Dear readers, I can almost hear you grumbling: Why don’t you stop running off at the mouth and take us to a tavern somewhere instead of having us circle Donkey Avenue over and over! Your grumblings are excellent, right on target, hit the nail right on the head. So let’s pick up the pace, step lively; forgive me if I don’t point out all the shops here on Donkey Avenue, even though there’s a story behind them all, and even though each one of them has its unique calling. I’ll shut up, no matter how much it pains me to do so. And so, let us ignore all those donkeys staring at us from both sides of the street and set our sights on our objectives. There are two types of objectives: major and minor. Our major objective is to march toward communism, where the ruling ideology is ‘from each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs.’ But if we march toward the end of Donkey Avenue, to an old pomegranate tree, we will reach our minor objective: the Yichi Tavern. Why, you ask, is it called Yichi Tavern? Listen up, and I’ll tell you.
The tavern’s proprietor, Yu Yichi (Twelve-inch Yu), is actually seventeen inches tall; like all dwarfs, he has never revealed his age to anyone, and trying to guess it would be folly. Within the memory of Donkey Avenue, this agreeable, amiable little dwarf has not changed his appearance or attitude in decades. He always returns looks of shock and amazement with sweet smiles. They are such charming, disarming smiles they tug at your heart and spawn feelings of sympathy you never knew you had. Yu Yichi makes a good living almost exclusively on the charm of these smiles. Coming from an intellectual family, he is very learned, with an array of knowledge on which he draws to entertain people on Donkey Avenue with his witty remarks. How unthinkably lonely and boring Donkey Avenue would be without Yu Yichi, who could actually lead a life of leisure with his natural talent alone. But being ambitious, he refused to settle for handouts, and took advantage of the winds of reform and liberalization to apply for a business license. He then produced a wad of money he’d been saving since who knew when and hired someone to remodel his old house for Yichi Tavern, which has become famous all over Liquorland. Yu Yichi’s many ingenious ideas may well have been inspired by the classical novel Flowers in the Mirror, or could have originated in a book called Overseas Wonders. After the tavern opened, he placed a want ad in the Liquorland Daily News, looking for attendants who were under three feet tall. The ad, a highly publicized event at the time, initiated heated debates. Some people believed that a dwarf running a tavern was an insult to the socialist system and a smear on the bright five-star red flag. Following the increase of tourists in Liquorland, Yichi Tavern could easily become our city’s greatest shame, one that would bring humiliation to the great Chinese nation. Others argued that the existence of a dwarf was a universal, objective phenomenon. But dwarfs in other countries relied on panhandling to survive, while ours supported themselves through their own labor, which is not a shame but a sign of glory. Yichi Tavern could help make our international friends understand the unsurpassable superiority of our socialist system. While the two sides were engaged in heated, unending debates, Yu Yichi tunneled his way into the City Hall compound through its sewers (the guards were too intimidating for him to enter through the main gate). Then he sneaked into City Hall, and into the office of the Mayor, with whom he had a long conversation, the contents of which must remain unknown to us. The Mayor sent him back to Donkey Avenue in her own luxurious Crown limo, after which the debates in the newspaper died down. My friends, ladies and gentlemen, we have reached Yichi Tavern, our objective. The drinks are on me today. Old Mr Yu is a friend of mine; we often get together to drink and to recite poetry. We have composed strange yet beautiful music for this colorful, dazzling world we live in. As a true brother who values friendship more than money, he will give us a twenty percent discount.
My honored friends, we are now standing outside Yichi Tavern. Please glance up at the gilded characters on the black signboard, each bursting with energy, like spirited dragons and lively tigers. This is the work of Liu Banping - Half-Bottle Liu - a famous calligrapher whose name tells of a true master who can’t write without drinking half a bottle of good, strong liquor. Two pocket-sized waitresses, less than two feet tall, stand beside the door, one on each side, embroidered sashes across their chests and smiles on their faces. They are twins, who, after reading Yu Yichi’s ad in the Liquorland Daily News, flew here from Shanghai on a Trident jet. They were born into a high-ranking cadre family, with a father so famous you’d be dazzled if I told you. So I won’t. They could have counted on their father’s power and position to live a life of leisure, wearing fancy clothes and eating delicacies. But they refused to do so, choosing instead to join the hustle and bustle here in Liquorland. The arrival of this pair of fairies came as such a surprise that the city’s ranking Party members made a special trip in the pouring rain to greet them at Peach Spring Airport, some forty-five miles out of town. Accompanying the two fairies on their trip was their mother, that is, the wife of their heroic sire, plus a retinue of secretaries. It took the airport guest house two frantic weeks to prepare for the reception. But, my friends, please don’t think that Liquorland did not get its money’s worth, for that would be the near-sighted view, a mouse’s vision of the world. Even though Liquorland went to considerable expense to welcome the fairies and their mother, our city has now established connections with the high-ranking official, who, merely by picking up his pen and drawing a few check marks, can bring us plenty of business and plenty of income. Do you know what we received when he casually wielded his pen on a visit last year? A low-interest loan of a hundred million, during a period of financial storms and tight credit. Imagine that, my friends, a hundred million, which we put to use promoting our Ape Liquor, building a magnificent China Brewery Museum, and organizing a celebration for the First International Ape Liquor Festival in October. If not for these two fairies, do you think he’d have stayed in Liquorland three whole days? So, my friends, it’s no exaggeration to credit Mr Yu Yichi as a hero of Liquorland. I hear that the Municipal Party Committee is gathering material for permission to honor him as a model worker with a Labor Day decoration.
The two fairies of noble blood bow to us and smile radiantly. They have lovely faces and well-proportioned figures; except for being small, they are virtually flawless. We return their smiles out of respect for their noble birth. Welcome, welcome. Thank you, thank you.
Yichi Tavern, also known as Dwarf Tavern, is luxuriously appointed. When you step on the five-inch-thick wool carpet, your feet sink softly up to the ankles. Scrolls by famous painters and calligraphers hang on walls covered with birch panels from the Changbai mountains. Palm-sized goldfish swim lazily in an enormous aquarium. Pots of rare flowers bloom like a raging fire. In the middle of the room stands a lifelike little black donkey, which, upon closer observation, turns out to be a sculpture. Naturally it was only after the arrival of the two fairies that Yichi Tavern reached this level of popularity and prosperity. The leaders of Liquorland are not fools, and would never allow the darling daughters of a high-ranking dignitary to work in a shabby tavern run by some private entrepreneur. You know how things are these days, so I needn’t waste time recounting the dramatic changes in Yichi Tavern over the past year. But you’ll forgive me if I backtrack for a moment. Liquorland authorities built a small villa near Water Park in the downtown area for the two fairies before their mother returned to Shanghai. Each was also provided with a tiny Fiat. Did you happen to notice the Fiats parked beneath the old pomegranate tree as we came through the gate?
The maitre d’hötel, in red uniform and cap, comes up to greet us. He has the body of a two-year-old child, with facial features to match. He sways a bit when he walks on the thick carpet, his hips gliding from side to side, like a duckling wading through mud. He leads us along like a furry little puppy guiding the blind.
Climbing a staircase of red-lacquered pine, we reach the top landing, where the little red boy pushes open a door and steps aside, like one of the police uncles who direct traffic, his left
arm held across his chest, his right arm hanging at his side. Both hands are stiff and straight, the left palm facing inward, the right palm outward, and both point in the same direction: the Grape Room.
Please come in, dear friends, don’t be shy. We are honored guests for whom the elegant Grape Room is the salon of choice. While you are staring at clusters of grapes hanging from the ceiling, I happen to glance over at the little fellow who showed us in. His smiling, clouded eyes send poisonous rays our way. Like arrowheads soaked in poison, they will rot anything they touch. I feel a sharp pain in my eyes and suddenly seem to have gone blind.
During that brief moment of darkness, I cannot help but feel my heart palpitating. The little demon wrapped in a red flag that I created in my stories ‘Meat Boy’ and ‘Child Prodigy’ has suddenly appeared in front of me and is watching me with sinister eyes. That’s him, that’s him all right. Slender eyes, big, thick ears, kinky hair, and a two-foot body. In ‘Child Prodigy’ I described in detail the riot he instigated in the Special Purchasing Section of the Culinary Academy. In that story, I portrayed him as a little conspirator, a genius of strategy. I stopped after finishing the part about him and the children hiding in different parts of the campus after beating the guard - the ‘featherless hawk’ - to death. Originally, I planned for all the children to be caught and sent to my mother-in-law’s Culinary Research Center, where they were to be boiled, steamed, or braised. Only the little demon escaped, by way of the sewer, but he fell into the hands of beggars scrounging scraps from the sewer, after which he began his legendary life anew. But instead of following my dictates, he rebelled and escaped from my story to join Yu Yichi’s team of dwarfs. Wearing a scarlet wool uniform with a spotless white bow tie, a scarlet fore-and-aft cap, and black patent-leather shoes, he has materialized in front of me.
I mustn’t neglect my guests, regardless of any unforeseen events that may occur, so I suppress the waves of turmoil raging in the depths of my heart and force a smile on my face as I sit down with you. The plush chair cushions, the snowy white tablecloth, the dazzling flowers, and the soft music take possession of our senses. Here I must insert a comment: The tables and chairs in Dwarf Tavern are very low, to ensure maximum comfort. An attendant hardly bigger than a bird walks up with a platter of disinfected hand towels. She is so fragile, so tiny that just carrying the platter takes all her strength; she elicits feelings of tender sympathy. By this time the little demon is nowhere to be seen, for, once he has carried out his duty, he must go back to greet the next batch of diners. Common sense, perhaps, but I can’t help sensing some sinister, diabolical purpose to his disappearance.
My friends, in order to cash in on our twenty percent’ discount, sit here for a moment while I go look up my old friend, Yu Yichi. Feel free to smoke or drink tea or listen to the music or gaze out the spotless windows at the landscaped back yard.
Gentle readers, at first I was going to join you in this sumptuous banquet, but the tavern is too small for this many people, and there are already nine of you here in the Grape Room. I’m deeply sorry. But openness in everything is absolutely essential to avoid the perception that I have ulterior motives. I know this tavern like a light carriage on a familiar road, and finding Yu Yichi is easy. But when I open the door to his office, I know I’ve come at the wrong time - my old friend Yu Yichi is standing atop his desk kissing a full-figured, buxom young woman. ‘Oops, excuse me,’ I blurt out, ‘I forgot my manners, should have knocked.’
Yu Yichi jumps down off his desk, quick and nimble as a wildcat. When he sees my look of embarrassment, his comical little face creases into a smile. ‘Doctor of Liquor Studies.’ he says in a high-pitched voice, ‘I should have known it was you. How’s your research on Ape Liquor coming along? You don’t want to miss the Ape Liquor Festival, do you? And your father-in-law is a fool to go up on White Ape Mountain and live with the apes.’
On and on he talks, until I’m sick of listening to him. But since I’m there to ask a favor, I must be patient and hear him out, forcing myself to appear captivated by what he is saying.
When he finally runs out of things to say, I volunteer, I brought some friends for a meal of donkey.’
Yu Yichi gets up and walks over to the woman. His head barely reaches her knees. She’s a real beauty, and not, it seems, an innocent young maiden. She has the airs of a married woman. Her full lips are lightly coated with a sticky substance, as if she had just dined on escargots. He reaches up and pats her ample hindquarters. ‘You go ahead, my dear,’ he says, ‘and tell Old Shen not to worry. Yu Yichi is a man of his word. If he says he’ll do something, rest assured he’ll do it.’
Not one to shy away from situations like this, the woman bends low, letting her pendulous breasts, which are about to burst out of her dress, drop so heavily on Yu Yichi’s face that he winces as she gently picks him up. Judging only by size and weight, it looks like a mother cradling her son; but, of course, their relationship is much more complicated than that. Almost savagely, she plants a big kiss on his lips, then flings him down basketball-like onto a sofa against the wall. She raises her hand and says seductively, ‘See you later, old-timer.’ Yu Yichi’s body is still bouncing on the springy sofa as the woman, wriggling her bright red backside, disappears around the corner. He shouts at her lovely back, ‘Get lost, you vile fox spirit!’
Yu Yichi and I are now alone in the room. He jumps off the sofa and goes to a large wall mirror to comb his hair and rearrange his tie. He even rubs his cheeks with his little claws, then spins around to face me, looking very dapper, like a man of great importance. If not for what had happened a moment earlier, I'd be too intimidated to joke with him. But: ‘Hey, old pal, you do OK with the women. A case of the weasel screwing the camel, always going for the big ones,’ I say, grinning cheekily.
He laughs a sinister laugh, his face swelling up in greens and purples, his eyes emitting a green light, his arms spread like the wings of an aging falcon ready to fly off. He looks absolutely terrifying. In all the time I’ve know him, I’ve never seen him like this. Maybe I hurt his feelings with my bantering a moment ago, and suddenly I feel remorseful
‘You little jerk.’ He presses forward, grinding his teeth. ‘How dare you mock me!’
I back away, fixing my gaze on his sharp claws, which tremble slightly from his towering rage, sensing that my throat is in peril. Yes, he could leap onto my neck at any moment, like a thunderbolt, and tear open my throat. Tm sorry, old man, really sorry.’ My back presses up against the fabric-covered wall, and still I try to back up. Then I have a brainstorm. I reach up and give my own face a dozen savage slaps - pa pa pa - the sound hanging in the air; my cheeks burn, my ears ring, and I see stars. 'I'm sorry, old man. I don’t deserve to live. I’m a lowly animal, I’m an asshole, f m a black donkey prick.’
After my ugly performance, his face turns from greenish purple to pale yellow; his raised arms slowly fall to his sides; and I collapse in a heap.
He retreats to his black leather swivel throne, but instead of sitting, he squats on it. Removing an expensive cigarette from its case, he lights it with a lighter that spews a bright hissing flame, takes a long drag, and slowly blows out the smoke. He stares at the patterns on the wall, lost in thought, a deep, mysterious look in eyes that look like black-water pools. I huddle beside the door, terrified by my thoughts: How did this buffoon, a dwarf who had been the butt of everyone’s joke, turn into the swaggering tyrant facing me now? And why am I, a dignified doctoral candidate, cringing before a hideous creature a foot and a half tall and weighing no more than fifteen kilograms? The answer emerges like a shot out of the barrel of a gun, and there’s no need to go into it.
I’m going to fuck every pretty girl in Liquorland!’ He rises out of his squatting position and stands on the swivel chair, raising his fist to proclaim solemnly, 'I'm going to fuck every pretty girl in Liquorland!'
Bursting with excitement, and grinning from ear to ear, he keeps his arm in the air for a long, long time. I ca
n tell that the oars in his head are churning the waters of his mind, and that the ship of consciousness is being tossed about on the white-capped waves of his spirit. I hold my breath, for fear that I might shatter his reveries.
Finally he relaxes, tosses me a cigarette and asks genially, ‘Know her?’
‘Who?’ I reply.
‘The woman who just left.’
‘No … although there was something familiar about her…’
‘The TV hostess.’
‘Oh, her.’ I smack myself on the forehead, now that it’s come to me. She stands there, microphone in hand, a sweet smile on her face, talking to us but saying little.
‘This is the third!’ he spits out savagely. ‘The third …’ Suddenly his voice turns husky and the light goes out of his eyes. In an instant, wrinkles cover a face that, up till then, had been babied until it was soft and lustrous as precious jade, and a body that was tiny to begin with shrinks even smaller. He sags into his throne-like chair.
In agony, I smoke my cigarette and watch this odd friend of mine, momentarily stumped for anything to say.