Boy in the Twilight: Stories of the Hidden China

NO NAME OF MY OWN

One day, as I crossed the bridge with my carrying-pole on my shoulder, I heard someone say that Pug-nose Xu Asan had died, so I laid down my baskets and took the towel that I wore around my neck and rubbed the sweat off my face while I listened to them talk about how it had happened, how Pug-nose Xu Asan choked to death eating New Year cake. I’d heard of someone choking to death on a peanut, but choking to death on New Year cake was a first as far as I knew. It was then they called me. “Xu Asan … Hey, Pug-nose …”

When I looked at the ground and went “Mm,” they burst out laughing.

“What have you got in your hand?” they asked.

I looked at my hand. “Towel,” I said.

There were gales of laughter. “What are you doing to your face?” someone asked.

“Rubbing the sweat off,” I said.

I don’t know why they were so happy. They were laughing so hard they swayed back and forth like reeds in the wind. “Wow, he can even say ‘sweat’!” one of them spluttered, hand on his belly.

Another man was leaning back against the railing. “Xu Asan! Pug-nose Asan!” he cried.

Twice he said that, so I went “Mm” twice, too. “Who is Xu Asan?” he asked, clutching his gut.

I looked at him, and then at the other people next to him. Their mouths were gaping — their eyes too. “Yeah, who is Pug-nose Xu Asan?” they asked.

“Xu Asan is dead,” I said.

Their goggling eyes blinked shut, but their mouths opened even wider. How loudly they laughed — louder still than the clang of iron in the smithy. A couple of them sat down on the ground, and after laughing helplessly for a while one asked me with a gasp, “Xu Asan is dead. So who are you?”

Who am I? I watched as they laughed fit to bust, unsure how to answer. I’ve got no name of my own, but as soon as I walk in the street I’ve got more names than anybody else. Whatever they want to call me, that’s who I am. If they’re sneezing when they run into me, they call me Sneeze; if they’re coming out of the toilet, they call me Bum-wipe; when they want my attention, they call me Over-here; when they wave me away, they call me Clear-off … then there’s Old Dog, Skinny Pig, and whatnot. Whatever they call me I answer to, because I’ve got no name of my own. All they need to do is take a few steps in my direction, look at me and call out a greeting, and I answer right away.

I thought of what to say. What people call me most often is Hey! So, hoping this was a good answer, I said, “I am … Hey!”

Their eyes widened. “Who are you?” they asked.

Perhaps I’d said the wrong thing. I looked at them, not daring to say more.

“Eh, what’s that?” one asked again. “Who did you say you were?”

I shook my head. “I am … Hey.”

They looked at each other and laughed, ha ha ha. I stood there and watched them laughing, and I began to laugh myself. People who were crossing the bridge saw us all laughing so loudly, and they joined in. Someone wearing a bright-colored shirt called out to me, “Hey!”

“Mm,” I went.

The man in the bright shirt pointed at someone else. “Did you go to bed with his wife?” he asked.

I nodded. “Mm.”

The other man started cursing. “You son of a bitch!”

Then he pointed at the man in the bright shirt. “You had a good time in bed with his wife, didn’t you?” he said.

I nodded. “Mm.”

Everybody had a big laugh. They often asked me this kind of thing, or asked if I’d slept with somebody’s mother. Many years ago, when Mr. Chen was still alive — before Mr. Chen died, like Pug-nose Xu Asan — Mr. Chen, standing under the eaves, pointed his finger at me. “The way you people carry on,” he said, “don’t you realize you just end up making him look good? If you’re to be believed, it would take several truckloads to carry all the women he’s gone to bed with.”

As I watched them laughing, I remembered what Mr. Chen said. “I went to bed with both your wives,” I told them.

When they heard this, their smiles vanished right away and they stared at me. In a moment the man in the bright shirt came over, raised his fist, and hit me so hard my ears were buzzing for minutes afterward.

When Mr. Chen was still alive, he would often sit behind the counter of the pharmacy. There was a huge array of open or unopened little drawers behind his head and he would hold a little set of scales in those long, thin hands of his. Sometimes Mr. Chen would walk to the door of the pharmacy, and seeing me answer to any name I was called, he would say something. He would say, “It’s such a sin, what you people are doing, and still you get a kick out of it. There’ll be a price to pay sooner or later. Everybody has a name, and he’s got one too, his name is Laifa.”

When Mr. Chen mentioned my name, when he said I was Laifa, my heart would skip a beat. I remember when my dad was alive, how he’d sit on the threshold and tell me things. “Laifa,” he’d say, “bring the teapot over here.”

“Laifa, now you’re five …”

“Laifa, here’s a satchel for you.”

“Laifa, you’re ten already, but still in first grade, damn it.”

“Laifa, forget about school, help your dad carry coal.”

“Laifa, just another few years and you’ll be as strong as I am.”

“Laifa, your dad’s not got long to live, not long now — the doctor says I’ve got a tumor in my lung.”

“Laifa, don’t cry. Laifa, when I’m gone you won’t have your mom, or your dad either.”

“Laifa, Lai … fa, Lai …, Lai … fa, … Laifa, your dad is dying … Laifa, feel here, your dad is getting stiff … Laifa, look, your dad’s looking at you …”

After my dad died, I made my rounds and walked the streets, delivering coal to people all around town. “Laifa, where’s your dad?” they would ask.

“He died,” I said.

They would chuckle. “Laifa, what about your mom?”

“She died,” I said.

“Laifa, are you a halfwit?”

I nodded. “I’m a halfwit.”

When my dad was alive, he would say to me, “Laifa, you’re a simpleton. You were in school for three years, but you still can’t recognize a single character. Laifa, it’s not your fault, it’s your mom’s fault. When she was giving birth, she squeezed your head too tight. Laifa, it’s not your mom’s fault either. Your head was too big, you were the death of her …”

“LAIFA, HOW DID YOUR MOM DIE?” they asked.

“She died in childbirth,” I said.

“Which child was that?” they asked.

“Me,” I said.

“How did she give birth to you?” they asked again.

“With one foot in the coffin,” I said.

Hearing this, they would laugh a good long time. “What about the other foot?”

I wasn’t sure about the other foot. Mr. Chen didn’t tell me — all he said was, when a woman gives birth she has one foot in the coffin. He didn’t say where she puts the other one.

“HEY, WHO’S YOUR DADDY?” they shouted.

“My daddy died,” I said.

“Nonsense,” they said, “your daddy’s alive and well.”

I looked at them, eyes wide. They came over, close to me, and whispered in my ear. “I’m your daddy.”

I looked down and thought for a moment. “Mm,” I went.

“Am I your daddy?” they asked.

I nodded. “Mm.”

I heard them chortle. Mr. Chen came over. “Pay no attention to them,” he said. “You’ve only got one dad. Everybody’s only got one dad. If people had lots of different dads, how would their moms manage?”

· · ·

AFTER MY DAD DIED, the people in the town, no matter how old they were — the men, I mean — practically all of them told me they were my dad. With so many dads, I started having lots of names, and I didn’t have enough fingers in the evening to count all the new names they gave me during the day.

Only Mr. Chen still called me Laifa. Every time I saw Mr. Chen and heard him call my name, my heart would skip a beat. Mr. Chen would stand in the doorway of the pharmacy, watching me with his hands inside his sleeves, and I would stand there and look at him back. Sometimes it made me snicker. After a while Mr. Chen would wave me away, saying, “Off you go. Look, you’ve still got a load of coal on your back.”

One time, I didn’t go off. I just stood there. “Mr. Chen,” I went.

Mr. Chen’s hands came out of his sleeves and he stared at me. “What did you call me?”

My heart was thumping. Mr. Chen came over. “What did you say just now?”

“Mr. Chen,” I said.

He smiled. “You’re not so dumb, after all,” he said. “You know to call me Mr. Chen, Laifa.”

He called my name again and I smiled just as Mr. Chen had done. “Do you know that Laifa is your name?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Laifa,” I said quietly.

That made Mr. Chen laugh very hard, and I opened my mouth and joined in. After a little more laughing, Mr. Chen said, “Laifa, from now on, unless people call you Laifa, just don’t answer them, do you understand?”

I smiled. “I understand,” I said.

Mr. Chen nodded. Then, looking at me, he called, “Mr. Chen.”

“Mm,” I went.

“When I call my own name, why do you answer?”

I didn’t know Mr. Chen was calling his own name. I thought it was funny, so I smiled. He shook his head. “You’re still a simpleton, it seems.”

MR. CHEN DIED a long time ago, and Pug-nose Xu Asan died just a few days ago, and a lot of people died in between. People around the same age as Xu Asan have white hair and white beards, and these days I often hear them saying they’ll soon be dead, so I think I’ll be dead myself soon, too. They tell me I’m older than Pug-nose Xu Asan. “Hey, idiot,” they say, “who’s going to collect your body once you’re dead?”

I shake my head. I really don’t know who’s going to bury me once I’m dead. I ask them who will bury them when they’re dead, and they say, “We’ve got sons and grandsons, wives too. Our wives aren’t dead yet. What about you? Have you got sons? Have you got grandsons? You don’t even have a wife.”

I said nothing. I haven’t got any of those people, so I put my load on my back and went on my way. But Xu Asan had all those people. The day that Pug-nose Xu Asan was cremated, I saw his son and grandson and all the women weeping and wailing as they walked along the street. I followed them to the crematorium with my empty load on my back. It was a lively scene all the way, and I thought how nice it would be if I had a son and a grandson and other family. I walked along next to Xu Asan’s grandson. The kid was crying louder than anyone, but he asked me as he wept, “Hey, am I your daddy?”

PEOPLE ABOUT THE SAME AGE as me are tired of being my dad now. They used to give me all kinds of names, but sooner or later they put the question to me point-blank, they ask me what my name is. They say, “What is your name? When you die, we want to know who it is has died … Think about it: when Xu Asan died, all we needed to do was to say Xu Asan died, and everyone would understand, but what do we say when you die? You’ve got no name at all.”

I know what my name is. My name is Laifa. It used to be that Mr. Chen was the only person who remembered my name, and once he died, nobody knew my name. Now they all want to know what I’m called, but I won’t tell them. They roar with laughter and they say: An idiot is just an idiot pure and simple. He’s an idiot in life and an idiot when he’s lying dead in his coffin.

I know I’m an idiot. I know I’m getting old and will die soon. Sometimes I think: It’s true what they say. I don’t have a son or a grandson, and when I die nobody will weep and wail and see me off to my cremation. I still don’t have a name of my own, and once I’m dead they won’t know who has died.

These days I often think of that dog I used to have, that skinny little dog that later grew up to be big and strong. They used to call it Dummy, too. I knew they were cursing it when they called it Dummy. I didn’t call it that. I called it Hey.

In those days streets weren’t as wide as they are now, and houses weren’t as tall. Mr. Chen would stand in the doorway of the pharmacy. His hair was still black then. Even Pug-nose Xu Asan was young in those days. It was before he was married. “A man like me, in his twenties …,” he would say.

But my dad was dead. I had been delivering coal on my own for years by then. As I walked along the street, I’d often see that dog, so small and skinny, mouth open, tongue hanging out, licking this and that, wet all over. I’d seen it around a lot, so when Pug-nose Xu Asan lifted it up and showed it to me that time, I recognized it right away. Xu Asan had stopped me in the street. He and a few other people were standing outside his house, and Xu Asan said, “Hey, do you want to get married?”

I stood on the other side of the street and watched them snickering, and I snickered myself. “The dummy wants a woman,” they said. “He smiled.”

“Do you want to get married or not?” Xu Asan asked.

“What for?” I said.

“What for? To live with you … sleep with you, have meals with you … Would you like that or not?”

I nodded. That’s when they brought out the dog. Xu Asan picked it up by the scruff of its neck and thrust it toward me. Its four legs were scrabbling around and it was barking madly. “Hey, hurry up and take her. She’s yours,” he said.

They stood there, roaring with laughter. “Come on, dummy! Come and collect your mate.”

I shook my head. “That’s no woman.”

Xu Asan shouted at me, “If it’s not a woman, what is it?”

“It’s a dog, it’s a puppy,” I said.

They roared with laughter. “This dummy knows about dogs … He knows about puppies.”

“Rubbish.” Xu Asan glared at me. “This is a female, look here …”

Xu Asan lifted the dog’s rear legs and yanked them apart to show me. “Did you get a good look?” he asked.

I nodded. “Female, right?” he said.

I shook my head again. “It’s not a woman,” I said. “It’s a bitch.”

They went off into gales of laughter, and Pug-nose Xu Asan laughed so hard he had to squat down. The dog’s rear legs were still clamped between his hands, and it barked furiously as its head scraped the ground. I just stood there with a smile on my face. After a moment Xu Asan stood up again and pointed at me. “He could tell this dog is a bitch,” he said to the others. Then he squatted down and cackled as loud as a cicada chirping. As soon as he relaxed his grip, the dog dashed off.

From that day on, whenever Pug-nose Asan and the others saw me, they would say, “Hey, your girlfriend … Hey, your girlfriend fell into the cesspit … Hey, your girlfriend is having a piss … Hey, your girlfriend pinched some meat from my house … Hey, looks like your girlfriend’s pregnant …”

They were laughing away nonstop. When I saw what a good time they were having, I laughed along with them. I knew they were talking about the dog. They were looking forward to the day when I would take that dog into my house as though she were a woman and spend my life with her.

Day after day they would talk that way, and every time they would look at me and go ha-ha and tee-hee. So the next time I saw the dog, I felt kind of funny. The dog was as small and skinny as ever, its tongue always hanging out, licking this and that in the street. I would walk past with my load on my back, and when I got close I couldn’t help but stop and look. One day, quietly, I called it. I said, “Hey.”

When it heard me, it gave a few barks, so I offered it half a steamed bun left over from lunch. It grabbed the bun between its teeth and ran off.

After I fed it that half bun, it remembered me, and every time it saw me it would bark and I’d have to give it a bun. Once this happened a few times, I remembered to stuff my pockets with things to eat, so I could make it happy when we met in the street. And as soon as it saw me put my hand in my pocket, it knew what was coming and would raise its front legs and bark and jump up on me.

Later, the dog would tag along with me every day. I would walk in front carrying my load, and it would patter along behind. At the end of the block I would look back and there it would be, barking and wagging its tail. A block later, there would be no sign of it and I wouldn’t know where it had gone. I’d wait for a while, and suddenly it would appear and start following me once more. Sometimes it would run away and not come back until after dark. I would already be in bed, and it would run back, sit outside my door and bark. I’d have to open the door and show myself, and then it would stop barking, wag its tail, and patter away again.

When I was walking along the street with the dog at my heels, Pug-nose Xu Asan and the others would chuckle. “Hey, out for a stroll with the wife, are you?” they’d say. “Hey, are the two of you going home now? Hey, when you’re in bed together, who cuddles who?”

“We don’t spend the night together,” I’d tell them.

“Nonsense,” Xu Asan would say. “Husband and wife are always together at night.”

“We’re not,” I said.

“You dummy,” they said. “That’s the whole point of being a couple.”

Xu Asan made as though to turn off a light. “Click! When the light goes off, that’s when the fun starts.”

Pug-nose Xu Asan and the others wanted me and the dog to be together at night, and I thought about that, but it never worked out that way. As soon as it got dark, the dog would patter off and I didn’t know where it went. It would come back at dawn, scratch on the door, and wait for me to open it.

But during the day we’d be together, me carrying the coal and it walking by my side. When I made a delivery, it would roam around the neighborhood, and when I came out it would soon catch up with me.

After a few days, the dog got rounder and plumper, and grew taller too. When it ran alongside, I could see its belly swing back and forth. Xu Asan and the others noticed this too. “This bitch, have a look at this plump little bitch,” they’d say.

One day they stopped me in the street and Xu Asan pulled a long face. “Hey, how come we haven’t got our candy yet?” he said.

The dog barked when they blocked my path. They pointed at the shop across the street. “Do you see that?” they said. “The glass jar on the counter, the one with all the candy in it? See it? Off you go.”

“What for?” I said.

“To buy candy,” they said.

“Why candy?” I said.

“For us to eat,” they said.

“Damn it,” Xu Asan said, “you haven’t given us the wedding candy yet! Wedding candy! Don’t you get it? We were your matchmakers, weren’t we?”

So saying, they stuck their hands in my pockets and groped around for some change. This got the dog all riled up; it was growling and lunging. When Xu Asan aimed a kick at it, it ran a few paces back, barking away, and when he took two steps closer, it dashed off. They found some cash in my chest pocket, helped themselves to two twenty-fen notes, and stuffed the rest back. Holding my money aloft, they crowded into the shop opposite. The dog ran back as soon as they were gone, and scampered away again as soon as they came out. Xu Asan and the others stuffed a few bits of candy in my hand. “This is for the happy couple,” they said.

Off they went, laughing and chewing their candy. By this time it was almost dark, and I headed home clutching the candy they’d given me. The dog raced back and forth, now ahead, now behind, barking madly and making a lot of noise. It barked all the way home, and didn’t stop even when we reached the door. It stood there and didn’t seem to want to leave, its head cocked, looking up at me. “Hey, stop that barking,” I said, but it just kept on. “Why don’t you come in?” I said.

It didn’t move and just carried on yowling. But when I waved my hand, it stopped all its ruckus and trotted inside.

From then on, the dog lived in my house. I went and got a pile of straw and laid it in the corner of the room: that was its bed. I thought it over that evening and felt that having a dog move into your house really was a bit like taking a wife. In the future I would have a companion, just as Mr. Chen said. “Finding a companion, that’s what marriage is,” he used to say.

“They say we’re man and wife,” I said, “but a man and a dog can’t be husband and wife. The most we can be is companions.”

I sat down on the straw, next to my dog. It gave a couple of barks. I smiled and laughed, and on hearing me it barked a little more. I smiled and laughed again, and it barked again. So we went on like that for a while, me laughing, it barking, until I remembered I still had candy in my pocket, so I got it out and peeled off the wrapper. “This is candy, wedding candy, that’s what they said …”

When I heard myself say it was wedding candy, I couldn’t help but smile. I peeled off a couple of wrappers, and put one candy in the dog’s mouth and one in mine. “How does it taste?” I said.

I could hear it chewing noisily, and I chewed my candy too, even more noisily. We chewed away and it made me laugh. As soon as I did that, it started barking again.

In our two years together, the dog went with me everywhere. When I lifted my load onto my shoulders it would run ahead barking, and when my baskets were empty it would trot along a step or two behind. Seeing us, people in the town would chuckle. They would point and say, “Hey, are you husband and wife?”

I went “Mm,” walking on ahead with my head down.

“Hey, are you a dog?”

When I went “Mm,” they would start shouting. “Hey, dummy! Hey, dumb dog! Hey, dogface! Hey, dog-fuck! Or is it dog-fucker? Hey, when are you going to be a dog-dad?”

I just went “Mm” to everything. “You’re a man, aren’t you?” Mr. Chen asked. “What’s all this about you and the dog being husband and wife?”

I shook my head. “Man and dog can’t be husband and wife,” I said.

“As long as you’re clear about that,” said Mr. Chen. “In the future, if anybody calls you that kind of name, don’t do that ‘Mm, mm’ stuff.”

I nodded. “Mm,” I went.

“Don’t keep going ‘Mm,’ just remember what I told you,” he said.

I nodded and went “Mm” again. He waved me away. “Okay, okay, off you go,” he said.

I walked off, carrying my load, and the dog pattered along in front of me. It seemed to be putting on a bit more weight every day. Before long it had grown up big and strong, and it began to get ideas. Sometimes I wouldn’t see it for a whole day at a time, and I didn’t know where it had gone off to. It wouldn’t come back until after dark. It would scratch the door, I would open up, and it would slip in and lie down on the straw in the corner. It would put its head on the floor and look at me out of the corners of its eyes, and I would say, “The day before yesterday, when I got to the rice store, I turned around and you were gone, and yesterday when I got to the furniture shop I turned around and you were gone, and today when I got to the pharmacy I turned my head and you were gone …”

Before I finished speaking, the dog’s eyes would be closed. I had a think, and closed my eyes too …

As my dog grew taller, it got nice and plump, and when Pug-nose Xu Asan and the others saw me they would say, “Hey, halfwit, when are we going to slaughter the dog?”

They were drooling at the mouth. “When it snows,” they said, “we’ll slaughter it, add water and soy sauce, cinnamon and the five spices … Braise it slowly for a whole day. It’ll taste so damn good.”

When I knew they wanted to eat my dog, I quickly picked up my load and went on my way, the dog running along by my side. I remembered what they’d said, how they’d eat my dog when it snowed. “When is it going to snow?” I asked Mr. Chen.

“That’s a long time from now,” Mr. Chen said. “You’re still wearing a T-shirt. You need to wait till you’re wearing a padded jacket.”

When Mr. Chen said that, I didn’t feel so anxious. But what happened was, before I had started wearing a padded jacket, before the snow came, Pug-nose Xu Asan and the others already wanted to eat my dog. They got a bone and tricked it into Xu Asan’s house, and then they shut the door and closed the windows and started beating my dog with sticks, trying to kill my dog, so they could braise it on the stove for a day.

My dog knew they wanted to kill and eat it, so it hid underneath Xu Asan’s bed and wouldn’t come out. Xu Asan and the others poked it with their sticks, and it barked so loud I heard it when I was doing my rounds.

That morning I looked over my shoulder when I reached the bridge, and the dog was nowhere to be seen. In the afternoon I heard it barking furiously as I walked past Xu Asan’s house, so I came to a stop and was standing by the door when Xu Asan and the others came out. “Hey, halfwit, we were just about to look for you,” they said. “Hey, halfwit, hurry up and tell your dog to come out.”

They thrust a looped rope into my hands. “Put this around the dog’s neck and strangle it,” they said.

I shook my head and pushed the lasso away. “It hasn’t snowed yet,” I said.

“What’s the halfwit saying?” they asked each other.

“He says it hasn’t snowed yet.”

“What does he mean it hasn’t snowed yet?”

“No idea,” they said. “To know that, you’d have to be a halfwit too.”

I could hear the dog barking inside, and there were people poking it with sticks. Xu Asan patted me on the shoulder. “Hey buddy, hurry up and tell the dog to come out.”

They dragged me over there. “What are you calling him buddy for?” they said. “Cut the crap … Take this rope … and strangle the dog … You won’t? You’d better, or we’ll strangle you next.”

Xu Asan blocked their way. “He’s a halfwit. There’s no point in trying to scare him, he won’t understand. We need to trick him …”

“Tricking him won’t work,” they said. “He still won’t understand.”

I saw Mr. Chen walking over. He had his hands in his pockets and was walking slowly, step by step.

“Let’s just take the bed apart,” they said. “Then the dog will have no place to hide.”

“We can’t take the bed apart,” Xu Asan said. “The dog’s already in a panic. If it feels any more threatened, it’ll bite.”

“You dog, you mangy dog …,” they said to me. “Yeah, it’s you we’re talking to. Why don’t you hurry up and answer?”

I bent my head and went “Mm” a couple of times. Mr. Chen spoke up off to one side. “If you want him to help,” he said, “you need to call him by his real name. If you keep on using bad words and cursing him, he’s never going to help. You say he’s a halfwit, but he’s not always such a fool.”

“You’re right,” said Xu Asan, “let’s call him by his real name. Who knows his real name? What’s he called? What’s this halfwit’s name?”

“Do you know, Mr. Chen?” they asked.

“Of course I know,” he said.

Xu Asan and the others surrounded him. “Mr. Chen, what’s this halfwit’s name?” they asked.

“His name is Laifa.”

When I heard that, my heart skipped a beat. Xu Asan came up to me and put his arm on my shoulder. “Laifa,” he said.

My heart began to thump. Xu Asan, his arm around me, walked me toward his house. “Laifa, we’re old pals … Laifa, go and tell your dog to come out … Laifa, all you need to do is walk over to the bed … Laifa, just call it nicely now … Laifa, just say ‘Hey’ … Laifa, I’m counting on you.”

I went into Xu Asan’s bedroom, squatted down, and saw my dog lying prone beneath the bed. There was blood all over it. I called it gently. “Hey.”

As soon as it heard my voice, it scurried out and threw its paws on me, butting me with its head and chest, so my face was smeared with blood. It gave a baying noise, a baying noise I’d never heard it make before, and that upset me a lot. I reached over to give it a hug, and no sooner did I hold it close to me than they put the rope around its neck. With a tug they dragged it out of my arms. Before I realized it, the hands that were hugging the dog were empty. I heard it give a little woof, just a little woof, that’s all, and I saw its four feet scrabble on the ground for a little, and then it didn’t move anymore. “It hasn’t snowed yet!” I said, as they dragged it away.

They looked at me and laughed.

That evening I sat by myself on the straw where the dog used to sleep. I thought about the whole thing. I knew my dog was dead. I knew they’d poured water over it, and soy sauce and cinnamon and the five spices, and now they’d braise it over a fire for a day and tomorrow they’d eat it.

I thought about this for a long time. I knew that it was my fault the dog died. It got strangled because I coaxed it out from under Xu Asan’s bed. My heart thumped when they called me Laifa, and that was all it took to get me to do what they said. I shook my head when I remembered that, and shook it for a good long time. “Next time somebody calls me Laifa,” I said to myself, “I’m just not going to answer them.”