My head was heavy after a day's work and I just feel like lying on my bed. Realizing that I have

my assignments due soon and I need to have Red Sorghum finished reading, it had discouraged 

me from going to sleep. Posturing myself behind the comfortable cushions propped against the 

wall, I resumed my journey into the realm of the story.


This book is driving me nuts, with all the switching of scenes, absolutely a mass. Worsen by 

persistent fight against my sleepiness; I had managed still to stay awake but drowsy. I going to

loss the battle, I thought only to find myself winning when I happened to thread into this 

gruesome, morbid section, jolting me permanently out of the relentless sluggish droning ritual. 


Father saw Sun Five's knife cut the skin above the ear with a sawing motion. Uncle Arhat 

screeched in agony as sprays of yellow piss shot out from between his legs.  Father's knees were

knocking. A Japanese soldier walked up to Sun Five with a white ceramic platter, into which

Sun put Uncle Arhat's large, fleshy ear.  He cut off the other ear and laid it on the platter

alongside the first one, Father watched the ears twitch, making thumping sounds.


The soldier paraded slowly in front of the laborers and villagers, holding the platter out for them 

to see. Father looked at the ears, pale and beautiful.


The soldier then carried the ears up to the Japanese officer, who nodded to him. He laid the 

platter alongside the body of his dead comrade; after a moment of silence, he picked it up and 

put it on the ground under the dog's nose.


The dog's tongue slithered back into its mouth as it sniffed the ears with its pointy, wet, black 

nose; but it shook its head, with its tongue lolling again, and sat down.     


"Hey," the interpreter yelled at Sun Five. "Keep going."


Sun Five was walking around in circles, mumbling to himself. Father looked at his sweaty, greasy

face, and watched his eyelids blink like the bobbing head of a chicken.


A mere trickle of blood oozed from the holes where Uncle Arhat's ears had been. Without them his head had become a neat, unmarred oval.


The Jap officer roared again.


"Hurry up, get on with it!" the interpreter ordered.


Sun Five bent over and sliced off Uncle Arhat's genitals with a single stroke, then put them into

the platter held by the Japanese soldier, who carried it at eye level as he paraded like a 

marionette in front of the crowd. Father felt Grandma's icy fingers dig into his shoulders.


The Japanese soldier put the platter under the dog's nose.  It nibbled, then spat the stuff out.


Uncle Arhat was screaming in agony, his bony frame twitching violently on the rack.


Sun Five threw down his butcher knife, fell to his knees, and wailed bitterly.


The Japanese officer let go of the leash, and the guard dog bounded forward, burying its claws

in Sun Five's shoulders and baring its fangs in his face.  He threw himself on the ground and

covered his face with his hands.


The Japanese officer whistled, and the guard dog bounded back to him, dragging the leash

behind it.


"Skin him, and be quick about it!" the interpreter demanded.


Five struggled to his feet, picked up his butcher knife, and staggered up to Uncle Arhat.


Everyone's head jerked upward as a torrent of abuse erupted from Uncle Arhat's mouth.


Sun Five spoke to him: "Elder brother . . . elder brother . . . try to bear it a little longer. . . ."


Arhat spat a gob of bloody phlegm into Sun's face.


"Start skinning," shouted the interpreter.  "Fuck your ancestors! Skin him, I said!"


Sun Five started at the point on Uncle Arhat's scalp where the scab had formed, zipping the

knife blade down, once, twice ... one meticulous cut after another. Uncle Arhat's scalp fell 

away, revealing two greenish-purple eyes and several misshapen chunks of flesh....