Pow! (28 page)

‘You disappoint me, Luo Tong.’

‘Don't play dumb, Yao Qi,’ Mother said. ‘Do you really believe you'd be a better village head than Lao Lan? You're fooling yourself if you think we don't know all about you. Lao Lan's corrupt, but how do we know you won't be worse? No matter what you say, he's a dutiful son, not like some people who live in big houses and stick their mothers in a grass hut.’

‘What do you mean “some people”, Yang Yuzhen? Watch what you say!’

‘I'm just a village woman, and I can say what I want, so don't give me that “watch what you say” garbage!’ Mother had regained her stride. ‘I'm talking about you, you turtle spawn,’ she said, now completely abandoning any semblance of politeness. ‘How could anyone who treats his mother as badly as you be a friend to strangers? If you know what's good for you, you'll pick up that bottle and leave. If you don't, I've got plenty more to say that you won't like to hear.’

Yao Qi tucked his letter away and walked out, followed by a shout of ‘Take that bottle with you!’ from Mother.

‘That's for Luo Tong, good Sister-in-law, whether or not he signs.’

‘We've got our own liquor.’

‘I know, and you'll get everything you want if you go along with Lao Lan,’ Yao Qi said. ‘But if you're smart, you'll take a longer view. “Good times don't last for ever and flowers only bloom for so long.” A corrupt man like Lao Lan is doomed to self-destruct.’

‘We're not going along with anyone,’ Mother replied. ‘We're the people, no matter who the official. Knock him down if you think you can. It's none of our business.’

Father picked up the bottle, walked out and handed it to Yao Qi: ‘I appreciate the gesture but it's better you take it with you.’

‘Is that all I am in your eyes, Luo Tong?’ asked Yao Qi, bristling. ‘Keep it or I'll smash it right here in front of you.’

‘Don't be like that. I'll keep it then.’ Father saw Yao Qi out to the gate, bottle in hand. ‘Listen to me, Old Yao, and don't kick up a row. You live a good life, what else do you want?’

‘Luo Tong, go enjoy the good life with your wife, but I'm going to do what I must. I'll knock Lao Lan down or my name isn't Yao Qi! You can tell him if you want. Tell him Yao Qi is going to take up the fight against him. I'm not afraid.’

‘I wouldn't do anything as low-down as that,’ Father said.

‘Who knows,’ Yao Qi sneered. ‘It looks to me like you left your balls up in the northeast, my friend.’ Looking down at Father's pants he asked, ‘Does that thing still work?’

Late night. The four carriers lean against the ginkgo tree, chins on their chests, snoring loudly. The lonely female cat emerges from her hole in the tree and transfers the labourer's uneaten meat from the flatbed truck to her home, over and over until it's all safely tucked away. A white mist rises from the ground, blurring and adding a sense of mystery to the red lights of the night market. Three men with burlap sacks, long-handled nets and hammers, skulk out of the darkness, reeking of garlic. A roadside tungsten lamp that has just been turned on is bright enough for me to see their shifty, cowardly eyes. ‘Wise Monk, hurry, the cat-nappers are here
!’
He ignores me. I've heard that some of the restaurants have created a special Carnivore Festival dish with cat as its main ingredient to satisfy the refined palates of tourists from the south. Back when I was roaming the city streets at night I spent some time with cat-napper gangs, so as soon as I saw the tools of their trade I knew what they'd come for. I'm embarrassed to admit, Wise Monk, that when I was hard up in the city I threw in my lot with them. I know that city folk spoil their cats worse than their sons and daughters. Unlike ordinary tomcats, these cats seldom leave their comfy confines, except when they're in heat or ready to mate, and then they prowl the streets and alleyways looking for a good time. People in love take leave of reason, and cats in love make tragic mistakes. Back then, Wise Monk, I fell in with three fellows and went out with them at night to lie in wait where the cats tended to congregate. Under cover of hair-raising screeches and caterwauls, we sneaked up on stupid, fat-as-pigs, pampered felines that shuddered at the sight of a mouse as they rubbed up against one another, and the second they coupled they were snagged by the fellow with the net. Then, while the trapped cats struggled, the fellow with the hammer ran up. A few well-placed thwacks and presto
!
we had two dead cats. The third fellow picked them out and deposited them in the sack I held. We'd slink off then, hugging the walls, heading for the next cat hangout. Our best haul was two
bags full, which we sold to a restaurant for four hundred yuan. Since I wasn't a proper member of the team, more the odd-man-out, they only gave me fifty yuan. I blew it on a meal at a restaurant. I went out a second time, but there wasn't a trace of cats at the underground passageway. Since I knew I'd never find them during the day, I waited till nightfall. But the minute I arrived I was arrested by the metropolitan police. Without as much as a ‘how do you do’ they began to give me the full treatment. I denied I was a cat-napper, but one of them pointed to the blood on my shirt, called me a liar and began all over again. Then they took me to a place where there were dozens of owners of lost cats: white-haired old men and women, richly jewelled housewives and teary-eyed children. As soon as they heard who I was, they pounced on me, hurling tearful accusations and beating me in rage. The men kicked me in the shins and in the balls, the most painful spots, oh, Mother, how it hurt
!
The women and the girls were worse—they pinched my ears, gouged my eyes and twisted my nose. An old woman with shaking hands elbowed her way up to me and scratched my face. Not entirely satisfied, she then took a bite out of my scalp. Somewhere along the way I fainted. When I woke up I found myself buried under a pile of garbage. I clawed my way out frantically, stuck my head into the open air and took some deep breaths. And there I was, sitting on a pile of garbage, looking down on the bustling city streets in the distance, sore, hungry and feeling like I was at death's door. That's when I thought about my mother and my father, about my sister, even about Lao Lan, thought about how I'd been free to eat all the meat I wanted when I was a slaughterhouse workshop director, about when I could drink as much liquor as I wanted, about when everyone respected me, and the tears fell like pearls from a broken string. I was spent, resigned to dying on top of a garbage heap. Just then, my hand brushed against something soft, and I detected a familiar smell—a packet of donkey meat, a treat from the past. As soon as I tore open the wrapping and feasted my eyes on its lovely countenance, it poured out its woes to me: ‘Luo Xiaotong, you be the judge. They said I'd gone past my best-eaten-by date and threw me out. But there's nothing wrong with me, I'm as nutritious as ever and I smell fine. Eat me, Luo Xiaotong, and you'll bring joy to an otherwise joyless existence.’ I reached down impulsively, my mouth opened automatically and my teeth chattered excitedly. But when the meat touched my lips, Wise Monk, I remembered my vow. The day my sister died from poisoned meat, I
raised a vow to the moon that I'd never eat meat on pain of an excruciating death. So I returned the donkey meat to the garbage heap. But I was famished, on the verge of starving. I picked it up again, only to be reminded of Jiaojiao's ghostly pale face in the moonlight. Just then that piece of donkey meat let out a cold laugh: ‘Luo Xiaotong, you take your vows seriously. I was put here to test you. A starving man who can hold true to a vow in the face of a fragrant cut of meat is a praiseworthy individual. Based on this alone, I predict a glorious future for you. Under the right circumstances, you could even become a god and go down in history. The truth is, I'm not a cut of donkey meat, I'm imitation meat sent down by the Moon God to put you to the test. My primary ingredients are soya and egg whites, with additives and starch. So go ahead, put your mind at ease and eat me. I may not be meat, but to be eaten by a meat god is my great good fortune
.’
With the imitation meat's words still ringing in my ears, a new avalanche of tears poured forth. Heaven wanted me to survive
!
As I ate the imitation meat, whose taste was identical to the real thing, I pondered several things. When the time was right I'd cast myself out of this world of pervasive desire. If I was to become a Buddha, so be it, but if not that, then a Taoist immortal, and if not that, then a demon.

To this day I cannot forget the night when I went with Father and Mother to convey our New Year's greetings to Lao Lan. Even though nearly ten years have passed, and I'm now an adult, and even though I've tried hard to put that night out of my mind, the finer details will not let me, almost as if they were shrapnel embedded in the marrow of my bones—resisting all attempts at extrication and proving their existence with pain.

It was after Yao Qi's visit, on the second night of the new year. We'd just finished a quick dinner, when Mother turned to Father, who was enjoying a leisurely smoke. ‘Let's go,’ she said, ‘the earlier we leave, the sooner we'll be back home.’

Father looked up through the haze of smoke. ‘Do we have to?’ he asked, obviously uncomfortable.

‘What's your problem?’ she responded unhappily. ‘I thought we agreed this afternoon. What changed your mind?’

‘What's going on?’ I asked, curious as always.

‘What's going on?’ echoed Jiaojiao.

‘This has nothing to do with you children,’ snapped Mother.

‘I think I'll stay home,’ said Father, giving Mother a hangdog look. ‘Why don't you go with Xiaotong and give him my regards?’

‘Go where?’ I asked. They'd really piqued my interest. ‘I'm ready.’

‘Shut up,’ Mother barked angrily, then turned back to Father. ‘I know how important saving face is to you, but a New Year's visit isn't going to demean you. What's wrong with villagers paying a call on their village head?’

‘People will talk,’ Father said, digging in his heels. ‘I don't want people saying that I'm kissing Lao Lan's arse!’

‘You call New Year's greetings arse-kissing?’ Mother was incredulous. ‘Lao Lan gave us electricity, he gave us a New Year's gift, he gave the children red envelopes—you wouldn't call that arse-kissing, would you?’

‘That's different…’

‘All those promises you made to me, they meant nothing…’ Mother sat on the bench. The colour left her cheeks and they grew wet with tears. ‘Apparently you have no intention of staying with us…’

‘Lao Lan's a big shot!’ Despite my general lack of sympathy for my mother, I hated to watch her cry. ‘Dieh,’ I said, ‘I'm happy to go. Lao Lan's an interesting guy, worth being friends with.’

‘He thinks Lao Lan's beneath him,’ Mother said. ‘He only wants to be friends with arseholes like Yao Qi.’

‘Yao Qi's a bad man, Dieh,’ I said. ‘He called you names when you were away.’

‘Xiaotong, stay out of adults’ affairs,’ Father said gently.

‘I think Xiaotong's got better sense than you.’ Now Mother was angry. ‘After you left, Lao Lan was the only one who treated us well. Yao Qi and the others got a kick out of watching bad things happen to us. It's times like that when you can tell who's good and who's bad.’

‘I'm going, too, Dieh,’ Jiaojiao said.

Father heaved a sigh. ‘All right, have it your way. I'll go.’

Mother went to the wardrobe and took out a blue wool tunic.

‘Wear this,’ she said in a tone that permitted no objection.

Father decided to say nothing. Instead, he dutifully took off his greasy, tattered jacket and put on the tunic. Mother tried to button it up for him; he pushed her hand away. But he didn't resist when she went round and straightened the back.

As a family we walked out of the house and onto Hanlin Avenue. The streetlights that had been installed shortly before New Year's were already lit. Children were out playing chase; a youngster was reading a book under one of the lights; some men were loitering under another, arms crossed, engaged in idle talk. Four young men were showing off their riding skills on brand new motorbikes, revving them up to make as much noise as possible. There was the occasional burst of firecrackers in front of houses that sported a pair of red lanterns in the doorway and a carpet of red confetti on the ground. ‘All those firecrackers,’ Father had muttered on New Year's Eve, ‘you'd think it was the beginning of World War III.’

‘More firecrackers means more money,’ Mother said, ‘and shows how effective Lao Lan's leadership has been.’

That's exactly how we felt as we walked down Hanlin Avenue. Within the confines of a hundred square
li
, Slaughterhouse was the only village in the area in which the roads had been paved and streetlights installed. Nearly every family lived in multistoreyed, tile-roofed houses; many even had modern interiors.

Hand in hand, our little family of four proceeded down Hanlin Avenue. It was the first time we'd appeared in public as a family. It was also the last. But I felt both proud and contented. Jiaojiao walked along happily. Father seemed less than natural. Mother was calm and unperturbed. Passers-by greeted us—Father barely mumbled a response but Mother heartily returned their greetings. When we turned into Lan Clan Lane, which led to the Hanlin Bridge, Father grew increasingly uneasy. The lane also boasted a dozen or so streetlights, which shone on the black gates and the bright red couplets pasted on them. Coloured lights on the distant Hanlin Bridge put the arch in relief. The largest village compounds were on the other side of the river, lit up holiday-bright.