His main problem, at the moment, he said, was flood. The year before, many villages near the railway had been submerged, a few people had drowned, some had to eat leaves for a time, but no one had starved and now things were better.

　　After the flood, some UNRRA supplies had come into the area. Not many and not of much use, either. Torn silk stockings and high-heeled women's shoes. "Maybe your wife or lover could use them," he said grinning, "but not our peasant women." I looked out across the mud and snow and the rambling medieval wall and wondered how many times this silly tale of UNRRA had been repeated all over China.

　　I liked this young magistrate. He was simple, forward looking, sensible and seemingly close to the people. In the afternoon, after feeding me, he obtained me a cart drawn by two mules and driven by a cheery old farmer with such a childishly rosy face that my lips twisted in a smile as I looked at him.

　　"That's a pair of fine animals," I said to the driver, looking at the strip of clean red neck showing above his collar.

　　The old man turned with a wide, pleased grin on his face. "Not bad,?" he said. "But not to compare with a mule I had before the war. That one could climb mountains like a tiger and swim rivers like a dragon. Would you believe it," he turned to the escort, "it took one's breath away, the rate he flew. He made 150 li [50 miles] in one day, not once, but a dozen times. Only had one fault. Ate too much. You'd think he was a locomotive, the way I had to shovel food into him. But what a mule. When he died, I didn't eat mule meat. Gave him a burial just like a man. Just think, he lived seventeen years. Healthy. Aiya!"

　　"There's nothing wrong with your health, old countryman!" I remarked.

　　The old man, overflowing with health and strength, smiled warmly. "Heavens, no! And why should there be? I get plenty to eat. The government gives me one hundred catties [130 lbs.] of millet a year. My brother peddles beans, my wife and sister make clothes. We get along all right. Will you believe it, we had pork on New Year's Day? We eat well."

　　"Perhaps you eat landlord's flesh?" I suggested, turning a Communist slogan around.

　　"You speak strangely, comrade." The driver laid his whip across his knees, removed his glove and wiped his mouth, frowning as though offended. "We don't eat anyone's flesh. Though I won't say there aren't some around here who have tasted the flesh of a landlord. Eh?" he finished, turning to the escort.

　　"How?" I asked, taking out a cigarette and giving it to the old man.

　　I waited while he struck a flint on a stone and lit up a piece of wheaten rope which he applied to the cigarette.

　　"How do they eat the flesh of the landlord?"

　　"Well, it's the landlords who ate the flesh of the people first. Today it's one mans turn, tomorrow another's. There's Persimmon Valley Village, for instance. Well, there was a landlord named Mu Shih-an there. Did he deal justly with the people? I'll tell you. He was a member of the Kuomintang. When the Jap Devils came, he drafted us for a joint defense corps. He said it was to fight the Japs and the 8th Route bandits. But almost at once he surrendered to the Japs. Then he told the families who had men with the guerrillas to call their Sons home. 'I'm afraid the Japs will kill you otherwise,' he said. He promised that no harm would came to anyone who came back. When an 8th Route subcounty leader came back, he killed him and then held a public condolence meeting for him. Oh, he was two-faced, you know. After that no soldiers wanted to come back. So he killed the closest relative of anyone who had a son with the guerrillas. In all he killed one member of each of over one hundred families here. When he saw the Japs were winning, he rounded up thousands of us to carry stones to build Jap blockhouses. Everyone of those stones had our blood on it.

　　"And this landlord settled other man's lives as if he was God. One night one of our poor farmers, who had become a militiaman, ducked into the village to see his wife. Third Blossom was her name. Knowing he would leave her at sun-up, she took him to bed at once. We all knew he had come home, but no one said a word except the village chief, who went and reported to the landlord Mu. And Mu -the traitor ! - comes and drags him out of his wife's bed and binds him up just as if he was a pig, and takes him off. Well, naturally the girl tried to beg Mu to release her husband. But she was poor and of course no one interfered on her behalf. She went into the prison all shaking and asked: "Will you let me see my husband?" And Mu Shih-an's dog leg says: "Go out on the street and you'll see him." Well, naturally, she thought he'd been released and she rushed into the street. She saw him, all right. Up on a pole, on the wall of a strong point that Mu had forced us to build with our scratched and bleeding hands - here he was. His head, anyway. All blood and his eyes half gouged. Crazy - that's what she went. Tried to climb on the strong point and get the head, but everyone pulled her off and took her home. That night it rained and the head fell down on the road. The next morning, at cock crow, she was out on the street. She found her husband's head and took it home with her. Three days and three nights she lay on the kang with the head clasped her arms, kissing and fondling it, as if he were still alive. Like a tiger she was, or a bitch with her pups, she wouldn't let any of us near her. Nothing, we did or said made any impression on her, she wouldn't let go of that bloody head for a moment."

　　The driver had stopped and having put on his glove and picked up the whip, he said angrily:

　　"Isn't that a shame to the people?" He brought the whip down furiously across the backs of the mules. "Isn't that eating their flesh?"

　　"But you ate his, too," said the clerk, who had come back to the cart in the middle of the story and listened to the old man's words with a great deal of attention.

　　"I remember the case of that traitor very well," he continued. "There were over four hundred accusations against him. Twenty thousand people from the whole chu (1) came to the Settlement Meeting. Many women with bound feet could not get there, and they led him through the villages first so that everyone would have a chance to take their revenge. I'll never forget that march. I was one of the guards. As we approached the first village, I ran off in advance. And hardly had the traitor passed the first house when a crowd, armed with forks, hoes, pikes and clubs poured toward him. One woman had a pair of scissors in her hand. 'I want to eat traitor's meat," she cried. When the cadres saw that mob, they knew the traitor would be killed at once before he could even get to the meeting ground. So they made a rule that the people could beat him, but not beat him to death.

(1) A subdivision of a county.

　　"I hated him, but that voice of his was like a pitiful baby's. He looked around with a hunted expression, seeking for, I suppose, a friendly face.'Just a piece of cloth, any little rag will do.' He said it again like a child pleading for a piece of millet candy. But all stood there, men and women, and glowered at him. Then someone said: 'Let us give you a ride-the-horse cloth (2).' At that everyone laughed and fell on him with their fists again. "Don't hit him too hard.' I shouted, 'he's got to get to the meeting alive.' But I had a hard time dragging him away and one woman even followed us out of the village into the fields, clawing at Mu's face all the while.

　　"When all the villages had looked at him, we took him to the settlement meeting ground which was near a pine-grove forest. On near-by walls drawings of his history had been painted. And in the forest the names of all those he had killed were listed on papers posted to the trees. That very morning the government had announced that Traitor Mu Shih-an would be executed and as I've said twenty thousand people came to the meeting. No sooner had they put the traitor up on the stage, than ten people rushed at him. 'You killed my son,' cried one. 'Don't talk with him; just beat him,' said another man pushing the first aside. 'That's right, don't talk; just beat him!' I heard hundreds of voices shouting those words and then the crowd started to rush for the stage. The chairman stood up and held up his hand asking for quiet: 'We can only beat him by groups,' he said. 'We must have order.'

　　"There must have been seven or eight men in that first group to beat him. But others kept running onto the stage and jabbing at him with scissors and knives. I was down front and everyone was yelling: 'Don't beat him to death; we want our share.' I felt everyone pushing me from behind. . . forward toward the stage. Aiya, it was. . ."

　　The clerk paused.

(2)A rag used after sexual intercourse.

　　"'Well, how are you Traitor Mu?" she asked. The crowd had grown still when they saw her - veryone knew her story. In the silence we could all hear his reply.

　　"'Badly, as you can see.'

　　"'Tell the people how you killed - ' she choked and clutched at her breast. I don't know, her next words were a whisper, but they carried to the very edge of the crowd: 'a member of the anti-Japanese forces, my husband.'

　　"'No, I didn't kill him.'

　　"'Then who was it sent him out of this world?' Third Blossom raised her voice. 'Who was it?'

　　"'The Japanese.'

　　"'It was you! You killed him. . .'

　　"She had taken off her leather belt from her waist and she began to beat that traitor there in front of us all. I don't think I've ever heard such a shrieking. 'Beat him! Beat him!' Every time her strap fell, the crowd yelled and before I knew it I was yelling, too. To see that girl taking her revenge..., well ... what a sight..., she beat Mu Shih-an to his knees.. . . Oh, I shall never forget it. . ."

　　The driver shook his head. "No, never. I wouldn't eat landlord's flesh. But Third Blossom, she had reasons."

　　"In the end, they tore his head from his body. For days after that, people would come and look at him in the field. Someone said: 'In the past you were a commander in chief and many people came to see you; now you're dead, you can still draw so many people to visit you.''

　　When the clerk finished his story, he clicked his tongue.

　　"Cruel!" said the driver, who had dropped back and was walking close beside us. "What's cruel about killing a man that has killed over a hundred of his neighbors. I wouldn't kill any man myself. But how can you blame our people? The landlords all of them have been cruel to us all our lives. But that's the only one we've killed. All the others are living just like us. Cruel. Ah, well, what times we live in."

　　He grew silent, staring morosely at his mules.

　　We went on, none of us saying a word. It was growing dusk and we had not yet reached our destination. The wind was bitter cold. J got down from the cart and walked, trying to send some warm blood through my veins. As a village came into view on our right, I said:

　　"It is too cold. If there is no need for hurry, let's spend the night in that village. Your mules are probably tired, old man, and it will rest them."

　　"If you opposed his desire to be free..." said the clerk.

　　"Free! Don't you come at me with those high-sounding words, young man. I know all about young men. My first-born was killed by the landlord when the Jap Devils were here. Then when the war was over, my second son wanted revenge. Came here with some kan pu (3). .. When I saw what he was up to, my heart stopped. 'Get out of here, my bad son,' I said. 'Isn't it enough that your elder brother was killed and now you want to be killed too and leave your old mother no way to live.' He laughed at me. My own son laughed at me. As if that wasn't bad enough he went off and joined the army.

　　"Look, old wife, you don't understand this matter clearly," said the clerk. "We all wanted peace, but Chiang Kai-shek invaded the Liberated Areas. He wanted to kill us all."

　　"Who is this turtle, Chiang Kai-shek, that he can do with people as he wants." The woman stood up from the fire, her old eyes blinking from smoke. "Why don't you just kill him and make peace? When will this war ever end?"

　　"Soon. . . Don't trouble yourself about it."

　　"Soon! But how soon! Don't you try to quiet me. It wants your very life to live in these times."

　　"Hush up, old woman, you'll talk us all to death. You'll be giving this foreign guest a bad impression."

　　"And do you think it's like that in his country?" the old woman retorted.

(3) Cadre or staff worker; anybody working in official capadty. such as government, army newspaper, land reform, even an actress. Not necessarily and most often not a member of the Communist party.

　　I woke up about midnight and lay with open eyes. The driver beside me was making a terrible racket snoring. As I looked at him, my thoughts turned again to his story of Third Blossom, then to the old lady and the county government clerk. At the memory of these things my mind was oppressed by the sadness of the life of the Chinese people. The driver snored interminably and finally I shook him. He groaned, awoke, rubbed his hand across his face.

　　"Ai! Ai!" he sighed. Then turning over, he went back to sleep and commenced snoring once again.

(4) large divan made of adobe bricks and heated by a complicated set of flues connected with the primitive kitchen range. Whole families - husband, wife, grandmother and children often sleep together on one of these kangs. Because in winter, there is no way to escape the bitter cold in the villages, except by curling up on the kang, North China women often speak of them as "own mother."