hand in return. They passed by as if on patrol.
The Spring Festival was drawing near, and I was worried. All the three batteries were new, without any savings. How could we celebrate the holiday? Some soldiers would miss home, and their spirits would be low. How could we make them forget home and enjoy themselves, eating well andplaying well? Surely we had to stay in combat readiness during the holiday period, but we also had to feast and make every man feel at ease in his own battery. The Regimental Logistics Department sent us four hundred
jin
of pork. Too little for three hundred men. What should we do? Both Commissar Diao and I were restless.
This time Dragon Head came to help us out. On the morning two days before the Spring Festival, a large group of militiamen arrived at our headquarters. In the front yard they were blowing
suona
, beating drums and gongs and letting off double-bang firecrackers. Commissar Diao and I rushed out. A broad red banner, with the golden words MILITIA OF GUANMEN on it, was flapping away in the north wind. Every one of them carried a gun on his back. Warm breath was puffing out from their mouths and nostrils. Dragon Head, standing at the front, raised his right hand while his left hand remained stuck behind his Mauser. Immediately the men moved to both sides and a pass was opened through them. Then ten pairs of men, poles on their shoulders, carried over ten boars, which were held upside down by hemp ropes tied to the hind trotters. They placed the frozen carcasses on the ground one by one in a line. The first boar was covered with a large piece of red paper on which a row of characters in black ink read: FOR OUR BELOVED LIBERATION ARMY .
I was moved and went to Dragon Head. We shook hands. Commissar Diao was also delighted; he held Dragon Head’s hand and spoke. “We are very grateful, Comrade Dragon Head, and we won’t forget the kindness and the trust of your people.”
“It’s our duty to bring our best wishes to our own army,” Dragon Head said, wiping the frost off his mustache.
“Dragon Head,” I said, “we won’t take these free. We must pay you. Tell us how much for each.”
“What?” He frowned. “Commander Gao, you’re not treating us as your own people if you say so. All right, if you want to buy, we won’t sell.” He was about to turn to his men.
“Wait, wait,” Commissar Diao intervened. “Commander Gao didn’t mean to take you as outsiders, Dragon Head. Chairman Mao has instructed us not to take from the people ‘a needle or a piece of thread.’ You know, we must always follow the Chairman’s instruction. Old Gao was not wrong to mention the price, but he forgot that these boars are not from common people but from another unit, from our comrade-in-arms Dragon Head’s company. Please don’t mis-undertand us; we do want to accept your kind gifts.”
“That’s the way of saying things. Ha-ha-ha!” Dragon Head threw his head back and laughed. All his men followed him guffawing.
So we accepted the boars. Each company got three, and the Battalion Headquarters kept one. The major problem had been solved: as long as we had enough meat, it would not be difficult to feed our men.
At my suggestion, we planned to give a banquet to the village heads and the production brigade leaders on the Spring Fetival’s Eve. We ought to find a way to pay them back for their kindness. For whatever reason, we should not take things from the people without giving them something in return. Those boars could by no means come from Dragon Head’s own home. Besides, we had caused a great deal of inconvenience to the villagers ever since we began lodging in their homes. This was the time to show our gratitude. Commissar Diao supported the idea.
The banquet was held at the meeting room of the production brigade, which was cleaned up and decorated for this occasion. A pair of colorful lanterns hung at the entrance, and a couplet written on two broad bands of red paper was
The Spring Festival was drawing near, and I was worried. All the three batteries were new, without any savings. How could we celebrate the holiday? Some soldiers would miss home, and their spirits would be low. How could we make them forget home and enjoy themselves, eating well andplaying well? Surely we had to stay in combat readiness during the holiday period, but we also had to feast and make every man feel at ease in his own battery. The Regimental Logistics Department sent us four hundred
jin
of pork. Too little for three hundred men. What should we do? Both Commissar Diao and I were restless.
This time Dragon Head came to help us out. On the morning two days before the Spring Festival, a large group of militiamen arrived at our headquarters. In the front yard they were blowing
suona
, beating drums and gongs and letting off double-bang firecrackers. Commissar Diao and I rushed out. A broad red banner, with the golden words MILITIA OF GUANMEN on it, was flapping away in the north wind. Every one of them carried a gun on his back. Warm breath was puffing out from their mouths and nostrils. Dragon Head, standing at the front, raised his right hand while his left hand remained stuck behind his Mauser. Immediately the men moved to both sides and a pass was opened through them. Then ten pairs of men, poles on their shoulders, carried over ten boars, which were held upside down by hemp ropes tied to the hind trotters. They placed the frozen carcasses on the ground one by one in a line. The first boar was covered with a large piece of red paper on which a row of characters in black ink read: FOR OUR BELOVED LIBERATION ARMY .
I was moved and went to Dragon Head. We shook hands. Commissar Diao was also delighted; he held Dragon Head’s hand and spoke. “We are very grateful, Comrade Dragon Head, and we won’t forget the kindness and the trust of your people.”
“It’s our duty to bring our best wishes to our own army,” Dragon Head said, wiping the frost off his mustache.
“Dragon Head,” I said, “we won’t take these free. We must pay you. Tell us how much for each.”
“What?” He frowned. “Commander Gao, you’re not treating us as your own people if you say so. All right, if you want to buy, we won’t sell.” He was about to turn to his men.
“Wait, wait,” Commissar Diao intervened. “Commander Gao didn’t mean to take you as outsiders, Dragon Head. Chairman Mao has instructed us not to take from the people ‘a needle or a piece of thread.’ You know, we must always follow the Chairman’s instruction. Old Gao was not wrong to mention the price, but he forgot that these boars are not from common people but from another unit, from our comrade-in-arms Dragon Head’s company. Please don’t mis-undertand us; we do want to accept your kind gifts.”
“That’s the way of saying things. Ha-ha-ha!” Dragon Head threw his head back and laughed. All his men followed him guffawing.
So we accepted the boars. Each company got three, and the Battalion Headquarters kept one. The major problem had been solved: as long as we had enough meat, it would not be difficult to feed our men.
At my suggestion, we planned to give a banquet to the village heads and the production brigade leaders on the Spring Fetival’s Eve. We ought to find a way to pay them back for their kindness. For whatever reason, we should not take things from the people without giving them something in return. Those boars could by no means come from Dragon Head’s own home. Besides, we had caused a great deal of inconvenience to the villagers ever since we began lodging in their homes. This was the time to show our gratitude. Commissar Diao supported the idea.
The banquet was held at the meeting room of the production brigade, which was cleaned up and decorated for this occasion. A pair of colorful lanterns hung at the entrance, and a couplet written on two broad bands of red paper was
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