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sneered. ‘Elder Brother Zhan’ao, I’ve got your best interests at heart. So does Commander Wang. If you turn your cache of weapons over to us, we’ll make you a battalion commander, and he’ll provide rifles and pay. That’s better than being a bandit.’
    ‘Who’s a bandit? Who isn’t a bandit? Anyone who fights the Japanese is a national hero. Last year I knocked off three Japanese sentries and inherited three automatic rifles. You’re no bandit, but how many Japs have you killed? You haven’t taken a hair off a single Jap’s ass!’
    Detachment Leader Leng sat down and lit a cigarette.
    Father took advantage of the lull to hand the wine jug up to Grandma, whose face changed as she took it from him. Glaring at Father, she filled the three cups.
    ‘Uncle Arhat’s blood is in this wine,’ she said. ‘If you’re honourable men you’ll drink it, then go out and destroy the Jap convoy. After that, chickens can go their own way, dogs can go theirs. Well water and river water don’t mix.’
    She picked up her cup and drank the wine down noisily.
    Commander Yu held out his cup, threw back his head, and drained it.
    Detachment Leader Leng followed suit, but put his cup down half full. ‘Commander Yu,’ he said, ‘I’ve had all I can handle. So long!’
    With her hand still on his revolver, Grandma asked him, ‘Are you going to fight?’
    ‘Don’t beg!’ Commander Yu snarled. ‘I’ll fight, even if he doesn’t.’
    ‘I’ll fight,’ Detachment Leader Leng said.
    Grandma let her hand drop, and Leng jammed his revolver back into its holster.
    The pale skin around his nose was dotted with dozens of pockmarks. A heavy cartridge belt hung from his belt, which sagged when he holstered his revolver.
    ‘Zhan’ao,’ Grandma said, ‘I’m entrusting Douguan to your care. Take him along the day after tomorrow.’
    Commander Yu looked at my father and smiled. ‘Have you got the balls, foster-son?’
    Father stared scornfully at the hard yellow teeth showing between Commander Yu’s parted lips. He didn’t say a word.
    Commander Yu picked up a wine cup and placed it on top of Father’s head, then told him to stand in the doorway. He whipped out his Browning pistol and walked over to the corner.
    Father watched Commander Yu take three long strides to the corner – three slow, measured steps. Grandma’s face turned ashen. The corners of Detachment Leader Leng’s mouth were curled in a contemptuous smile.
    When he reached the corner, Commander Yu whirled around. Father watched him raise his arm, as a dark-red cast came over his black eyes. The Browning spat out a puff of white smoke. An explosion erupted above Father’s head, and shards of shattered ceramic fell around him, one landing against his neck. He shrugged his shoulder, and it slid down into his pants. He didn’t utter a sound. The blood had drained from Grandma’s face. Detachment Leader Leng sat down hard on a stool. ‘Good shooting,’ he said after a moment.
    ‘Good boy!’ Commander Yu said proudly.
    The Browning pistol in Father’s hand seemed to weigh a ton.
    ‘I don’t have to show you,’ Commander Yu said. ‘You know how to shoot. Have Mute get his men ready.’
    Gripping his pistol tightly, Father darted through thesorghum field, crossed the highway, and ran up to Mute, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, honing his sabre knife with a shiny green stone. Some of his men were seated, others lying down.
    ‘Get your men ready,’ Father said to him.
    Mute looked at Father out of the corner of his eye, but kept honing his knife for another moment or so. Then he picked up a couple of sorghum leaves, wiped the stone residue from the blade, and plucked a stalk of grass to test its sharpness. It fell in two pieces the instant it touched the blade.
    ‘Get your men ready,’ Father repeated.
    Mute sheathed his knife and laid it on the ground beside him, his face creased in a savage grin. With one of his mammoth hands he signalled