bertalign/corpus/mac/test/tok/015.en

when the japanese troops withdraw , the full moon , thin as a paper cutout , rise in the sky above the tip of the sorghum stalk , which have undergo such suffering .
grain fall sporadically like glisten tear .
a sweet odour grow heavy in the air ; the dark soil of the southern edge of we village have be thoroughly soak by human blood .
light from fire in the village curl like foxtail , as occasional pop , like the crackling of dry wood , momentarily fill the air with a char odour that merge with the stifle stench of blood .
the wound on granddad 's arm have turn worse , the scab crack and release a rot , ooze mixture of dark blood and white pus .
he tell father to squeeze the area around the wound .
fearfully , father place he icy finger on the discoloured skin around the suppurating wound and squeeze , force out a string of air bubble that release the putrid smell of pickled vegetable .
granddad pick up a piece of yellow spirit currency that have be weight down by a clod of earth at the head of a nearby gravesite and tell father to smear some of the salty white powder from the sorghum stalk on it .
then he remove the head of a cartridge with he tooth and pour the greenish gunpowder onto the paper , mixed it with the white sorghum powder , and take a pinch with he finger to daub on the open wound .
' dad , ' father say , ' shall i mix some soil into it ? '
granddad think for a moment .
' sure , why not ? '
father bent down and pick up a clod of dark earth near the root of a sorghum stalk , crumble it in he finger , and spread it on the paper .
after granddad mix the three substance together and cover the wound with they , paper and all , father wrap a filthy strip of bandage cloth around it and tie it tight .
' do that make it feel better , dad ? '
granddad move he arm back and forth .
' much better , douguan .
a elixir like this will work on any wound , no matter how serious . '
' dad , if we would have something like that for mother , she would not have die , would she ? '
' no , she would not have . . . . '
granddad 's face cloud .
' dad , would not it have be great if you would tell i about this before ?
mother be bleed so much i keep pack earth on the wound , but that only stop it for a while .
if i would know to add some white sorghum powder and gunpowder , everything would have be fine . . . . '
all the while father be rambling , granddad be load he pistol .
japanese mortar fire raise puff of hot yellow smoke all up and down the village wall .
since father 's browning pistol lay under the belly of the fall horse , during the final battle of the afternoon he use a japanese rifle nearly as tall as he be ; granddad use he german automatic , firing it so rapidly it spend its youth and be ready for the trash heap .
although battle fire still light up the sky above the village , a aura of peace and quiet have settle over the sorghum field .
father follow granddad , drag he rifle behind he as they circle the site of the massacre .
the blood-soaked earth have the consistency of liquid clay under the weight of they footstep ; body of the dead merge with the wreckage of sorghum stalk .
moonlight dance on pool of blood , and hideous scene of dismemberment sweep away the final moment of father 's youth .
tortured moan emerge from the field of sorghum , and here and there among the body some movement appear .
father be burn to ask granddad to save those fellow villager who be still alive , but when he see the pale , expressionless look on he father 's bronze face , the word stick in he throat .
during the most critical moment , father be always slightly more alert than granddad , perhaps because he concentrate on surface phenomenon ; superficial thought seem ideally suit to guerrilla fighting .
at that moment , granddad look benumb ; he thought be rivet on a single point , which might have be a twisted face , or a shatter rifle , or a single spend bullet .
he be blind to all other sight , deaf to all other sound .
this problem – or characteristic – of he would grow more pronounced over the come decade .
he return to china from the mountain of hokkaido with a unfathomable depth in he eye , gaze at thing as though he could will they to combust spontaneously .
father never achieve this degree of philosophical depth .
in 1957 , after untold hardship , when he finally emerge from the burrow mother have dig for he , he eye have the same look as in he youth : lively , perplexed , capricious .
he never do figure out the relationship between man and politics or society or war , even though he have be spin so violently on the wheel of battle .
he be forever try to squeeze the light of he nature through the chink in he body armour .
granddad and father circle the site of the massacre a dozen time , until father say tearfully , ' dad . . . i can not walk any more . . . . '
granddad 's robot movement stop ; take father 's hand , he back up ten pace and sit down on a patch of solid , dry earth .
the cheerless and lonely sorghum field be highlight by the crackle of fire in the village .
weak golden flame dance fitfully beneath the silvery moonlight .
after sit there for a moment , granddad fall backward like a capsize wall , and father lay he head on granddad 's belly , where he fall into a hazy sleep .
he could feel granddad 's feverish hand stroke he head , which send he thought back nearly a dozen year , to when he be suckle at grandma 's breast .
he be four at the time , and grow tired of the yellowed nipple that be always thrust into he mouth .
have begin to hate its sour hardness , he gaze up into the look of rapture in grandma 's face with a murderous glint in he eye and bit down as hard as he could .
he feel the contraction in grandma 's breast as she body jerk backward .
trickle of a sweet liquid warm the corner of he mouth , until grandma give he a swat on the bottom and push he away .
he fall to the ground , he eye on the drop of fresh red blood drip from the tip of grandma 's pendulous breast .
he whimper , but he eye be dry .
grandma , on the other hand , be cry bitterly , she shoulder heave , she face bath in tear .
she lash out at he , call he a wolf cub , as mean as he wolf of a father .
later on he learn that that be the year granddad , who love grandma dearly , have fall in love with the hire girl , passion , who have grow into a bright-eyed young woman .
at the moment when father bit grandma , granddad , who have grow tired of she jealousy , be live with passion in a house he have buy in a neighbouring village .
everyone say that this second grandma of mine be no economy lantern , and that grandma be afraid of she , but this be something i 'll clear up later .
second grandma eventually have a girl by granddad .
in 1938 , japanese soldier murder this young aunt of mine with a bayonet , then gang-rape second grandma – this , too , i 'll clear up later .
granddad and father be exhaust .
the wound throb in granddad 's arm , which seem to be on fire .
father 's foot have swollen until he cloth shoe nearly split they seam , and he fantasise about the exquisite pleasure of air the rot skin of he foot in the moonlight .
but he do not have the strength to sit up and take off he shoe .
instead , he roll over and rest he head on granddad 's hard stomach so he could look up into the starry night and let the moon 's ray light up he face .
he could hear the murmuring flow of the black water river and see black cloud gather in the sky above he .
he remember uncle arhat 's say once that , when the milky way lay horizontally across the sky , autumn rain would fall .
he have only really see autumn water once in he life .
the sorghum be ready for harvest when the black water river rise and burst its bank , flood both the field and the village .
the stalk strain to keep they head above water ; rat and snake scurry and slither up they to escape drown .
father have go with uncle arhat to the wall , which the villager be reinforce , and gaze uneasily at the yellow water rush towards he .
the villager make raft from kindling and paddle out to the field to hack off the ear of grain , which be already sprout new green bud .
bundle of soak deep-red and emerald-green ear of sorghum weight down the raft so much it be a wonder they do not sink .
the dark , gaunt man , barefoot and bare-chested , wear conical straw hat , stand with they leg akimbo on the raft , pole with all they strength as they rock from side to side .
the water in the village be knee-high , cover the leg of livestock , whose waste float on the surface .
in the die ray of the autumn sun , the water shone like liquefy metal ; tip of sorghum stalk too far away to be harvest form a canopy of golden red just above the ripple surface , over which flock of wild goose fly .
father could see a bright , broad body of water flow slowly through the densest patch of red sorghum , in sharp contrast to the muddy , stagnant water around he ; it be , he know , the black water river .
on one of the raft lay a silver-bellied , green-backed grass carp , a long , thin sorghum stalk stick through its gill .
the farmer proudly hold it up to show the people on the wall ; it be nearly half as tall as he be .
blood ooze from its gill , and its mouth be open as it look at my father with dull , sorrowful eye .
father be think about how uncle arhat have buy a fish from a farmer once , and how grandma have scrape the scale from its belly , then make soup out of it ; just think about that delicious soup give he a appetite .
he sit up .
' dad , ' he say , ' be not you hungry ?
i be .
can you find i something to eat ?
i be starve . . . . '
granddad sit up and fish around in he belt until he find a bullet , which he insert into the cylinder ; then he snap it shut , send the bullet into the chamber .
he pull the trigger , and there be a loud crack .
' douguan , ' he say , ' let 's go find you mother . . . . '
' no , dad , ' father reply in a high-pitched , frightened voice , ' mother 's dead .
but we be still alive , and i be hungry .
let 's get something to eat . '
father pull granddad to he foot .
' where ? '
granddad mumble .
' where can we go ? '
so father lead he by the hand into the sorghum field , where they walk in a crooked line , as though they objective be the moon , hang high and icy in the sky .
a growl emerge from the field of corpse .
granddad and father stop in they track and turn to see a dozen pair of green eye , like will-o ' - the-wisp , and several indigo shadow tumble on the ground .
granddad take out he pistol and fire at two of the green eye ; the howl of a die dog accompany the extinguishing of those eye .
granddad fire seven shot in all , and several wounded dog writhe in agony among the corpse .
while he be empty he pistol into the pack , the uninjured dog flee into the sorghum field , out of range , where they howl furiously at the two human .
the last couple of bullet from granddad 's pistol have travel only thirty pace or so before thud to the ground .
father watch they tumble in the moonlight , so slowly he could have reach out and catch they .
and the once crisp crack of the pistol sound more like the phlegmatic cough of a doddering old man .
a tortured , sympathetic expression spread across granddad 's face as he look down at the weapon in he hand .
' out of bullet , dad ? '
the five hundred bullet they would bring back from town in the goat 's belly have be use up in a matter of hour .
the pistol have age overnight , and granddad come to the painful realisation that it be no longer capable of carry out he wish ; time for they to part way .
hold the gun out in front of he , he carefully study the muted reflection of the moonlight on the barrel , then loosen he grip and let the gun fall heavily to the ground .
the green-eyed dog return to the corpse , timidly at first .
but they eye quickly disappear , and the moonlight be reflect off roll wave of bluish fur ; granddad and father could hear the sound of dog tear human body with they fang .
' let 's go into the village , dad , ' father say .
granddad waver for a moment , so father tug on he , and they fall into step .
by then most of the fire in the village have go out , leave red-hot cinder that give off a acrid heat amid the crumble wall and shatter building .
hot wind whirl above the village road .
the murky air be stifle .
roof of house , they support burn out beneath they , have collapse in mountain of smoke , dust , and cinder .
body be strew atop the village wall and on the road .
a page in the history of we village have be turn .
at one time the site have be a wasteland cover with bramble , underbrush , and reed , a paradise for fox and wild rabbit .
then a few hut appear , and it become a haven for escape murderer , drunk , gambler , who build home , cultivate the land , and turn it into a paradise for human , force out the fox and wild rabbit , who set up howl of protest on the eve of they departure .
now the village lay in ruin ; man have create it , and man have destroy it .
it be now a sorrowful paradise , a monument to both grief and joy , build upon ruin .
in 1960 , when the dark cloud of famine settle over the shandong peninsula , even though i be only four year old i could dimly sense that northeast gaomi township have never be anything but a pile of ruin , and that its people have never be able to rid they heart of the shattered building , nor would they ever be able to .
that night , after the smoke and spark from the other house have die out , we building be still burn , send skyward green-tinged tongue of flame and the intoxicating aroma of strong wine , release in a instant after all those year .
blue roof tile , deform by the intense heat , turn scarlet , then leap into the air through a wall of flame that illuminate granddad 's hair , which have turn three-quarter grey in the space of a week .
a roof come crash down , momentarily blot out the flame , which then roar out of the rubble , stronger than ever .
the loud crash nearly crush the breath out of father and granddad .
we house , which have sheltered the father and son of the shan family as they grow rich , then have sheltered granddad after he murderous deed , then have sheltered grandma , granddad , father , uncle arhat , and all the man who work for they , a sanctuary for they kindness and they grievance , have now complete its historical mission .
i hate that sanctuary : though it have sheltered decent emotion , it have also sheltered heinous crime .
father , when you be hide in the burrow we dig for you in the floor of my home back in 1957 , you recall those day of you past in the unrelenting darkness .
on no fewer than 365 occasion , in you mind you see the roof of you house crash down amid the flame , and wonder what be go through the mind of you father , my granddad .
so my fantasy be chase yours while yours be chase granddad 's .
as he watch the roof collapse , granddad become as angry as he would be the day he abandon grandma and move to another village to be with he new love , passion .
he have learn then that grandma have shamelessly take up with black eye , the leader of a organisation call the iron society , and at the time he be not sure what fill he heart – loathing or love , pain or anger .
when he later return to grandma 's arm , he feeling for she be so confused he could not sort they out .
in the beginning , he emotional warfare scar only he own heart , and grandma 's scar only she own .
finally , they hurt each other .
only when grandma smile up at he as she lay dead in the sorghum field do he realise the grievous punishment life have mete out to he .
he love my father as a magpie love the last remain egg in its nest .
but by then it be too late , for fate , cold and calculate , have sentence he to a cruel end that be wait for he down the road .
' dad , we house be go . . . . '
father say .
granddad rub father 's head as he stare at the ruin of he home , then take father 's hand and begin stumble aimlessly down the road under the wane light of the flame and the wax light of the moon .
at the head of the village they hear a old man 's voice : ' be that you , number three ?
why do not you bring the oxcart ? '
the sound of that voice give granddad and father such a warm feeling they forget how tired they be and rush over to see who it be .
a hunched-over elderly man rise to greet they , carefully size up granddad with he ancient eye , nearly touch he face .
granddad do not like he watchful look and be repulse by the greedy stench that come from he mouth .
' you be not my number three , ' the old man say unhappily , he head wobble as he sit down on a pile of loot .
there be trunk , cupboard , dine table , farm tool , harness , rip comforter , cooking pot , earthenware bowl .
he be sit on a small mountain of stuff and guard it as a wolf guard its kill .
behind he , two calf , three goat , and a mule be tie to a willow tree .
' you old dog ! '
granddad growl through clench tooth .
' get the hell out of here ! '
the old man rise up on he haunch and say amiably , ' ah , my brother , let 's not be envious .
i risk my life to drag this stuff out of the flame ! '
' i 'll fuck you living mother !
climb down from there ! '
granddad lash out angrily .
' you have no right to talk to i like that .
i do not do anything to you .
you be the one who be ask for trouble .
what give you the right to curse i like that ? ' he complain .
' curse you ?
i 'll goddamn kill you !
we be not in a desperate struggle with japan just so you can go on a looting binge !
you bastard , you old bastard !
douguan , where 's you gun ? '
' it be under the horse 's belly , ' father say .
granddad jump up onto the mountain of stuff and , with a single kick , send the old man sprawl onto the ground .
he rise to he knee and beg , ' spare i , eighth route master , spare i ! '
' i be not with the eighth route army , ' granddad say , ' or the ninth route .
i be yu zhan ' ao the bandit ! '
' spare i , commander yu , spare i !
what good would it do to let all this stuff burn ?
i be not the only " potato picker " from the village .
those thief get all the good stuff .
i be too old and too slow , and all i could find be this junk . '
granddad pick up a wooden table and throw it at the old man 's bald head .
he scream and hold he bleeding scalp as he roll in the dirt .
granddad reach down and pick he up by he collar .
look straight into those tortured eye , he say , ' we hero , the " potato picker " , then raise he fist and drive it with a loud crack into the old man 's face , send he crumple to the ground , face up .
granddad walk up and kick he in the face , hard .