‘Worried that someone might overhear you if you stay here?’ Mother glared at Father. ‘You'd have to turn on the light in there, and electricity costs money.’ She looked up at the overhead light.
‘That comment alone shows your mettle, good Sister-in-law,’ Yao Qi said sarcastically. Then he turned to Father. ‘I don't care,’ he said. ‘I'll go outside and announce it to the whole village with a megaphone.’ He put down the bottle of Maotai by the stove, took out a rolled-up piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Father. ‘This is my accusation against Lao Lan,’ he said. ‘Sign it and we can bring him down together. We can't let that tyrannical landlord's offspring ride roughshod over us.’
Instead of taking the paper, Father looked at Mother; she gazed down at her plate and carried on removing fish bones. ‘Yao Qi,’ said Father, a few moments later, ‘after what I've been through this time, and how disheartened it's made me, all I want now is to live a decent life. Get someone else to sign. Not me, I won't do it.’
‘I know that Lao Lan hooked your place up with electricity,’ smirked Lao Yao, ‘and I know he sent Huang Bao with a parcel of smelly fish and rotten shrimp. But you're Luo Tong—I don't believe he can buy you with so little.’
‘Yao Qi,’ Mother said as she placed a piece of fish into my sister's bowl, ‘stop trying to drag Luo Tong into your hell. He teamed up with you against Lao Lan that other time, and how did that turn out? You stayed in the background with your bad advice and left him to hang from a tree like a dead cat. You want to knock Lao Lan down so you can take over as village head, isn't it?’
‘I'm not doing this for myself, good Sister-in-law, I'm doing it for everyone. For that man, giving you electricity and a little seafood is nothing—one hair from nine cowhides, as they say. It's not even his money, it's the people's. Over the past few years he's secretly sold village property to an unscrupulous couple who promised to build a tech park and plant a grove of American red firs, but when no one was looking, they sold the two hundred acres to the Datun Ceramic Factory. Go see for yourself—the area's been levelled down three feet for the foundation. That was fertile farmland. How much do you think he made in that deal?’
‘So he sold off two hundred acres of fallow land. He could sell off the whole village, for all we care! Anyone who thinks he's up to it can go after the man. All I know is, it won't be Luo Tong.’
‘Is that right, Luo Tong, you're going to pull your neck in like a turtle?’ Yao Qi shook the petition. ‘Even his brother-in-law Su Zhou has signed.’
‘Anyone can sign, for all I care, but not us,’ Mother said with curt finality.
‘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?’
POW! 25
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.