But, led by Mother, we squeezed in through the gate and pushed Tiangua out of the way. I saw the well-fed wolfhounds jump to their feet, eyes and teeth flashing in the light, metal chains ringing out as they were pulled taut. They were as close to being wolves as dogs could possibly be, and those chains were all that kept them from tearing us limb from limb. On that earlier day, when I'd come alone to invite Lao Lan to dinner, they hadn't seemed as frightening.
‘Tiangua,’ Mother said once she'd elbowed her way into the yard, ‘it's all right if your dieh isn't home. We're just as happy saying hello to you and your niang and chatting for a few minutes.’
Before Tiangua could react, we spotted Lao Lan, standing big and tall in the doorway of his home's eastern wing.
POW! 26
The three cat-nappers are merciless. One swipe of the net and the cat is caught, one swing of the club and it's out. Into the burlap sack it goes. I want to rush to the cat's rescue but I've been sitting with my legs under me so long that they've gone to sleep. ‘She's just had kittens,’ I shout, ‘let her go!’ My voice cuts through the air like a knife—even I can feel it—but they turn a deaf ear to my cry, their attention caught by the cluster of ostriches sleeping in the corner. They charge at the huddled birds excitedly, like starving wolves. Startled awake, the ostriches screech in anticipation of the inevitable fight or flight. One of the birds, a male, leaps up and strikes the net-holder in the nose with one of its powerful legs. Then the whole group, necks stretched as far as they'll go, takes off in all directions, feet flying; but they quickly come together and bolt for the highway. The thud of ostrich feet pounding the ground fades into the darkness and then vanishes altogether. The injured cat-napper is sitting on the ground holding his nose, blood seeping between his fingers. His partners help him to his feet and console him in hushed voices. But the moment they let go, he slumps back to the ground, as if his bones have turned to tendons and sinews no longer capable of support. His partners’ consoling words are drowned out by his sobs and whimpers. Just then another of them discovers the three headless ostriches, and the thrill nearly throws him off balance. ‘Number One,’ he shouts, jumping in excitement, ‘stop crying, there's meat!’ The injured man stops crying and drops his hand from his nose. All six eyes are riveted to the three ostrich carcasses; the men seem frozen in place. Then the excitement claims them, including the one with the injury—he jumps to his feet. They throw the cat out of their sack—it runs in circles, mewing, a sign that the blow was serious but not fatal—and try to stuff in the dead ostriches; but they're too big, they won't fit. Plan B: forget the sack and drag the ostrich carcasses by the feet, one apiece, like donkeys pulling a wagon onto the highway. I watch them go, following the progress of their elongated silhouettes.
A pair of electric heaters warmed the eastern wing of Lao Lan's house, the thick tungsten wires burning red behind transparent covers. All those years of scavenging with Mother had taught me a lot, no lesson more valuable than how electric appliances work. I knew that his heater was not energy efficient, that the large amounts of electricity it consumed made it impractical for most people. Lao Lan was wearing a V-necked cable-knit sweater over a white shirt and a red-striped tie in a room that was uncomfortably hot. He'd shaved off his sideburns and had his hair cut short, which combined to draw attention to the mutilated ear. His freshly shaved cheeks had begun to go slack and his eyelids were slightly puffy, but none of that had any effect on my new image of him. A peasant? I hardly think so. No, clearly someone on the government payroll. His attire and demeanour put my father, with his wool tunic, to shame. Nothing in his expression indicated that he was unhappy with us for turning up without an invitation. On the contrary, he politely invited us to sit and even patted me on the head. My rear end settled comfortably into the softness of his black leather sofa, but unnaturally so, as if I was sitting on a cloud. Jiaojiao shifted her little bottom on the leather sofa and giggled. Both Father and Mother respectfully sat on its edge, so respectfully they couldn't possibly have appreciated its comforts. Lao Lan walked over to a cabinet by the wall and brought back a lovely metal box; he opened it, took out pieces of chocolate wrapped in gold foil and handed them to Jiaojiao and me. She took a bite and spat it out: ‘It's medicine!’
‘It's not medicine, it's chocolate,’ I corrected her, displaying some of the knowledge I'd acquired while scavenging with Mother. ‘Eat it. It's nutritious and it's packed with calories. All the athletes eat it.’
The look of approval on Lao Lan's face filled me with pride. But I knew a lot more than that. Scavenging is life's encyclopedia. Picking up junk and sorting it into categories is the same as reading a book of facts. The older I got, the more I grew to appreciate the wealth of knowledge I'd acquired during those years; they constituted my elementary, middle and high school, and yielded endless benefits.
Jiaojiao refused to eat another bite of chocolate, so Lao Lan returned to the cabinet and brought out a tray of hazelnuts, almonds, pistachios and walnuts, which he set down on a tea table by the sofa. Then he knelt in front of us, picked up a small hammer and cracked open a walnut and a hazelnut, carefully scooping out the meat and laying it in front of my sister.
‘You'll spoil them, Village Head,’ complained Mother.
‘Yang Yuzhen,’ Lao Lan said, ignoring her comment, ‘you're a lucky woman.’
‘Lucky?’ Mother remarked. ‘You can't be lucky with a face like a monkey.’
Lao Lan looked at Mother. ‘Anyone who can denigrate herself,’ he said with a smile, ‘deserves my respect.’
‘Village Head,’ Mother said, blushing, ‘this has been a wonderful New Year's for my family, thanks to you, and we're here to deliver our holiday greetings. Xiaotong, Jiaojiao, get down on your knees and kowtow to his honour.’
‘No, no, no…’ Lao Lan jumped to his feet, waving his large hands. ‘Yang Yuzhen, only you could think of such an elaborate courtesy, one I hardly deserve. Have you taken a good look at the children you're bringing up?’ He bent to pat us on the head. ‘You have a true Golden Boy and Jade Girl here. Nothing can stop them from enjoying a wonderful future. As for us, no matter how hard we struggle, we'll always be loaches at the bottom of a ditch. Not a dragon among us. But them, they're different. I may not know my horses but I do know my people.’ He reached out, cupped our chins and looked closely into our faces. He then glanced up at our parents: ‘I want you to take a good look at these remarkable faces. I guarantee that these two will make you proud.’
‘They don't deserve such a compliment, Village Head,’ Mother demurred. ‘They're only a couple of children who hardly understand a thing.’
‘Village Head,’ Father added, ‘dragons beget dragons, and phoenixes beget their kind. With a dieh like me—’
‘That's no way to talk!’ Lao Lan interrupted. ‘Lao Luo, we peasants have muddled along for decades, until even we have no respect for ourselves. Ten years ago, I walked into a restaurant in town and didn't know how to order a single thing off the menu. The waiter, an impatient man, tapped the edge of the table with his ballpoint pen and said, “What do you peasants know about ordering food? Here's my recommendation: order a meat and vegetable stew. It's cheap and it's filling.” “Stew?” I said. “You mean leftovers you toss in the pot and heat up?” One of of my companions urged me to obey but I refused. “What do you think we are, a bunch of pigs, only good for eating other people's trash?” Whether or not he liked it, I wanted some specialities of the house, so I ordered a “Green Dragon Lying in Snow” and “Fried Pork with Celery Sprouts”. But when they arrived from the kitchen, Green Dragon Lying in Snow was nothing but a cucumber in a bed of sugar sprinkles. So I complained to the waiter. He simply rolled his eyes and said, “That's Green Dragon Lying in Snow,” and then turned to leave, but not before I heard him swear: “Hick turtles!” That made me so mad that smoke nearly came out of my ears, but I swallowed my anger. I also made a vow that, before too long, this country turtle would control the lives of those city to
rtoises!’
Lao Lan took two Zhonghua cigarettes from his tin case, tossed one to Father and lit the other for himself, striking a dignified pose with each puff.
‘Back in those days…’ Father stammered in his attempts to stay in the conversation, ‘…that's the way things were…’
‘So, you see, Lao Luo,’ Lao Lan said sombrely, ‘it's important to go out and make money. In times like these, a man with money is the patriarch—a man without it is a grandchild. With it, you stand straight and tall—without it, you have no backbone. Being the head of this little village doesn't mean a thing to me. Have you checked out the Lan clan lineage? With those who got official titles, even the lowest was at least a circuit intendant. I'm not content with what we once were. I want to lead people onto a path to riches. Not only that, I want to make this a rich village. We already have paved roads and streetlights and we've repaired the bridge. Next, we need to build a school, a pre-school and a retirement home. Of course, I have personal reasons for wanting a school, but it's more than that. I'm committed to restoring the Lan manor to its original grandeur and then opening it to the public as a tourist attraction, the proceeds all going to the village, of course. Lao Luo, a long friendship has existed between our families. Your grandfather, a beggar who stood outside our gate cursing all day long, became one of my grandfather's best friends. When my third uncle and his family fled to the Nationalist area during the Civil War, it was your grandfather who took them in his wagon. That's an act of friendship we Lans will not dare forget. So, my good brother, there's no reason for you and me not to join forces and do important things. I have big plans and the confidence to see them through!’ Lao Lan paused for another puff: ‘Lao Luo, I know you disapprove of how the butchers inject water into animal carcasses. But you need to look beyond our village. Where will you find another village in the county, in the province, in the whole country, where water isn't injected into the meat? If everyone else does it but we don't, we'll not only fail to earn a living but also wind up in the red. If no one else did it, we wouldn't either, of course. We live in an age that scholars characterize as that of the primitive accumulation of capital. Just what does that mean? Simply that people will make money by any means necessary, and that everyone's money is tainted by the blood of others. Once this phase has passed, moral behaviour will again be in fashion. But during times of immoral behaviour, if we persist in being moral we might as well starve to death. Lao Luo, there's much more to discuss, so you and I will sit down one day and have a good long talk. Oh, what's wrong with me! I forgot to pour tea. You'll have some, won't you?’
‘No tea for us,’ Mother said. ‘We've already taken up too much of your time. We'll just sit a moment longer and then be on our way.’
‘You're already here, so what's the hurry? Lao Luo, seeing you here is a rare treat. Of all the men in the village, you're the only one who never dropped by, until today.’ He stood up, went across to the cabinet and selected five long-stemmed glasses. ‘Instead of pouring tea, let's have a drink. That's how the Westerners do it.’
He took out a bottle of imported liquor—Remy Martin XO, brandy that sold in the mall for at least a thousand yuan. Mother and I once bought some for three hundred yuan a bottle in the city's infamous Corruption Lane, then resold it to a little store near the train station for four-fifty apiece. We knew that the people who sold them to us were relatives of officials who'd received them as gifts.
Lao Lan poured brandy into all five glasses.
‘Not for the children,’ Mother said.
‘A little taste won't hurt.’
The amber liquid created a strange light show in the glasses. Lao Lan held out his glass; we did the same. ‘Happy New Year!’
Our glasses clinked, a crisp, pleasant sound.
‘Happy New Year!’ we echoed.
‘Well, how do you like it?’ he asked as he swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it closely. ‘You can add ice, you can even add tea.’
‘It has an interesting aroma,’ Mother said.
‘How's a farmer supposed to tell good from bad?’ asked Father. ‘It's wasted on us.’
‘Don't say things like that, Lao Luo,’ responded Lao Lan. ‘I want you to be the Luo Tong before he went to the northeast, not this passive shell of a man. Stand straight, my brother. Once a bent back becomes a habit, it's impossible to break.’
‘Lao Lan's right, Dieh,’ I said.
‘Xiaotong, who do you think you are,’ Mother bawled at me as she gave me a slap, ‘calling him Lao Lan?’
‘Great!’ Lao Lan said with a smile. ‘That's exactly what I want you to call me. From now on it's Lao Lan. I love the sound of it.’
‘Lao Lan!’ Now it was Jiaojiao's turn.
‘Terrific!’ said Lao Lan excitedly. ‘Just terrific!’
Father held his glass out, tipped his head back and drained his glass. ‘Lao Lan,’ he said, ‘I have only one thing to say. I work for you.’
‘No, you don't—we work together. I'll tell you what I'm thinking. We can take ownership of the one-time commune canvas factory and refit the buildings for a meatpacking plant. My sources tell me that officials in town are up in arms over the injection of water in the meat and are about to mount a “safe meat project”. The next step will be to outlaw independent butchers, which will put an end to our prosperity. We need to act before that happens by opening a meatpacking plant. We'll welcome any villager willing to join our consortium. As for the rest, well, we'll never have a shortage of manpower, since unemployment is rampant in all villages…’ The phone rang. He picked it up, dealt briefly with his caller and then hung up. ‘Lao Luo,’ he said, looking up at the digital clock on the wall, ‘something's come up, so we'll have to continue this another day.’
We stood up and said our goodbyes, but not before Mother reached into her black, faux-leather bag, took out the bottle of Maotai and placed it on the tea table.
‘Yang Yuzhen,’ Lao Lan said, looking displeased, ‘what's this?’
‘Don't be angry, Village Head, this isn't a gift,’ Mother said, smiling meaningfully. ‘Yao Qi brought this to our house last night as a gift for Luo Tong. How could we presume to drink anything as expensive as this? We'd rather you had it.’
Lao Lan picked the bottle up and held it close to the light to get a better look. Then he smiled and handed it to me. ‘Xiaotong, you be the judge. Is this the real thing or a knock-off?’
Without even looking at the bottle, I said with complete assurance: ‘A knock-off.’
Lao Lan tossed the bottle into a bin against the wall and laughed heartily. ‘You are very discriminating, worthy Nephew!’
POW! 27
Tongue stiff, cheeks numb, eyes dull and heavy, one yawn after another. I fight to keep going, muddling along with my tale…a car horn startles me awake. Morning sunlight streams into the temple; there's bat guano on the floor. An ambiguous smile adorns the little, basin-like face of the Meat God; just looking at it gives me a sense of pride, mixed with remorse and trepidation. My past is a fairy tale or, more accurately, a big lie. I stare at him, he stares back, lively and expressive, almost as if he's about to speak to me. I feel as if I could animate him with a single puff of air, send him running happily out of the temple over to the feast and the meat forum to eat his fill and join the discussion. If the Meat God is really anything like me, then he's someone who can talk and talk and talk. Wise Monk continues to sit, lotus position, on his rush mat, unchanged. He casts a meaningful look at me before shutting his eyes. I recall my sleep being interrupted by pangs of hunger in the middle of the night, but when I awoke this morning I wasn't hungry at all. I'm now reminded of how, I think, the woman who resembles Aunty Wild Mule nourished me with her spurting milk. I lick my lips and detect its sweet taste again. This is the second day of the Carnivore Festival, when forums and discussion groups on a variety of topics will take place in guest houses and restaurants in the twin cities, followed by all manner of banquets. Barbecue stands will continue in
operation in the field across the temple, albeit with a new batch of cooks. At the moment, none of them and no prospective customers have arrived. No one but fast-moving cleanup crews are up and working at this hour, busy as battlefield mop-up units.
My parents sent me to school soon after New Year's, not the normal time to begin. But, thanks to Lao Lan's intervention, the authorities were happy to let me enrol. They also enrolled my sister in the Early Red Academy, or, as it's called now, preschool.
The school gate was just outside the village, a hundred metres on the other side of Hanlin Bridge. The one-time manor of the Lan family, it had fallen into a state of rot and disrepair. The buildings, with green brick walls and blue tiled roofs, had once heralded the glories of the Lan family to all who laid eyes on them. Locally, the Lans were not thought of as rustic rich. Members of Lao Lan's father's generation had studied in America, which gave him something to be proud of. Four metal characters in red——that spelt out ‘Hanlin Primary School’ were welded onto the cast-iron arch spanning the gate. Already eleven, I was placed in the first grade, which made me nearly twice the age of, and a head taller than, my classmates. I was the centre of attention for students and teachers alike during the morning flag-raising ceremony, and I'll bet they thought that a boy from one of the upper classes had mistakenly lined up with them.