Yu Hua - Brothers

Missy Sus eyes started to gleam as she listened to Wandering Zhou's descriptions, and she promised she would immediately start developing this new kind of bun the very next day. Wandering Zhou took this opportunity to suggest that perhaps he could come by to assess her work. He said that he would gladly share his valuable experiences of sipping mini-bun juice if it could be of any help to her. He promised to help her make these straw-embedded mini-buns a runaway hit, one that would not only attract customers from one hundred li around but people from as far away as Beijing would fly down just to enjoy her specialty buns. Missy Su laughed delightedly at this and asked shyly, "Are you really willing to help me?"

"Of course," replied Wandering Zhou with a gracious wave.

Now that this charlatan had spent his final five yuan, his offer to be the official sampler of the straw-embedded buns turned out to be the perfect way to nab himself several days’ worth of food. After he left the snack shop with his two cardboard boxes, his gait was much livelier than it had been when he had been so famished. Now he just needed to find a free place to sleep. He again walked up to Poet Zhao and came up with a plan to claim Zhao's straw mat.

Poet Zhao would have already been asleep by that point if it hadn't been for the mosquitoes. They had bitten him all over his body, driving him to distraction. When Wandering Zhou walked by, Zhao was slapping madly at the buzzing mosquitoes, his hands dotted with blood. As Wandering Zhou set down his piled-up boxes next to Poet Zhao's mat, Zhao peered down at his mosquito-blood dotted palms under the light of the streetlamps and showed Wandering Zhou, saying, "This is all my blood."

Wandering Zhou nodded politely, and then his toy cell phone rang. He took out his phone and said, Hello, followed by a string of foreign words Poet Zhao couldn't understand. Zhao looked at him curiously, waiting for him to finish, then asked cautiously, "Were you speaking American just now?"

"Yes." Wandering Zhou nodded. "I was discussing business with the manager of my American subsidiary."

Having guessed correctly that Wandering Zhou was speaking American, Poet Zhao said proudly, "I can also understand a little American."

Wandering Zhou looked at Poet Zhao, who was standing there impressed by his own brilliance, and realized that the telephone call had not sufficiently cowed him. Therefore, his toy cell naturally rang again, and he said, "Buon giorno," followed by a string of foreign words that Poet Zhao couldn't understand. Zhao waited until Wandering Zhou was finished and had put his cell phone back in his pocket, then again cautiously asked, "This time you weren't speaking American, were you?"

"It was Italian," Zhou replied. "I was discussing business with the manager of my Italian subsidiary."

Poet Zhao said proudly, "I knew it couldn't be American."

Since neither of these calls had been able to conquer this self-satisfied country bumpkin, Zhou's cell phone promptly rang a third time. He answered, "Yeobo-seyo."

This time Wandering Zhou finally succeeded in conquering Poet Zhao. Zhao didn't dare continue showing off but, rather, asked humbly, "What language were you speaking this time?"

Wandering Zhou smiled and said, "Korean. I was discussing business with the manager of my Korean subsidiary."

A look of respectful awe came over Poet Zhao's face, and he asked Wandering Zhou, "How many countries’ languages do you know?"

Wandering Zhou held up three fingers and said, "Thirty."

Poet Zhao exclaimed in surprise, "That many!"

Wandering Zhou laughed modestly and said, "That includes Chinese, of course."

Poet Zhao was awestruck and said, "But that still leaves twenty-nine."

"Your math is very good," replied Wandering Zhou, then shook his head. "My businesses stretch worldwide, from the North to the South Pole, from Africa to Latin America, leaving me with no choice but to learn so many foreign languages."

Poet Zhao was completely taken in. He gazed at Zhou reverently and in a far more respectful tone of voice, asked, "May I inquire as to what line of business you might be in?"

Wandering Zhou replied, "Health products."

Wandering Zhou took off his jacket and set it down on the cardboard box. He then removed his tie and stuffed it into the jacket pocket. While he was undoing his shirt button, Poet Zhao asked cautiously, "What do you have in your boxes?"

Wandering Zhou answered, "Hymens."

With a look of astonishment, Poet Zhao watched as Wandering Zhou took off his shirt and placed it on top of the box, leaving him bare-chested like Poet Zhao. Seeing Zhao's astonished expression, Zhou said, "Haven't you ever heard of hymens?"

"Of course I've heard of hymens," Poet Zhao replied, still looking completely confused. "But hymens are located in women's bodies. How is it that you have them stored in boxes?"

Wandering Zhou laughed and said, "These are artificial hymens."

"Is there such a thing as an artificial hymen?" Poet Zhao was astonished.

"Of course."

Wandering Zhou sat on Poet Zhao's mat and removed his shoes and socks. He then removed his pants and placed them on the box. Now he was as undressed as Poet Zhao, who was also completely naked except for his underwear. Zhou told Poet Zhao, "There are artificial hearts, so why shouldn't there be artificial hymens? One uses these artificial hymens the same way one would a real one. There will certainly be real pain, and the first night they will bleed real blood."

As he was saying this Wandering Zhou lay down on Poet Zhao's mat, as if he were lying down in his own bed. He even nudged Poet Zhao over a little with his foot, but Zhao didn't budge, thinking to himself that this was his bed, and what right did this fellow have to kick him off? Poet Zhao began to get annoyed. Kicking Wandering Zhou back, he said, "Hey, this is my bed. What do you think you are doing, lying here?"

Lying on the mat, Wandering Zhou tapped his finger and asked disdainfully, "You call this a bed?"

Poet Zhao replied, "This straw mat is my bed. All that falls within the borders of this straw mat is my bed."

Wandering Zhou lay there comfortably with his eyes closed and yawned. "Okay, let's call it a bed. Isn't it appropriate to share one's bed with friends?"

Poet Zhao sat up on his mat, determined to push this fellow away before he fell asleep. "What do you mean, friends? We just met and exchanged a few words."

With his eyes closed, Wandering Zhou replied, "Some people become friends the instant they meet, while others may know each other for an entire lifetime without becoming friends."

Poet Zhao stood up and lifted his foot to kick Wandering Zhou, saying, "Get the fuck out of here. Who's friends with you?"

Poet Zhao kicked Wandering Zhou in the groin. Wandering Zhou immediately sat up, howling in pain. Holding his groin, he shouted at Poet Zhao, "You kicked me in the balls!"

Poet Zhao continued kicking him, saying, "Yes, I meant to kick you in the balls. If hymens can be replaced with artificial ones, then I want you to have to replace your balls with artificial balls."

Wandering Zhou jumped up and shouted at Poet Zhao, "I, Boss Zhou, always stay in the presidential suites of five-star hotels."

It was only then that Poet Zhao learned that Wandering Zhou's surname was Zhou. Paying no attention to what Wandering Zhou was saying, Poet Zhao said, "I don't care if you are a premier named Zhou, I wouldn't let you use my bed even if you were a chairman named Mao. Why don't you go stay in your presidential suite?"

Wandering Zhou stood next to Poet Zhao's mat and began to argue with him: "Here in your town they don't even have any ordinary rooms in ordinary hotels available, much less a presidential suite. Otherwise, why would I be lying down on your straw mat?"