Frog by Mo Yan

comrade-in-arms who flew something this big and slow. But, how should I put it, anyone who could fly anything was pretty impressive, don’t you think? Anyone who could get something this big, made of steel, up into the air had to be a hero. I couldn’t see the pilot’s face, but years later, lots of my classmates swore up and down that they saw it through the windshield. The aircraft, which we thought was going to land in our midst, veered to the right almost reluctantly and scraped its belly on the top branches of a poplar tree on the eastern edge of the village before crash-landing in a wheat field. We heard a thunderous explosion, louder and deeper than a sonic boom, and we felt the ground shake. Our ears rang and we saw spots in front of our eyes. A pillar of dense smoke and fire blasted into the sky, immediately turning the sunlight a deep scarlet and releasing into the air a strange smell that made it hard to breathe.
    It took us a long time to snap out of our stunned state. We started running to the head of the village, and when we reached the road, we were nearly overcome by heat. The plane lay in pieces, one of its wings stuck in the ground like a gigantic torch. The field was on fire, filling the air with a burnt leather odour. Then a second explosion sent shock waves through the air. Wang the cook, who had plenty of experience, screamed, Hit the deck!
    We did as he said and, following his lead, began to crawl.
    Crawl fast, there are bombs under the wings!
    We were later told that the aircraft was outfitted for four bombs, but only carried two that day. If there had been four, none of us would have made it out alive.
    Three days after the crash, Father and other village men carried remnants of the destroyed aeroplane and the body of the pilot to the airport on their carts and wagons. They had barely returned to the village when Eldest Brother came running up out of breath. Our champion athlete had run all the way home from County High without stopping. Fifty li, just short of marathon distance. The moment he entered the yard, he sputtered a single word – Gugu – and simply collapsed, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolled back into his head. He was out.
    Everyone rushed to his side. Someone pinched the spot over his upper lip, someone else pinched the spot between his thumb and finger, and a third person thumped him on the chest.
    What about Gugu?
    Finally, he came around. His mouth twisted and he burst into tears.
    Mother rushed up with water in a gourd and poured some into his mouth. The rest she flung into his face.
    Out with it. What about your aunt?
    Gugu’s pilot defected with his aircraft . . .
    The gourd fell out of Mother’s hand and smashed to pieces.
    Defected to where? Father asked.
    Where else? My brother wiped his face with his sleeve and clenched his teeth. Taiwan! The traitor, the turncoat flew to Taiwan to join Chiang Kai-shek!
    What about your aunt? Mother asked.
    Taken away by county security agents, Eldest Brother said.
    Tears fell from Mother’s eyes. Do not tell your maternal grandmother, not a word, she commanded. And don’t talk about this outside.
    What good will that do? Everyone in the county already knows about it, Eldest Brother said.
    Mother went into the house and came out with a large pumpkin, which she handed to my sister. Come with me, she said, we’re going to see your great-grandma.
    My sister came running back breathlessly before too long. Grandma, she called out the minute she stepped inside, Mother wants you to go over there right away. Something’s wrong with Great-Aunt!

8
    Forty years later, my eldest brother’s son, Xiangqun, was recruited into the air force. There had been many changes in the world in all that time, and lots of things that had once seemed so sacred they could cost you your head had turned to jokes; professions that had once made people sit up and take notice had become the work of the lower classes. But being recruited into the air force was