turn the whole village against us. We came here to fight the Russians and have no time and energy to deal with Dragon Head. At this moment, the Russians are our enemy. Comrades, we have to learn how to unite with all forces that can be united to fight our chief enemy.

  “Please think about our own situation again. In the Fifth Regiment we are the only new battalion and the only artillery unit; if a war breaks out, for sure we will have to play the major part in fighting the Russians’ tanks. We are not afraid of that, since our cannons are designed to destroy them. But what if the Russian foot soldiers launch an attack at our batteries? Do you think the Regimental Headquarters will send over a company beforehand to protect us? I don’t think so. You all know there is simply no infantry unit nearby. Do you think we ourselves have enough firepower to stop the Russian foot soldiers? I don’t think so either. Dragon Head has a company; though not well equipped, it’s the best available. As long as we’re on good terms with him, the militia will fight for us. He likes fighting; all right, we bring his enthusiasm into play. It’s true that the loss of six hats may disable a cannon for a while, but it’s a small matter compared with the overall situation. I think even if we lose a squad permanently, still it’s not as important as to have Dragon Head’s company in our service. Now, everybody can say whatever he wants.”

  What could we say? Who could oppose such a balancing, calculating mind? We all agreed with him and were willing to drop this matter. I was very impressed by Commissar Diao’s good sense and was full of respect for this small man.

  Although we did not bicker with Dragon Head, still my bad feeling toward him would not die away easily. Bandits, I would say to myself. If this were the Old China, no doubt Dragon Head would become a small warlord. One day at noon I ran into him on the road in front of the village grocery. He walked dashingly, with two bodyguards following. I couldn’t help staring at him, and he must have realized the resentment in my look. His eyes rolled toward me while his hand rose to his temple, saluting me in the mlitary manner. Instantly his guards saluted me too. I was forced to raise my hand in return. They passed by as if on patrol.

  The Spring Festival was drawing near, and I was worried. All the three batteries were new, without any savings. How could we celebrate the holiday? Some soldiers would miss home, and their spirits would be low. How could we make them forget home and enjoy themselves, eating well and playing well? Surely we had to stay in combat readiness during the holiday period, but we also had to feast and make every man feel at ease in his own battery. The Regimental Logistics Department sent us four hundred jin of pork. Too little for three hundred men. What should we do? Both Commissar Diao and I were restless.

  This time Dragon Head came to help us out. On the morning two days before the Spring Festival, a large group of militiamen arrived at our headquarters. In the front yard they were blowing suona, beating drums and gongs and letting off double-bang firecrackers. Commissar Diao and I rushed out. A broad red banner, with the golden words MILITIA OF GUANMEN on it, was flapping away in the north wind. Every one of them carried a gun on his back. Warm breath was puffing out from their mouths and nostrils. Dragon Head, standing at the front, raised his right hand while his left hand remained stuck behind his Mauser. Immediately the men moved to both sides and a pass was opened through them. Then ten pairs of men, poles on their shoulders, carried over ten boars, which were held upside down by hemp ropes tied to the hind trotters. They placed the frozen carcasses on the ground one by one in a line. The first boar was covered with a large piece of red paper on which a row of characters in black ink read: FOR OUR BELOVED LIBERATION ARMY.

  I was moved and went to Dragon Head. We shook hands. Commissar Diao was also delighted; he held Dragon Head’s hand and spoke. “We are very grateful, Comrade Dragon Head, and we won’t forget the kindness and the trust of your people.”

  “It’s our duty to bring our best wishes to our own army,” Dragon Head said, wiping the frost off his mustache.

  “Dragon Head,” I said, “we won’t take these free. We must pay you. Tell us how much for each.”

  “What?” He frowned. “Commander Gao, you’re not treating us as your own people if you say so. All right, if you want to buy, we won’t sell.” He was about to turn to his
men.

  “Wait, wait,” Commissar Diao intervened. “Commander Gao didn’t mean to take you as outsiders, Dragon Head. Chairman Mao has instructed us not to take from the people ‘a needle or a piece of thread.’ You know, we must always follow the Chairman’s instruction. Old Gao was not wrong to mention the price, but he forgot that these boars are not from common people but from another unit, from our comrade-in-arms Dragon Head’s company. Please don’t mis-undertand us; we do want to accept your kind gifts.”

  “That’s the way of saying things. Ha-ha-ha!” Dragon Head threw his head back and laughed. All his men followed him guffawing.

  So we accepted the boars. Each company got three, and the Battalion Headquarters kept one. The major problem had been solved: as long as we had enough meat, it would not be difficult to feed our men.

  At my suggestion, we planned to give a banquet to the village heads and the production brigade leaders on the Spring Fetival’s Eve. We ought to find a way to pay them back for their kindness. For whatever reason, we should not take things from the people without giving them something in return. Those boars could by no means come from Dragon Head’s own home. Besides, we had caused a great deal of inconvenience to the villagers ever since we began lodging in their homes. This was the time to show our gratitude. Commissar Diao supported the idea.

  The banquet was held at the meeting room of the production brigade, which was cleaned up and decorated for this occasion. A pair of colorful lanterns hung at the entrance, and a couplet written on two broad bands of red paper was pasted on the walls on each side of the door: THE ARMY AND THE PEOPLE ARE UNITED LIKE FISH AND WATER / WITH SOARING ASPIRATION WE WELCOME ANOTHER SPRING. I didn’t think Scribe Niu Hsi had done a good job in making the poetry, but we were army men and shouldn’t be fastidious about words. Inside the room twelve square tables were set in three lines, and at the center of each table four candles, as thick as grenades, stood burning. The room was ablaze with a swarm of flames.

  On the army side, all the battery commanders and political instructors and the officers in the Battalion Headquarters attended; on the villagers’ side, all the local powers were invited, including the head of the blacksmith’s shop and the only doctor at the village clinic. All together there were about ninety people. The dishes were not fancy, but they were substantial: stewed pork, scrambled eggs, fried cutlass fish, horsemeat balls … Wine was plentiful — three full vats stood against the wall. After Commissar Diao and the Party secretary of the production brigade, Liu Ming, made their speeches, people started to enjoy themselves.

  As the heads of the army, Diao and I were obligated to go to every table and to propose toasts, but Diao had little capacity for liquor, so we had arranged beforehand that I would carry out the obligation alone. Holding a green enamel mug, I made my way from table to table.

  I met Dragon Head and his men at the eighth table, the noisiest one. They ate meatballs with their hands and had a large basket of cutlass fish in the middle of the other dishes. At the corner of the table lay a short braid of large garlic, which they had brought for the feast.

  “Merry Spring Festival, Dragon Head,” I said with a smile.

  “Happy holiday, Commander Gao.” He raised a huge bowl, which looked like a small basin, and took a gulp.

  “Let us drink to our solidarity,” I proposed.

  “Sure, glasses dry.” Seeing me hesitating, he said, “Why? You don’t want to? My bowl’s three times bigger than your mug.”

  Without a word, I drank up the mugful of corn liquor and then held the mug upside down.

  “Good man!” they cried in one voice.

  Dragon Head raised the bowl to his mouth and started drinking. A purple vein was quivering on his neck. I watched him with admiration.

  When he finished, one of his men said, “Brother Dragon can swallow a sea.”

  We shook hands, and his eyes shone with happiness. When I returned to my table, Commissar Diao awaited me there. We agreed that everything had gone well. He wanted to leave early to visit the men in the batteries. I told him that I wouldn’t hang around for long and would go to the Third Battery soon. Apart from wishing the soldiers a happy Spring Festival, we would also make sure that everything was in good shape, because our battalion had been ordered to stay in first-degree combat readiness during the holiday. For a whole week everybody had to sleep with his clothes on.

  The village’s show team arrived and started performing in the front of the room. A man in light green silks and a woman in pink, both with painted faces, were wheeling around, singing in turn the local opera The Couple’s Twirl. The woman sang:

  Watermelons here are big and sweet,

  We club roe deer in our backyard,

  Pheasants sneak in to steal wheat,

  Fish jump into pails and splash hard.

  But take me with you, my sweetheart,

  On your three-horse cart.

  We shall journey, never apart,

  Never apart, never apart …

  I was about to leave, but Dragon Head came to my table with the large bowl in his hand. Behind him came Wang Si, carrying a plastic gasoline can containing white spirits. “Commander Gao,” Dragon Head said, “I like … like your way of drinking. Let’s have a-another.” He held out his bowl and Wang Si filled it. A wart protruded beneath Wang Si’s ear like a squashed fly.

  “Dragon Head,” I said, “you shouldn’t drink more. We’re in combat readiness now.”

  “This stuff won’t hold us back.” He drank up the whole bowl, then looked at me with his bloodred eyes. “We set out tonight … and drive … drive the Russian Tartars down … down into the Arctic Ocean. Give us orders, Com-Commander Gao.”

  “Dragon Head, you need a rest.”

  “No.” He held out his bowl again, and Wang Si refilled it. “All the northern land, from Sakhalin … to Mo-Mongolia, is ours. The Russians took it … from us. We must take it back! Screw their ancestors, they killed my … my gre-great-grandpa in Vladivostok. He was … doing business there — ”

  “You need some sleep, Dragon Head,” I said. “Wang Si and you, Ma Ding, take him home and put him into bed.”

  “It’s Spring Festival,” he mumbled. “I’m happy, ha-ppy —” His men supported him away.

  After having told Niu Hsi to take care of the banquet, I left for the Third Battery. It was snowing outside, and the wind had slacked off. Firecrackers sputtered here and there in the sky; the air was filled with the smell of gunpowder. Every chimney was puffing out sparking smoke. The merry cries of children were drifting about, reminding me of home. Guihua must be making dumplings now, and Hong and Tiger must be following the dancing processions in the streets. When the dinner’s ready at midnight, they’ll set a seat for me and place an extra pair of chopsticks on the table …

  Later I heard that Dragon Head’s great-grandfather had indeed died in Vladivostok. It was said that he had been a very handsome man, wearing a long, glossy braid. When the Russians took the city, they set about seizing women everywhere. Dragon Head’s great-grandfather was captured because he looked so beautiful that the Russians mistook him for a woman. They brought him to their billet, but when they groped between his thighs, they felt something there, so they thrust a sword into his throat. This must have been the reason why Dragon Head would not live with the Russians under the same sky.

  We had a good Spring Festival, and all the men felt refreshed. After the holiday period, we could sleep again in our underclothes. But we could not relax our vigilance, because it was still winter, the season when the Russians’ armored vehicles could cross the frozen river. With the intention of maintaining our combat effectiveness, we decided to have an emergency muster on the last Wednesday night of February.

  In fact, this was the first night action we had ever taken at Guanmen. At eleven o’clock sharp, Orderly Liu Bing blew the bugle in the sleeping village. All the battery leaders had been informed in advance, but they had to order their men to act as if a battle had broken out at
the front. No light was allowed; everything had to be done in the dark, because the Russians could locate our position and shell us if they saw a light. In no time, the tranquil night was teeming with the noises of dogs, footsteps, horses, orders, and starting trucks. A few chimneys began spouting smoke — the cooks of each battery were heating water, with which the drivers would start the frozen vehicles. I set off for the bank of the Husha Brook, beyond the western end of the village, where we had planned to assemble the three batteries.

  Not until half an hour later did all of the three batteries arrive. Without lights on, a few trucks were still nosing about like whales on the surface of a white ocean. The long barrels of the cannons all pointed to the northeastern sky. Some artillerymen even went about digging pits to set in the spades. “Stop digging!” I shouted at them. They didn’t know this was just a drill.

  The battery commanders all came over and reported to me and Commissar Diao. Although we both thought it was not too bad for the entire battalion to pull out in half an hour in such severe weather, neither Diao nor I was satisfied, because according to the requirement we should be able to complete the action in twenty-five minutes. I told the leaders to return to their batteries and lead their men back to the village. “Tomorrow we’ll sum up our experiences and see if we can make it quicker,” I said.

  As I was speaking, Dragon Head and his men came running toward us. He came directly to me, bareheaded, puffing out warm breath and fanning himself with his hat. “All my men’re here. Are we leaving for the front now?”

  “No, these are exercises.” I glanced at Commissar Diao, whose face fell.

  “Exercises!” Dragon Head yelled, and he put his hands on the Mauser pistols. “Exercises at midnight? Why the hell didn’t you inform me before? Damn you both!”

  “Comrade Dragon Head,” Commissar Diao said, “please do not misunderstand us. Night fighting is our army’s tradition, you know that. We didn’t notify you beforehand because we didn’t want to disturb you. This is not a real action, and we just had the cannons pulled out. Please forgive us.”