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THE TIME: FORTY-SIX years later. The place: the spot where Granddad, Father, and Mother hadfought a heroic battle against a pack of dogs led by the three from our family – Blackie, Red, andGreen. On one stormy night lightning split open a mass grave where Communists, Nationalists,commoners, Japanese, and puppet troops were buried – a site called All-Souls Grave – spreadingrotting bones over a ten-yard area, where they were washed clean by the rain and turned a sombrewhite. I was home on summer holiday at the time, and when I heard that All-Souls Grave hadopened up I rushed over to see for myself, our blue-coated little dog following hard on my heels.
It was still drizzling¹, and the dog darted² in front of me, his paws splashing loudly in the muddypuddles. It wasn’t long before we were in the midst of bones that had been sent flying withexplosive force, and Blue ran up to sniff³ them, quickly shaking his head to show that they didn’tinterest him.
People stood fearfully around the exposed graveyard⁴. I squeezed in among them until I couldsee the skeletons at the bottom of the pit, piles of bones exposed to the sun for the first time in allthose years. I doubt that even the provincial⁵ party secretary could have told which of thembelonged to Communists, which to Nationalists, which to Japanese soldiers, which to puppetsoldiers, and which to civilians⁶. The skulls⁸ all had the exact same shape, and all had been throwninto the same heap. The scattered⁹ raindrops beat a desolate¹⁰ rhythm on the white bones, forcefuland fiendish. Skeletons lay on their backs, nearly submerged in the icy water, like fermentingsorghum wine that had been stored up for years.

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