The Red Kid

The Red Kid

Mo Jinmei

Guangxi Education Publishing House

June 2021

23.00 （CNY）

The historic， revolutionary struggles of Guangxi’s “Hundred Thousand Mountains” region serves as the backdrop of the novel， showing the indomitable fighting spirit of the mountain people and their boundless love for their homeland. During wartime， young San’er of Zhuang ethnicity goes on the run with his parents， braving hardships and dangers， trying to survive. They have to evade the air raids of Japanese warplanes and flee repeatedly to the mountains. While on the run， San’er meets the guerrilla combatants and becomes their guide， delivering letters， smartly navigating one life-and-death crisis after another. He gradually grows into a brave “red kid” through such tough experiences.

Mo Jinmei

Her Penname is Zilian. She is winner of the 2018 Bingxin Children’s Literature New Writing Award， and her works include The Rain Doll， Sister Butterfly and Her Younger Sister， and The Little Dragonfly Has Lost Its Way. These amongst other works have been selected and featured in Lovely Creatures – the Language Learning Series， Transparent Embrace： Selected Children’s Poems against the Pandemic， and The Song of Little Laughingthrush： Sixty Years of Children’s Literature in Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region.

It wasn’t lunchtime yet， and most adults were working in the fields or on the hills. Ah Qiang， Loach （nickname）， and a few boys like myself scratched a chessboard in the village’s open grounds.

Using pebbles as chess pieces， we started playing Tiger Chess. Loach’s sister and two or three other girls were jumping rope on the other side of the grounds.

“Oooohhhhhwwww...” Suddenly， a sound like a sow squealing for her piglets resonated in the distance.

“Oh no！ Brother， run！ A plane’s coming！” Loach’s sister dropped her skipping rope and ran over in a panic， pulling Loach， who was squatting on the ground staring at the chess pieces to get running. Loach’s body leaned back and he almost fell on his butt. We were engrossed in chess， and I was so excited to see Loach slowly losing. At this moment， I had a chess piece in hand and was about to take one of his pieces.

“The devils’ planes will be over our heads soon， and you kids are still playing games？ Do you want to die？ Run now！” When she saw us freezing there， Fifth Granny ran over shouting and waving at us. The old folks in the village tending to the kids were either carrying them on their backs or in their arms， scampering out of the countryside in a panic， like a herd of startled horses. Some of the kids were scared and bawling. The old folks didn’t have time to calm them down.

As the enemy planes flew closer and closer， we had to quickly find a spot thick with vegetation or a hidden hollow in the hills or the ridges and pull our heads and bodies down in separate hideouts. My buddies and I let off a cry， stood up， and ran to our respective “bomb shelters.”

At that time， the Japanese planes often flew from Qinzhou Bay to my homeland， Hundred Thousand Mountains. Those planes were like savage eagles， screeching over Hundred Thousand Mountains， dropping a bomb or two every now and then. Enemy bombers would become a significant trouble we had to guard against constantly.

At first， it was the grown-ups who brought us to hide. Every time there was a buzz from the east of Hundred Thousand Mountains， it would mean that a plane had taken off. The moment they heard the noise， the grown-ups would stop what they were doing， be it cooking， washing the laundry， or some other work， shout for their kids， and run out of the village with them and the elderly folks. All at once， the grown-ups would yell， the children would run， the whole countryside would be topsy-turvy.

After we dodged the planes a few times， we slowly learned to distinguish their sounds. If there was a rumble like thunder， it was the sound of an airplane taking off. If you heard “du-du-du”， it meant that a plane was almost overhead. No matter how playful a kid， the moment he heard a “rumble，” he would know from experience it was time to hide. We were so engrossed in playing Tiger Chess just now that we forgot to hide from those planes， which was what our parents warned us against every day.

What a close call！

Pa always says， “The kids of the poor have to manage a household young.” I’m already ten years old and can take care of myself！ After hiding from the planes a few times with the grown-ups， my friends and I found different “secret bases” not far from our village， which became our “bomb shelters.” Whenever the enemy planes came， we would scatter like monkeys alert to danger and quickly creep into a “bomb shelter” to hide instead of dashing around like headless chickens.

We couldn’t pick a “bomb shelter” too far away， or we wouldn’t be able to get there in time before the enemy planes came. But we couldn’t choose a shelter too close to the village either： the debris or shock waves would injure us whenever bombs were dropped on our homes. Our village， luckily， was located at the foot of a mountain， surrounded by dense trees and lush grass. People could hide safely under the trees. The enemy planes could only see a blur of green from the air.