Colors of the Mountain by Da Chen

while the other climbed the tree and shook the fruit off. They never looked upon this as stealing, but rather as acts of necessity and as tests of courage. Mo Gong would challenge Sen over something, then they would make a bet and jump in. It was always about betting and about who was braver.
    Once Sen was detained by the commune’s police because someone had accused him of setting fire to a fruit watcher’s little hut. When the police came to notify his mother and ask her to take him home, she said, “He’s not my son. Do whatever you want with him,” and shut the door in the cop’s face. The poor officer, who was prepared to give a long lecture to the mother, left confused and disappointed. They let Sen out without a scratch.
    Mo Gong, fifteen, distinguished himself by almost killing someone with a big knife when he was thirteen. Years later, the sheer size of the weapon still shocked people. He grew up in a family of entrepreneurs. His mom and dad secretly made shoes behind closed doors and sold them in the black market. Mo Gong was born a rough kid, and couldn’t stay out of trouble. His mouth said the wrong things and his hands were always out of control. He had an endless need to touch and hit things. No matter how hard his parents tried to discipline him, it never worked. They had hung him up by the wrists, locked him up, and whipped him till his butt was red and swollen. He always went back to the old ways. He stole money from home to buy cigarettes, liquor, and food.
    Once, when he couldn’t find cash, he took the black-market shoes and sold them at a discount by the roadside. His dad got so mad when he found out that he swore he was going to chop off Mo Gong’s hands. His uncles with the bushy eyebrows came to his rescue and saved him.
    Another time, he almost killed a boy who had been picking on Mo Gong’s small brother, and had tied his little penis to a frog. Mo Gong had picked up a knife and run after the offender. When he caught the kid, he sliced his shoulder open, filleting the flesh all the way down to the bone. Mo Gong said later that it was an insult to the manhood of all the Mo men, that his little brother could have died, and that the boy had to taste his own blood to know the pain.
    When his parents were gone for days selling shoes in another county,his home became his friends’ home. They drank up the last drop of cooking wine and gambled on the dining table. Each time, when his parents came home, they would throw him out and swear he wasn’t their son anymore.
    The reputations of Sen and Mo Gong were so bad that whenever there was a theft or fire they were always the first suspects. Their alibis usually lacked credibility and they often ended up being blamed for what they didn’t do. When that was the case, they got very angry with the people who had framed them, and added their names to their long revenge list. Pretty soon half the town was on that list. They took their time getting their revenge—little things here and there, like a chicken missing or a plot of vegetables ruined. They never left any evidence behind. It was their way of saying, “Fuck you,” and venting their feelings of being constantly maligned.
    Siang became their friend by default. He was a good-looking fourteen-year-old from a wealthy family. His grandfather was an old revolutionary who had helped the Communist army occupy Putien. He now received a big salary for doing nothing. He had used some of that money to build a huge, three-storied home. His mother was a nurse in a nearby hospital, and his father was a cadre in charge of a shoe factory.
    Siang hated school and loved gambling. One year he lost so much money to Sen and Mo Gong that they were going to make him pay them back by stripping off his expensive clothes. He had begged for mercy, and agreed to pay back the debt by buying them cigarettes for the next year. They became really good friends when Siang got kicked out by his parents and Mo Gong took him in.