The Republic of Wine

I

Dear Elder Brother Yidou

I’ve asked someone to buy me a ticket on the September 27th train to Liquorland. According to the timetable, I arrive at 2:30 on the morning of the 29th. I know it’s a terrible hour, but it’s the only train I can take, and I’ll just have to trouble you to meet me then.

I’ve read ‘Ape Liquor,’ and have many thoughts about it. We can talk when I get there.

Best wishes,

Mo Yan

II

As he lay in the relative comfort of a hard-sleeper cot – relative to a hard-seater, that is – the puffy, balding, beady-eyed, twisted-mouthed, middle-aged writer Mo Yan wasn’t sleepy at all. The overhead lights went out as the train carried him into the night, leaving only the dim yellow glare of the floor lights to see by. I know there are many similarities between me and this Mo Yan, but many contradictions as well. I’m a hermit crab, and Mo Yan is the shell I’m occupying. Mo Yan is the raingear that protects me from storms, a dog hide to ward off the chilled winds, a mask I wear to seduce girls from good families. There are times when I feel that this Mo Yan is a heavy burden, but I can’t seem to cast it off, just as a hermit crab cannot rid itself of its shell. I can be free of it in the darkness, at least for a while. I see it softly filling up the narrow middle berth, its large head tossing and turning on the tiny pillow; long years as a writer have formed bone spurs on its vertebrae, turning the neck stiff and cold, sore and tingly, until just moving it is a real chore. This Mo Yan disgusts me, that’s the truth. At this moment its brain is aswarm with bizarre events: apes distilling liquor and dragging down the moon; the investigator wrestling with a dwarf; golden-threaded swallows making nests from saliva; the dwarf dancing on the naked belly of a beautiful woman; a doctor of liquor studies fornicating with his own mother-in-law; a female reporter taking pictures of a braised infant; royalties; trips abroad; cursing people out… What pleasure can he get from the jumble of thoughts filling his mind, I wonder?

‘Liquorland, next stop, Liquorland,’ a skinny little conductress announces as she sways down the corridor, slapping her ticket pouch as she passes. ‘Next stop, Liquorland. Reclaim your tickets, please.’

Quickly Mo Yan and I merge into one. He sits up in his middle berth, which means that I sit up as well. My belly feels bloated, my neck stiff; I’m having trouble breathing and I have a terrible taste in my mouth. This Mo Yan is so filthy he’s hard to swallow. I watch him take a metal tag out of a gray jacket he’s worn for years and reclaim his ticket, then he jumps clumsily out of the middle berth and searches out his smelly shoes with smelly feet that resemble a pair of hermit crabs looking for new shells. He coughs twice, then wraps his filthy water mug in the filthy rag he uses to wash his face and feet, stuffs it into a gray travel bag and sits spellbound for a few minutes, staring at the hair of the pharmaceutical saleswoman sleeping noisily on the lower berth across from him. Finally he gets up and staggers in the direction of the door.

When I step down off the train, my attention is caught by the contrast of white raindrops dancing in the murky yellow lamplight. The station platform is deserted except for two shuffling men in blue overcoats. Conductors huddle silently in the car doors like chickens in a henhouse that have somehow made it through another long night. The train is still, seemingly abandoned. The roar of water from behind the train indicates that the tanks are being refilled. Up front, the headlight blazes. A uniformed man beside the train pounds the wheels with a mallet, like a woodpecker going through the motions. The cars, all soaking wet, are panting, and the tracks, reaching out to distant stations in the bright headlight, are also soaking wet; by all appearances, it has been raining for quite a while, though I wasn’t aware of it on the train. Back when I was leaving Beijing my bus passed through Tiananmen Square, where bright sunlight brought the golden chrysanthemums and fiery red flowers to life. Sun Yat-sen, who stood in the square, and Mao Zedong, who hangs from the wall of the Forbidden City, were exchanging silent messages past the five-star flag hanging from a brand-new flagpole. I read in the paper that the pole is over forty meters high, and while it doesn’t appear to be that high, it surely must be, since no one would dare cut corners in erecting this sacred column. I’ve cooled my heels in Beijing for nearly ten years, wrapped in the skin of the writer Mo Yan, so I have a good feel for the place. Geologically, it’s in good shape, with no faults running beneath it. Now here I am, in Liquorland, and it’s raining. When going from one place to another, you sure can’t count on the weather. I never considered the possibility that the Liquorland train station would be so peaceful, so very peaceful, amid a gentle rainfall, the bright, warm and golden lamplight, shiny railroad tracks, chilled but refreshingly clean night air, and a darkened tunnel running beneath the tracks. The little train station has the feel of a detective novel, and I like it… When Ding Gou’er was walking down the passage beneath the tracks, the agreeable odor of the braised infant boy was still in his nostrils. Dark red, shiny grease ran down the face of the tiny, golden-bodied fellow, a smile of impenetrable mystery hanging in the corners of his mouth… I watch as the train roars to life and chugs out of the station. Not until the red caboose lantern disappears around the bend, not until the rumble comes from far into the dark night, like a disembodied illusion, do I pick up my bag and start walking on the bumpy floor of the underground tunnel, which is dimly lit by a few low-wattage bulbs. Since my bag has wheels, I set it down to drag behind me. But the noise from the wheels throws my heart and mind into an uproar, so I pick it up and carry it over my back. My footsteps are greatly magnified in the tunnel, making me feel empty inside… Ding Gou’er’s experiences in Liquorland had to have been closely linked to this underground tunnel There ought to be a secret marketplace for buying and selling meat children here somewhere; there ought to be a bunch of drunks, hookers, beggars, and half-crazed dogs hanging around, for this is where he was given some important clues… Unique descriptions of scene play a significant role in the success of fiction, and any first-rate novelist knows enough to keep changing the scenes in which his characters carry out the action, since that not only conceals the novelist’s shortcomings, but also heightens the reader’s enthusiasm in the reading process. Caught up in his thoughts, Mo Yan turns a corner and spots an old man curled up in a corner, a tattered blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Alongside him lies a green liquor bottle. It comforts me to know that in Liquorland even the beggars have access to drink. Given all the short stories the Doctor of Liquor Studies, Li Yidou, has written, each revolving around liquor, why hasn’t he written one about beggars? An alcoholic beggar wants neither money nor food; all he asks for is alcohol, and once he’s drunk, he can dance and sing, living the free and easy life of an immortal. Li Yidou, this curious fellow, I wonder what he’s like. I have to admit that the stories he sent me have transformed my own novel. I’d planned for Ding Gou’er to be a special agent with almost supernatural abilities, a man of brilliance and extraordinary talent; what he wound up being was a good-for-nothing drunk. I cannot continue the story of Ding Gou’er, and that is why I’ve come to Liquorland: for inspiration, to devise a better ending for my special investigator than drowning him in an open-air privy.

Mo Yan spotted Li Yidou, Doctor of Liquor Studies and amateur short-story writer, as he approached the exit, a conclusion he reached instinctively when he saw a tall, skinny man with a triangular face. He headed straight for the slightly menacing eyes.

The man stuck his long, bony hand over the railing and said, If I’m not mistaken, you must be Mo Yan.’

Mo Yan took the icy-cold hand in his and said, ‘Sorry to put you to all this trouble, Li Yidou!’

The duty ticket-taker pressed Mo Yan to show her his ticket. ‘Show his what?’ Li Yidou all but shouted. ‘Do you know who this is? He’s Mo Yan, the man who wrote the movie Red Sorghum, that’s who. He’s an honored guest of our Municipal Party Committee and government, that’s who!’

Momentarily taken aback, she stared wordlessly at Mo Yan, which he found embarrassing. He quickly produced his ticket, but Li Yidou dragged him past the railing. ‘Don’t mind her,’ he said.

Li Yidou took Mo Yan’s bag and threw it over his own shoulder. He must have been at least five-feet-ten, a head taller than Mo Yan, who took some comfort in noting that Li Yidou was at least fifty pounds lighter than he.

‘Sir,’ Li Yidou said spiritedly, ‘as soon as I received your letter, I passed the good news to Municipal Party Committee Secretary Hu, who said, “Welcome, welcome, a hearty welcome.” I was here once already – last night – with a car.’

‘But I made it clear in my letter that I’d arrive in the early morning of the 29th.’

‘I was afraid that if you arrived ahead of schedule,’ Li Yidou replied, ‘you’d be all alone in a strange city. I preferred making an extra trip to having you wait for me all that time.’

‘I really have put you to a lot of trouble,’ Mo Yan said with a smile.

‘At first the municipal authorities wanted Deputy Head Diamond Jin to meet you, but I said I’m Mo Yan’s close friend, and since he and I don’t have to stand on ceremony, I’m the best person for the job.’

We walked toward a fancy sedan parked in a square illuminated by a ring of streetlights. The rain made the sedan look even fancier than it was. ‘General Manager Yu is waiting in the car,’ Li Yidou said. ‘The car belongs to his tavern.’

‘Which General Manager Yu would that be?’

‘Yu Yichi, of course!’

Mo Yan tensed, as a host of depictions of Yu Yichi slogged through his mind. If things had reached the point where the dwarf, who was unrelated to the investigator, could still wind up dead of a bullet in the investigator’s dream, then ghosts and goblins were running the show. I might as well use my Tales of Investigator Ding Gou’er as kindling for the oven, he mused.

‘General Manager Yu Yichi insisted on coming,’ Li Yidou commented. ‘He wanted the pleasure of being first on the scene for your arrival He knows what it means to be a real pal Sir, don’t – please don’t – judge him solely by his appearance. If you give him one measure of respect, he’ll repay you a hundred times over.’

The words still hung in the air when the car door opened and out jumped a pocket-sized man less than three feet tall (‘twelve inch’ [Yichi] was an exaggeration of his smallness). Small but sturdy, he was neatly dressed, looking very much like a well-bred member of the gentry.

‘Mo Yan, you little scamp, so you finally made it!’ he shouted with an infectious hoarseness as soon as he was out of the car. He ran up to Mo Yan, grabbed his hand, and shook it hard, as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other for years.

As Mo Yan grasped the tense, nervous hand, he couldn’t suppress feelings of remorse over thoughts of how Ding Gou’er had killed this man. Why had it been necessary for him to die? An intriguing little fellow like this, cute as a little wind-up mechanical toy, so what if he’d made love with the lady trucker? He shouldn’t have died; he and Ding Gou’er should have become friends, and together they could have broken the case of the child-eaters.

Yu Yichi opened the car door for Mo Yan. Once he’d climbed in next to his guest, he said, releasing a mouthful of boozy breath, ‘The doctor talks about you every day. I tell you, this guy worships you. But now that I see you face-to-face, you’re not as handsome as he made you out to be. In fact, you look like a run-of-the-mill purveyor of cheap booze.’

Stung by the criticism, Mo Yan replied with noticeable sarcasm, ‘Which is why General Manager Yu and I might someday become good friends.’

Yu Yichi giggled like a little boy. ‘That’s terrific!’ he said after the giggles passed. ‘A man whose face would stop a clock and a dwarf, friends at last. Let’s go, driver!’

The woman behind the wheel, who was not a dwarf, sat silently. Aided by murky light from the square, Mo Yan noticed that she had a pretty face and a lovely long neck.

The car’s headlights snapped on and the woman drove skillfully out of the square, spraying water behind her. The smell of opulence hung in the interior. A fuzzy toy tiger on the dashboard jiggled and danced. The music was dreamy; the car seemed to sway to the music like drifting on water. Not even a stray cat appeared on the broad, smoothly paved avenue. Liquorland seemed to be a large city. New-style buildings lined the avenue; the Doctor of Liquor Studies wasn’t exaggerating when he called Liquorland a bustling metropolis.

Mo Yan followed Yu Yichi into the Yichi Tavern, with Li Yidou, the travel bag still over his shoulder, right on his heels. The inside of the tavern looked as inviting as he’d expected, with its marble floor waxed to a high sheen. A bespectacled woman sat behind the registration desk; she was not a dwarf. Yu Yichi told her to put their guest in room 310. Keys in hand, she led the party to the elevator and pushed the button before anyone else could get to it. When the elevator door opened, Yu Yichi jumped in and pulled Mo Yan in after him. Mo Yan tried to appear reluctant. Li Yidou stepped in next, followed by the bespectacled woman, after which the door closed. As the elevator climbed to the third floor, an ugly, exhausted face was reflected in the metallic facing. Mo Yan found it hard to believe he could be so mean-looking. In a few short years, he discovered, he had aged considerably. Seeing the reflection of the sleepy-eyed bespectacled young woman beside him, he quickly turned to stare at the numbers on the elevator panel. He was thinking… The exhausted investigator was face to face with his romantic rival Yu Yichi in the narrow confines of an elevator. When enemies meet, eyes glow with the fires of jealousy… I, on the other hand, am concentrating on the patch of fair skin poking out from under the bespectacled young woman’s collar, thoughts of what lay below releasing fantasies that streak across the sky like a heavenly stallion, and that bring memories of the past flooding into my mind. Once, when I was fourteen, I let my hand stray to a girl’s breast. With a giggle she said, So you know all about touching those, even at your age, hm? Want to see what they look like? Yes, I replied. OK, she said. I felt cold all over. And so that great purple door to puberty swung open with a roar as the girl began undoing her blouse. I rushed through that door without a thought for the consequences, leaving my youth, a time of running with the animals and raising birds, behind, once and for all… The elevator noiselessly came to a stop and the door opened. The bespectacled young woman led us to room 310, opened the door and stood aside to let us in. Mo Yan, who had never enjoyed such top-of-the-line accommodations, nonetheless strode grandly into the luxurious suite and sat on the sofa.

‘This is our finest room, I hope you can make do.’ Yu Yichi said.

It’s fine.’ Mo Yan said. ‘As a one-time soldier, I can live almost anywhere.’

‘The authorities were going to put you up in the Municipal Party Committee guest house.’ Li Yidou said, ‘but all the better rooms there have been reserved for honored foreign guests and compatriots from Hong Kong, Macao, and Taiwan who have come for our first annual Ape Liquor Festival.’

‘This is better.’ Mo Yan assured him. ‘I stay clear of officials as much as possible.’

‘Mo Yan avoids the limelight, preferring peace and quiet.’ Li Yidou remarked.

With a knowing laugh, Yu Yichi said, ‘Can a man who wrote Red Sorghum really avoid the limelight and opt for peace and quiet? You’ve only been working at the Department of Propaganda two days, and already you’re a veteran ass-kisser.’

An embarrassed Li Yidou said, ‘Don’t take General Manager Yu’s comments to heart, Mo Yan. His caustic tongue is famous here in Liquorland.’

‘Not to worry.’ Mo Yan replied, ‘I can be pretty caustic myself.’

‘I forgot to mention, Sir, that I was transferred to the Municipal Party Committee’s Department of Propaganda.’ Li Yidou said. ‘My job is to prepare public announcements.’

‘What about your dissertation?’ Mo Yan asked. ‘Is it finished?’

‘That can wait. I’m better suited to this kind of work. News releases are closer to creative work.’

‘Sounds OK to me.’ Mo Yan said.

‘Draw a hot bath for our guest, Miss Ma,’ Yu Yichi said. ‘Let him wash that sweaty, smelly body of his.’

With a terse acknowledgment, the bespectacled young woman went into the bathroom, from which the sound of running water soon emerged.

Yu Yichi opened the doors of the liquor cabinet, in which dozens of bottled liquors were displayed. ‘What’ll you have?’ he asked Mo Yan.

‘None for me, not at this early hour,’ Mo Yan replied. I’ll wait.’

‘What do you mean, wait?’ Yu Yichi asked. ‘Having a drink is a visitor’s first responsibility after arriving in Liquorland.’

Td prefer a cup of tea.’

‘You won’t find any tea in Liquorland,’ Yu Yichi replied. ‘Liquor is our tea.’

‘When in Rome, Sir,’ Li Yidou urged Mo Yan.

‘Well, all right.’

‘Come here and choose your poison,’ Yu Yichi said.

The array of bottles filled with the finest liquor available nearly made Mo Yan’s head swim.

‘They tell me you’re a class-A drunk,’ Yu Yichi commented. ‘Is that right?’

‘To tell the truth, I’m not that good at holding my liquor, and my knowledge of the subject is severely limited.’

‘Modesty does not become you,’ Yu Yichi said. ‘Besides, I’ve read all the letters you wrote to Li Yidou.’

Mo Yan flashed an unhappy look at Li Yidou, who rushed to his own defense: ‘General Manager Yu is one of us. There’s nothing to worry about.’

Yu Yichi took out a bottle of Overlapping Green Ants and said, ‘After a night on the train, you’d better try something on the mild side.’

‘Overlapping Green Ants is an excellent choice,’ Li Yidou said agreeably. ‘One of my father-in-law’s creations. It’s distilled from sorghum and mung beans. To that is added a dozen or more rare, aromatic medicinal herbs. Drinking it is akin to listening to a classical beauty play a zither, a magically conceived rendition that has you pondering things from the remote past.’

‘Enough already,’ Yu Yichi cut in. ‘You and your quack sales methods.’

‘Now you know why I was transferred to the Department of Propaganda. Publicity is what we need for our Ape Liquor Festival, and I am, after all, a Doctor of Liquor Studies.’

‘Doctoral candidate,” Yu Yichi said mockingly.

Yu Yichi took three crystal glasses out of the liquor cabinet and filled them to the brim with a disturbingly green liquor.

Before coming to Liquorland, Mo Yan had read up on the topic of liquor, and knew a thing or two about the rules of tasting. Raising his glass, he touched it with the tip of his nose and sniffed it; then, with his hand, he fanned the aroma that clung to the skin. After that he held the glass directly under his nose and inhaled deeply, then held his breath, closed his eyes, and assumed the look of a man deep in thought. After a while, he opened his eyes and said, ‘Not bad, you were right. It has the smell and taste of antiquity, refined and solemn. Not bad at all.’

‘Well, I’ll be,’ Yu Yichi said. ‘You do know a thing or two, after all.’

‘Mo Yan is a natural-born connoisseur of fine liquor,’ Li Yidou chirped.

Mo Yan smiled somewhat smugly.

The bespectacled girl returned just then. ‘The bath is ready, General Manager.’ she reported.

‘Bottoms up.’ Yu Yichi said, clinking Mo Yan’s glass with his own. ‘Take a bath and get some rest. You can sleep for a couple of hours, since breakfast isn’t served until seven o’clock. I’ll send one of the girls to wake you.’

After tossing down the liquor in his glass, he tapped Li Yidou on the knee and said, ‘Time to leave, Doctor.’

‘You two can sleep here.’ Mo Yan said. ‘We can squeeze three into a bed.’

With a wink, Yu Yichi said, ‘Rules of the house don’t permit men to share a room.’

Li Yidou was about to add his opinion when Yu Yichi gave him a shove. ‘I said, let’s go!’

Now, finally, I was able to shed my Mo Yan shell I yawned, spat into the spittoon, and took off my shoes and socks. There was a soft knock at the door. Hurriedly pulling up my trousers, which were down around my knees, and straightening my shirt, I went to open the door. The bespectacled Miss Ma darted past me.

She was smiling broadly, and no longer sleepy-eyed. ‘What can I do for you?’ Mo Yan asked decorously, his adrenalin rising.

‘General Manager Yu sent me up to pour some Overlapping Green Ants into your bathwater.’ Miss Ma replied.

‘Liquor in my bath water?’

It’s the brainchild of General Manager Yu,’ Miss Ma explained. ‘He claims that bathing in liquor has positive health benefits. Alcohol Mils germs, relaxes the muscles, and stimulates the flow of blood.’

‘No wonder the place is called Liquorland.’

Miss Ma picked up the uncorked bottle of liquor and carried it into the bathroom, with Mo Yan close on her heels. The room was still steamy, tendrils of whiteness lending it an air of romance. Miss Ma emptied the bottle into the bathtub, releasing a heavy, rather stimulating cloud of aroma – alcohol, of course.

‘There you go, Mo Yan, Sir. Jump in.’

She smiled as she walked out, and Mo Yan detected a vague sense of romance in that smile. His emotions stirred, he nearly reached out to put his arm around her and plant a Mss on her ruddy cheek. But he clenched his teeth to keep his emotions in check and saw Miss Ma out.

After she had left the bathroom, Mo Yan stood for a moment before undressing. The room had a warm, springlike atmosphere. Once he was naked, he rubbed his protruding belly and took a look at himself in the mirror. It was not an encouraging sight. He congratulated himself for not maMng a huge mistake a moment earlier.

He felt the scalding water and biting alcohol sting as he stepped into the tub and slowly eased his body down until only his head showed, pillowed against the smooth rim. The liquor-enhanced bathwater, with its gentle green cast, prickled his skin, painfully, in a comfortable sort of way. ‘That damned dwarf.’ he cursed contentedly, ‘he sure knows how to live the good life!’ In a matter of minutes, the pain was gone. He could feel blood coursing through his veins faster than at any time in his life; his joints felt oiled and soft. A few minutes later, perspiration coated his forehead. His body was relaxed as only a heavy sweat can make it. It’s been years since I last sweated, he was thinking. My pores are all stopped up… I should let Ding Gou’er soak in a tub with Overlapping Green Ants, then have a young woman walk in on him. That’s the sort of detail a thriller needs…

His bath finished, Mo Yan stepped out of the tub, threw a robe that smelled of sweet grass over his shoulders, and stretched out lazily on the sofa. Feeling a little thirsty, he took a bottle of white wine from the liquor cabinet and was about to uncork it when Miss Ma walked back into the room, this time without knocking. Tensing at her arrival, Mo Yan hurriedly tied the sash around his waist to cover his legs. Actually, tensing is not the right word; what he felt was much more pleasurable than that.

Miss Ma took the bottle from him, opened it, and poured a glassful of wine. ‘Mo Yan, Sir,’ she said, ‘General Manager Yu sent me up to give you a massage.’

Dots of perspiration reappeared on Mo Yan’s face as he stammered, ‘There’s no need for that, the sun’s almost up.’

‘Please don’t refuse me, General Manager Yu sent me up to do it’

So Mo Yan lay down on the bed and let Miss Ma give him a massage, all the while concentrating on the image of a pair of icy handcuffs, in order to keep from doing something he shouldn’t.

Yu Yichi grinned all through breakfast, causing Mo Yan no end of embarrassment. He knew that anything he said would be superfluous, and that his silence spoke volumes.

Li Yidou ran breathlessly up to the table. Seeing the bags under his eyes and the drawn look on his face, Mo Yan asked sympathetically, ‘Didn’t you get any sleep?’

‘The provincial newspaper was pressing me for a story, so I went back to the office to finish it.’

Mo Yan filled a glass with liquor and handed it to him.

‘Mo Yan, Sir,’ he said after downing the liquor, ‘Party Secretary Hu wants you to tour the city this morning, then join him for lunch.’

‘There’s no need for that,’ Mo Yan said. ‘The Party Secretary’s a busy man.’

‘But you must,’ Li Yidou insisted. ‘You’re an honored guest. Besides, Liquorland is going to rely on your heroic pen to become famous!’

‘My heroic pen?’

‘My dear Mo Yan, eat your breakfast,’ Yu Yichi said.

‘Yes, Mo Yan, Sir,’ Li Yidou agreed, ‘please eat.’

So Mo Yan scooted his chair up to the table and laid his elbows and wrists on the snowy white tablecloth. Sunlight pouring in through the tall windows brightened every corner of the small dining room. Soft strains of jazz floated down from the ceiling, as if from far, far away. Muted notes from a trumpet touched the soul. He was thinking of the massage and of the bespectacled Miss Ma.

Breakfast consisted of six modest dishes, an appealing array of greens and reds. They were accompanied by milk, fried eggs, toast, jam, steamed rolls, rice porridge, salted duck eggs, fried fermented bean curd, sesame cakes, little dough twists… more choices than he could count. A combination of Chinese and western food.

‘A steamed roll and a bowl of porridge is enough for me.’ Mo Yan said.

‘Eat up,’ Yu Yichi said insistently. ‘There’s no need to be polite, Liquorland has plenty of food.’

‘How about liquor?’ Li Yidou asked him. ‘What would you like?’

‘On an empty stomach? Nothing, thanks.’

Yu Yichi said, ‘Have a glass, just one. It’s the custom.’

‘Mo Yan has a touchy stomach,’ Li Yidou said. ‘A glass of ginger spirits will warm it.’

‘Miss Yang,’ Yu Yichi shouted, ‘come pour for us.’

A waitress appeared, one even lovelier than Miss Ma. She all but took Mo Yan’s breath away. ‘My dear Mo Yan,’ Yu Yichi said, nudging him with his elbow, ‘what do you think of the girls of Yichi Tavern?’

‘They’re like moon goddesses,’ he replied.

‘Lovely liquor isn’t all Liquorland is famous for. Our women are just as lovely,’ Li Yidou crowed. ‘The mothers of Xi Shi and Wang Zhaojun were both from Liquorland.’

Yu Yichi and Mo Yan laughed.

‘Don’t laugh,’ Li Yidou protested. ‘I’ve got proof.’

‘Stop the nonsense,’ Yu Yichi said. ‘If it’s tall tales you want, ask Mo Yan, he’s the master.’

Li Yidou laughed. ‘You’re right. I’m wielding an ax at the door of the greatest ax-man of all.’

They finished breakfast amid more chatter and laughter. Miss Yang walked up and handed Mo Yan a hot, perfumed hand towel, with which he wiped his face and hands. He couldn’t recall ever having such a sense of well-being. When he rubbed his cheeks, the skin was soft and silky. He felt absolutely wonderful and relaxed.

Proprietor Yu,’ Li Yidou said, ‘we’re relying on you for a fine lunch today.’

‘I need you to tell me that? I wouldn’t dare offer anything but the best to Mo Yan, our honored guest from afar.’

‘I’ve ordered a car, Mo Yan, Sir,’ Li Yidou said. ‘We can walk if you’re up to it. If not, we can ride.’

‘Have the driver go on about his business,’ Mo Yan said. ‘We’ll just stroll where our feet take us.’

‘Fine with me,’ Li Yidou said.

III

Mo Yan and Li Yidou are walking down Donkey Avenue.

Donkey Avenue is in fact paved with ancient cobblestones, which have been washed clean by an overnight rainfall A crisp, chilled, acrid smell rises from the cracks between stones, reminding Mo Yan of one of Li Yidou’s stories. ‘Is there really a ghostly black donkey that haunts this street?’

‘That’s a legend,’ Li Yidou says. ‘No one has actually seen it’

‘There must be countless donkey ghosts that wander this street,’ Mo Yan says.

‘That’s a fact. The street’s history goes back at least two hundred years, and the number of donkeys that have been slaughtered here is incalculable.’

‘How many a day?’ Mo Yan asks.

‘Twenty, at least,’ Li Yidou replies.

‘How could there be so many donkeys?’

‘Would anyone open a slaughterhouse if there were no donkeys to slaughter?’ Li Yidou assures him.

‘Are there enough customers?’

‘Sometimes they go away empty-handed.’

While they’re discussing the situation, a man dressed like a peasant walks up with two fat black donkeys. Mo Yan goes up to him. ‘Say, old villager, you selling those?’

The man gives Mo Yan a cold stare without answering, then continues on his way. ‘Want to watch them slaughter a donkey?’ Li Yidou asks.

‘Yes,’ Mo Yan replies. ‘Of course I do.’

So they turn back and fall in behind the man leading the donkeys down the street. When they reach the Sun Family Butcher Shop, the man shouts, ‘Here are the donkeys, Boss.’

A bald middle-aged man comes rushing out of the shop. ‘What took you so long, Old Jin?’

‘I got hung up at the ferry landing,’ Old Jin tells him.

Baldy opens a gate next to the shop. ‘Bring them on in,’ he says.

‘Hey there, Old Sun,’ Li Yidou steps up and greets the man.

‘My my,’ a surprised Baldy says. ‘A little early for a stroll, isn’t it, old friend?’

Li Yidou points to Mo Yan. ‘This is an important writer from Beijing,’ he says. ‘Mo Yan, the fellow who wrote the movie Red Sorghum.’

‘Don’t get carried away, Yidou,’ Mo Yan says.

‘Red Sorghum?’ Baldy says, looking at Mo Yan. ‘Isn’t that the stuff they use to make good liquor?’

‘Mo Yan would like to see how you slaughter a donkey.’

Baldy, uncomfortable with the idea, stammers, ‘I… urn… there’s blood flying everywhere, you don’t want all that bad luck settling over you…’

‘No stalling,’ Li Yidou says. ‘Mo Yan is a guest of Secretary Hu of the Municipal Party Committee. He’s going to do some publicity for Liquorland.’

‘Oh!’ Baldy says. ‘He’s a reporter. Come on, come see for yourself. This little shop of mine can use the publicity.’

Mo Yan and Li Yidou follow the black donkeys out to the back, where Baldy circles the animals to look them over. The donkeys, apparently afraid, shy away from him.

‘For donkeys, this guy is the butcher from Hell,’ Li Yidou comments.

‘I’ve seen better, Old Jin,’ Baldy says finally.

‘Tender meat, shiny black coats, fattened up on bean cakes. What else do you want?’

‘You want to know?’ Baldy says. ‘These donkeys have been fed hormones. They won’t taste good!’

‘Where the hell am I going to get my hands on hormones?’ Old Jin says. ‘Give it to me straight, do you want them or don’t you? If not, I’ll take them away. You’re not the only butcher shop on this street!’

‘Calm down, my friend,’ Baldy says. ‘We’ve known each other for years, and even if you brought me a pair of donkeys made of cardboard, I’d buy them and burn them in offering to the Kitchen God.’

Old Jin sticks out his hand. ‘How much?’

Baldy reaches out to clasp the other man’s hand, both concealed by their sleeves.

‘That’s how it’s done around here,’ Li Yidou whispers to an obviously puzzled Mo Yan. ‘The price for livestock is always given by the number of fingers.’

The expressions on the faces of Baldy and the man selling the donkeys speak volumes. They look like actors in a mime drama.

Mo Yan’s imagination is piqued by the expressions on their faces.

Baldy’s arm twitches. ‘That’s my final offer,’ he says. ‘I can’t go any higher, not a penny!’

The arm of the man selling the donkey also twitches. ‘I want this much!’

Baldy pulls his hand back. ‘I told you,’ he says, ‘I can’t go any higher. Take it or take your donkeys away!’

The other man sighs. ‘Baldy Sun,’ he says loudly, ‘Baldy Sun, you son of a bitch, you can go straight to Hell, where all the donkeys will chew you up and spit you out!’

‘They’ll chew you up first, you damned donkey peddler!’ Baldy fires back.

The man unties the ropes. The deal is made.

‘Mother of our little daughter, give Old Jin here a bowl of the hard stuff.’

A grease-spattered middle-aged woman emerges with a large white bowl filled with liquor and hands it to Old Jin.

Old Jin takes the bowl but doesn’t drink. Instead he looks at the woman and says, ‘Sister-in-law, I've brought you a couple of black males today. Two big donkey dicks should be enough for you to gnaw on for a while.’

With spittle flying, the woman says, I’ll never get my hands on one of those trinkets, no matter how many there are. But your old lady ought to be content with the one she has at home.’

With a loud guffaw, Old Jin gulps down the liquor and hands her the bowl. Then, after tying the ropes around his waist, he says loudly, I’ll be back later for the money, Baldy.’

‘Go on about your business,’ Baldy replies. ‘But don’t forget to buy a “meaty offering” to pay your respects to the Widow Cui.’

‘She’s already got someone,’ Old Jin says, ‘so I won’t have the good fortune to pay my respects anymore.’ With that, he strides through the shop, past the counter, and out onto Donkey Avenue.

By this time Baldy has his mallet in hand and is ready to begin the slaughter. Turning to Li Yidou, he says, ‘You and the reporter stand over there, old friend. You don’t want to ruin your clothes.’

Mo Yan notices that the two donkeys are meekly huddling together in a corner, neither trying to run away nor braying unhappily. They are, however, trembling.

‘No matter how feisty a donkey might be,’ Li Yidou comments, ‘when it sees him, all it can do is tremble.’

Baldy walks up behind one of the donkeys, raises the blood-spattered mallet in his hand, and brings it down hard in the space between the animal’s leg and its hoof. The donkey’s hindquarters crash to the ground. The next blow lands on the donkey’s forehead, laying the animal out flat, its legs spread out in front like wooden clubs. Instead of trying to run away, the other donkey presses its head hard against the wall, as if trying to push all the way through.

Baldy then drags a basin over and places it under the collapsed donkey’s neck, picks up his butcher knife, and severs the animal’s carotid artery, sending a torrent of purplish blood into the basin…

After witnessing the donkey slaughter, Mo Yan and Li Yidou are back out on Donkey Avenue. ‘That was damned cruel,’ Mo Yan says.

‘A lot more humane than the old days,’ Li Yidou says.

‘What was it like then?’

‘Back in the last years of the Qing dynasty, there was a butcher shop here on Donkey Avenue known for its delicious donkey meat. Here’s the way they did it: They dug a hole in the ground and covered it with thick boards with holes drilled in the four corners for the donkey’s legs. That way it couldn’t put up a fight. Then they drenched the donkey with scalding water and scraped every inch of the hide. The customers would choose the part they felt like eating, and the butcher would cut it out for them then and there. Sometimes all the meat would be sold off, and you could still hear the animal’s pitiful wheezing. Would you call that cruel?’

‘You bet I would,’ Mo Yan says, clicking his tongue.

‘The Xue Family Butcher Shop reintroduced this method not long ago, and did a land-office business until the city fathers put a stop to it.’

‘Good for them!’

‘If you want the truth,’ Li Yidou says, ‘the meat wasn’t very good at all.’

‘Your mother-in-law says that the quality of meat is affected by the fear an animal feels just before it’s killed. That was in one of your stories.’

‘You’ve got a good memory.’

‘I’ve eaten braised live fish,’ Mo Yan says. ‘Even when its body is steaming under that gravy, its mouth keeps opening and closing, like it’s trying to say something.’

‘There’s no paucity of examples of cruel eating practices,’ Li Yidou says. ‘My mother-in-law is an expert in that area.’

‘Are there many differences between the parents-in-law in your stories and your real-life in-laws?’

‘Night and day,’ Li Yidou says, blushing.

‘I admire your nerve,’ Mo Yan says. ‘If your stories actually get published one day, your wife and your father-in-law will have you braised, that’s for sure.’

‘I wouldn’t mind. They could even steam or deep-fry me, as long as the stories got published.’

‘I don’t think it’d be worth it.’

‘I do.’

‘Let’s talk about it some more tonight,’ Mo Yan says. ‘You’re OK in my book. There’s no doubt that you’re more talented than lam.’

‘You flatter me, Sir.’

IV

The luncheon is held at the Yichi Tavern.

Mo Yan occupies the seat of honor, Secretary Hu is the host. Seven or eight other people are seated around the table, all city fathers. Yu Yichi and Li Yidou fill out the guest list. With all his experience, Yu Yichi cuts a dashing figure. Li Yidou, on the other hand, is very uncomfortable, and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Secretary Hu, who looks to be in his mid-thirties, has a square face, big eyes, hair combed straight back, and an oily, shiny face; poised and dignified, and extremely well spoken, he wears his authority like a cloak.

After three rounds of toasts, Secretary Hu stands up, saying he’s expected at several more luncheons, and leaves. Deputy Head Jin of the Propaganda Department picks up the decanter to host the next round. A half-hour later, Mo Yan’s head is spinning, his lips like pieces of wood.

‘Deputy Head Jin,’ Mo Yan declares, ‘I never thought you’d turn out to be such a fine individual… I figured you to be a… child-eating demon…’

Mo Yan does not notice the beads of cold sweat that suddenly appears on Li Yidou’s face.

‘Our Deputy Head is an accomplished musician – he plays a number of instruments and sings as well,’ one of the dignitaries says. ‘You should hear him sing the part of the legendary Magistrate Bao. His stentorian voice is as good as the great Qiu Shengxu!’

‘Let’s hear some, Deputy Head Jin,’ Mo Yan proposes.

‘If you don’t mind my making a fool of myself,’ Deputy Head Jin says.

He gets to his feet, clears his throat, and, in a thunderous voice with a series of crescendos and diminuendos, sings a long aria without turning red in the face or gasping for air. When it is over, he clasps his hands and announces, ‘Please don’t laugh!’

Mo Yan shouts his appreciation.

‘May I be permitted a question, Mo Yan, Sir?’ Deputy Head Jin asks. ‘What’s the reason for pissing into the liquor vat?’

His face reddening, Mo Yan replies, ‘The rantings of a novelist. Don’t take them seriously.’

Deputy Head Jin says, I’ll drink three glasses if Mo Yan will sing a bit of “Little Sister Strides Boldly Forward.”‘

'I'm not much of a drinker,’ Mo Yan demurs, ‘and a very bad singer.’

‘A son of Han, a man among men, never drinks without a song. Come come come, I’ll drink first.’

Deputy Head Jin lines up three glasses and fills them. Then he bends his head down and takes a deep breath; when he raises his head, he is holding all three glasses in his mouth. He tips his head back until the glasses are bottoms up, then lowers his head once more, placing the glasses exactly where they were.

‘Bravo!’ one of the guests shouts. ‘Plum Blossoms Playing Thrice!’

‘Mo Yan, Sir, that’s Deputy Head Jin’s piece de resistance? Li Yidou explains.

‘It’s superb!’ Mo Yan says.

‘Your turn, Mo Yan, Sir,’ Deputy Head Jin says.

Three glasses are lined up in front of Mo Yan and filled to the brim.

‘Don’t expect any Plum Blossoms Playing Thrice from me,’ Mo Yan says.

‘One glass at a time, that’s all we ask,’ Deputy Head Jin says generously. ‘We’re not out to embarrass you.’

With three more glasses down the hatch, Mo Yan’s head is really spinning.

The other guests are urging him to sing.

Mo Yan realizes that his mouth will no longer do his bidding, now that his lips and tongue are out of sync.

‘Writer Mo Yan,’ Deputy Head Jin says, ‘if you’ll sing something, anything, I’ll drink the “submarine” for you.’

So Mo Yan sings for them, a ghastly sound, as it turns out.

Still everyone shouts his approval.

‘All right,' Deputy Head Jin says, ‘now l’ll drink the “submarine.”'

He pours a glass of beer, then a glass of hard liquor, which he lets sink in the taller glass. Picking up the beer glass, he tips his head back and drinks them both together, every last drop.

Just then a woman enters the dining room, laughing loudly -Ha ha. ‘Where’s the writer?’ she asks loudly. I’d like to toast him with three glasses.’

Li Yidou leans over to Mo Yan. ‘Mayor Wang,’ he whispers. ‘No one holds her liquor like she does.’

Mo Yan gazes at the Mayor as she approaches: large, square face, fair and delicate, bedroom eyes, moist as an autumn shower, elegantly dressed, looking like a stately woman of ancient times.

Intending to stand up, instead he slides indecorously under the table.

V

… Mo Yan Sir Mo Yan Sir what’s wrong please wake up This guy wrote Red Sorghum but he’s a fledgling with alcohol can’t hold his liquor but comes to Liquorland to stir up trouble take him to the hospital bring a car over first give him some carp broth to sober him up carp promotes lactation don’t tell me he just had a baby a meat boy set it in a big gilded platter with nice leafy celery and big mouth-watering cherries from the US golden juices nice and sticky like honey that doesn’t drip get on the phone and have the municipal hospital send an ambulance if something happens to him we’ll be in hot water the ambulance lights red as blood like the eyes of a wolf are getting closer this is a big case an important case an unsettled case lawyers and journalists will stand shoulder to shoulder Ding Gou’er Ding Gou’er you disappointing son of a bitch A shortage of grain beat back the Rightist Reversal Movement oppose Bourgeois Liberalization lots and lots of three-legged red-backed frogs showing up in ponds the first human sperm bank Kurosawa’s new movie Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams peach blossoms everywhere demonic ghosts howling Mount Fuji on fire thawing melting dripping like a piece of meat taken out of the fridge and exposed to the sun the flavor of the nineties absolutely delicious sonic waves beeping in an oven I asked Third Uncle Where’s Third Aunt Third Uncle said nonchalantly I braised and ate her the views of a Rightist Pow countless white shards of mercury explode leaving only an empty shell First memories of the Great Leap Forward how can people eat people why can’t people eat people Yi Ya cooked his son and offered him to Duke Huan of Qi and Liu Bei ate the wife of a hunter and Black Whirlwind Li Kui ate the leg of the highwayman Li Gui roasting it first Lu Xun opened the Diary of a Madman and found the words Eat People written all over the ancient ledgers First Elder Brother was eaten Second Elder Sister was eaten little boys were eaten too Exposes of the Corrupt Official World a novel exposing dark secrets A real loser give him a shot an IV injection with medicine to protect the liver The Eight Immortals of Liquor a big gulp if the feelings are deep a little sip if the feelings are shallow This novel must arouse passion avoid sarcasm and satire the cadres have to be portrayed as real people not caricatures intended as serious literature not schemes and intrigues Lin Biao’s broken spear sank into the sand was a missile involved When Mao’s Sixteen Points were promulgated I shouted myself hoarse I saw the whiteness of Nuan’s breasts couldn’t help myself I said Let me have a look just one look it was terrifying Ponies and lambs whinny and bleat rams’ bellies are wrapped with cloth to prevent mating birth control China’s knotty problem and major contradiction the engineers of human souls cannot avoid it She was the best chef of her generation she heard the agonizing chirps of swallows when she prepared the swallows’ nests Li Yidou you’re an ass-kisser yourself you led my novel down the wrong path Fan Xiaotian the editor of Zhongshan treated me to stuffed buns at the Vegetarian Gourmet and bought me some beer When I was having a drink with Yu Hua he said Ding Gou’er you stop right there I can’t believe you’re so worthless your hands are covered with the blood of the masses I love you I didn’t know I was so deeply in love until I was drunk There’s no escape a rope dragging a long long tail At that time I was walking in the field the earth was frozen covered with snow wild rabbits frozen to death hedgehogs too Liquorland is a fictional place but also a synthesis of many real cities Ding Gou’er is an abominable person who tries to be dashing and refined but cannot All liquors are about the same they make you slobbering drunk Luan Ping investigated the hero Yang Zirong I racked my brain in order to serve in the military For many years the struggle between sex and morality has been a tangle causing much suffering split personality Faulkner learned from Joyce’s Ulysses can’t I also learn from you This is the only way it can be done originally this text was intended to explore the relationship between liquor and women liquor decreases a man’s libido but increases a woman’s this is the fundamental conflict between Li Yidou’s father-in-law and mother-in-law Never tire of the refined in food always strive for delicacy in cooking running out of words and searching for expressions a reality in writing Where did the scaly youth run off to the Ape Liquor Festival is coming soon How to write this chapter it is so depressing the more I write the more impatient I become the woes of Dionysus The liquor was laced with pesticide a bastard of a doctor transfused a woman’s blood from childbirth to someone else and caused Spiritual Pollution the more developed the technique of wine drinking the more elaborate the wine glasses become a trap within a trap the country cadre was a boorish uncivilized drinker who forced liquor down County Chief Song and caused his death the wife of the County Chief was my elementary school teacher the court threw out the case saying he deserved to die he shouldn’t have drunk so much it was his own fault my teacher said Mo Yan you’re well known write an article for the newspaper to report the incident expose the injustice for me officials always protect each other this case will never have its day in court besides he’s dead anyway Ding Gou’er nearly died from being drunk vomited all over the place wah wah wah prohibition cannot be enforced Cao Cao tried to prohibit liquor Kong Rong a descendant of Confucius famous for the filial act of giving a larger pear to his older brother mocked Cao Cao by saying the Shang dynasty came to ruin because of a woman but we didn’t see King Wen of the Zhou prohibit women Cao Cao was enraged and killed him Cao Cao ate plums and warmed a pot of liquor while talking about heroes Seeing the Mayor off to his new position in the provincial government banquets were held for forty days liquor flowed like rivers raging over the land like the Yangtze drinking is the road to glory the more one drinks the more glorious one becomes Let me tell you why I’m writing this novel I read in a short article where someone was promoted and became rich because of his capacity for liquor which inspired me page after page of drunken gibberish and nonsense froth filling the mouth the vomit made our puppy drunk it died the dog ate it Developing a child’s capacity for liquor a man and a woman vie to see who is the bigger drinker they are clearly equals they fall in love they get married on their wedding night the woman says Ow it hurts did you fucking ejaculate liquor inside me you lousy hooligan The cadre’s urine is also very pungent a high alcoholic content a baby was born he drank neither milk nor water only liquor and was called Liquor Boy startling the world of liquor great drinkers are worshiped. After a memorial held for a man who drank himself to death everyone got drunk with a sip of liquor comes a string of witty sayings but not for me my mind a raging sea and roaring river inundated with flashing fragments of words and phrases like shards of broken glass a potent sobering-up tonic lets you drink to your heart’s content without getting drunk even after a thousand glasses the highest the finest the fairest state of happiness She saw emerald teardrops spill out of the boy’s eyes and licked them off with her tongue they tasted like strong liquor a low-grade liquor is a woman whose hair is brittle and yellow whose black eyes are crossed whose head is squeezed flat whose teeth are big and yellow whose freckled face is covered with a thick layer of cheap powder yet still smiles coquettishly and flirtatiously at men why do you want to drink this kind of liquor you should drink fine liquor like a young Russian girl whose skin is smooth and silky overflowing with the natural flavor of wildflowers and grass Mo Yan Sir Mo Yan Sir how are you feeling dead yet The pink serving girl Little Sun has a fine layer of peach fuzz on her upper lip when I touch her she mysteriously looks at the door and waves her hands pregnant with meaning but a subtle smile on her face I say You’re wonderful I wish we’d met before you married in exchange for her smile my lips brush her smooth forehead which feels like a gourd it reeks what a drunken cat what a drunken dog what a lush waving her hands to fan the air beneath her nose she turns and runs off followed by a loud bang from the spring door I run into the bathroom and scream at the toilet when I look up at the mirror with its peeling mercury I come face to face with the image of myself aging and ugly my disgusting image shames me how dare I fantasize touching a beautiful young girl Damn some will say I’m obviously imitating the style of Ulysses in this section Who cares I’m drunk when you get drunk you’re out for three days Little Sun falsely reported that the writer from Beijing drank himself to death Mumbling something the Mayor came to visit you but you couldn’t even open your eyes the table the corners of the room the bed littered with tin cans and fruit pears bananas oranges melons tomatoes and a bottle with a black-tailed snake coiled inside What do you feel like eating aren’t you going to eat something the black-tailed snake squirms in my throat its sharp scales scrape the inside of my throat wah wah I vomit Li Yidou says from my experience you should drink some liquor the best cure for alcohol poisoning is two glasses of liquor what we call fighting poison with poison No more no more the mere mention of liquor makes me sick gives me a headache Li Yidou I’ve fallen into your evil trap he ignores my protest a sinister smile he fills a big glass with a pink and emerald green liquid Red-Maned Stallion like a sex-crazed wanton woman laughing hideously inside the glass teasing me horrifying me No no I’ve had enough Mother help me pinching my ears didn’t help so he pinches my nose pries open my clenched teeth and forces the glass of Red-Maned Stallion down that organ of mine called a mouth like a baby with its mother’s nipple in its mouth I gurgle but can’t spit it out a burning flame licks down my corrupt throat and into my stinking stomach and dissolves I feel gutted by a knife my eyes are closed I want to stand up but can’t find my legs where are my legs hanging from the ceiling swinging back and forth like hams from Jinhua hanging in a butcher shop look even more like prosthetic legs hanging from hooks in a specialty store for the disabled Punch the con man the evil-doer Li Yidou but my arms are gone too there’s nothing left so much evil cannot go unpunished it’s just a matter of time the day of atonement has arrived time for you to die like a phoenix bathing in the fire of self-immolation I’m soaking in an emerald green flame turning this way and that way I didn’t think I’d drink myself to death in Liquorland didn’t think I’d end up like Ding Gou’er Ding Gou’er is my shadow he has become skinny as a monkey with a game leg his body covered in shit and a drunk’s vomit millions of fat white maggots crawling in his hair standing before me he looks me in the eye and gives me a knowing smile which makes me look to the ground where his shadow and mine overlap intertwined impossible to tell who’s who He pulls out Ding Gou’er’s handgun I recall there’s one bullet left for an emergency Go ahead no need to hesitate he says as he whips out the shit-covered handgun with a long-tailed maggot crawling out of its barrel he releases the safety flicks the vomit out of the barrel spits out something like baby’s hair he says I’m really going to shoot no more mister nice guy I’m going to fire it at the cannibalistic beasts at the Fascists don’t flinch pull yourself up like a black donkey dick OK faster than it takes to tell he aims at our layered shadows on the ground and fires the last bullet a stinking smelly bullet exploding out of the barrel followed by the smell of rotten meat combined with the most terrifying stench in the world a puff of dripping wet green smoke We both feel our hearts pierced with unbearable pain we jump up like carp on dry land with all hope gone it seems our flesh was shot but what springs up from the ground are our shadows then we fall down face to face smiling like true brothers reunited after a long separation…