Yu Hua - Brothers

Poet Zhao decided that Wandering Zhou had a point. It was true that all the hotels in Liu were booked solid. Otherwise, why would there be two virgin beauties sleeping in his own house? Zhao considered for a moment, then agreed to permit Wandering Zhou to sleep on his mat, but on the condition that he pay rent. "The lowest price I will charge for this bed is twenty yuan a night. Given that you are not from here, and furthermore can speak twenty-nine foreign languages in addition to Chinese, I won't overcharge you. The bed is twenty yuan a night, but since I, the owner, will be sleeping on half of it, I will only charge you, the customer, ten yuan."

"Okay, it's a deal," Wandering Zhou said quickly. "I'll pay you twenty yuan a day, and you can consider your half of the bed to be my treat."

Poet Zhao looked up with a smile and thought to himself that this fellow was truly a boss — no haggling over nickels and dimes. Reverting to his former polite tone of voice, he extended his hand and said, "If you could be so kind as to settle your account now…"

Wandering Zhou had not expected Poet Zhao to pull this move, so he responded irritably, "When one stays at a hotel, its customary to settle the bill upon checking out."

Wandering Zhou picked up his suit jacket from the box, and when he reached into his pocket, Poet Zhao thought that he was reaching for his money. At that moment Zhou's phone rang, and what he pulled out of his pocket, therefore, was not money but, rather, his cell. He yelled angrily into the receiver, lambasting the person on the other end of the line for not having reserved him a room, thereby making him sleep in the street. Hamming it up, he roared into the phone, "What? Go talk to their provincial governor? Its too late now. What? Tell their provincial governor to call up the county governor? What time do you think it is? Its past one o'clock in the morning! How the fuck do you want me to call him at this hour?"

When Poet Zhao heard this, his eyes grew wide with astonishment. After glancing over at Poet Zhao, Wandering Zhou changed his tone and, still speaking into the receiver, said, "Okay, let's leave aside the question of the room. But what about my salesmen? Why haven't they arrived? What? They had a car accident? They fucking totaled my Mercedes? … In any event, I can't be the one out on the streets selling my own products. Forget it, don't waste time apologizing. Just hurry to the hospital to look after the salesmen. I'll take care of things here on my own."

After Wandering Zhou closed his phone and put it back in his pocket, he looked at Poet Zhao and said, "My salesmen had a car accident and therefore won't be able to make it. Would you like to work for me?"

Poet Zhao had no way of knowing that Wandering Zhou didn't have a cent to his name. After Zhou put his phone back in his pocket and didn't take any money out, Poet Zhao assumed he had simply forgotten. When Zhou asked Poet Zhao if he wanted to work for him, Zhao himself also promptly forgot about the twenty-yuan bed fee and asked curiously, "What kind of work?"

Wandering Zhou pointed to the two boxes and replied, "Sales."

"You mean selling hymens?" Poet Zhao asked.

Wandering Zhou nodded. "I'll give you a salary of one hundred yuan a day, with additional bonuses based on performance."

A salary of one hundred yuan a day? Poet Zhao was delighted but cautiously asked Wandering Zhou, "When will you pay me my salary?"

Wandering Zhou replied, "After you have sold all the goods, of course."

Looking as though he couldn't care less whether Poet Zhao worked for him or not, Wandering Zhou had intimidated Poet Zhao so thoroughly Zhao didn't dare to ask about the salary again. Poet Zhao asked Zhou for his cell number, saying that an employee should know his boss's number. The number that Wandering Zhou then gave Poet Zhao left him dumbfounded, one starting with 000, followed by 88, and ending with a 123. This number was neither that of a Chinese cell phone nor that of a Chinese landline. Poet Zhao asked Wandering Zhou, "What kind of number is this?"

Wandering Zhou said, "It is a number from the British Virgin Islands."

Poet Zhao had never even heard of such a place, and in his astonishment he completely forgot about the twenty-yuan bed fee. Poet Zhao quickly squeezed his body over to the side, making every effort to give his temporary boss a little more room. He said, "Boss Zhou, please try to get some sleep."

Wandering Zhou was very satisfied with Poet Zhao's suggestion. He nodded, then lay down and immediately started snoring. At this point Poet Zhao suddenly remembered that Wandering Zhou had never paid his twenty-yuan bed fee, but he didn't dare kick him again.

The next morning, when Poet Zhao opened his eyes, his temporary boss had already put on his suit and tie. When Wandering Zhou saw that Poet Zhao had woken up, he feigned uncertainty and asked, "Did I hire you last night?"

"Yes," Poet Zhao answered, adding emphatically, "and at a salary of one hundred yuan a day."

Wandering Zhou nodded, then started issuing orders like a boss. The first thing he wanted Poet Zhao to do was to help him take the two boxes of artificial hymens to the warehouse. Poet Zhao looked at him blankly, not knowing where the warehouse was. Wandering Zhou saw Poet Zhao standing there without moving and barked, "Go, quick."

"Boss Zhou," Poet Zhao said, "where is your warehouse?"

"Where is your house?" Wandering Zhou asked in return, then added, "Your house is my warehouse."

Poet Zhao finally understood and thought that if this fellow wanted to use his house as a warehouse, that was fine, but he should pay for it. Poet Zhao asked with a grin, "Boss Zhou, how much do you plan to pay to rent the warehouse?"

Wandering Zhou looked down at the straw mat on the ground and said, "Twenty yuan a day."

Poet Zhao happily agreed. When he picked up those two cardboard boxes and prepared to go, Wandering Zhou called out to him again, and from one of the boxes he took out two stacks of flyers for artificial hymens. One pile of ads was for domestic Lady Meng Jiang hymens, which sold for one hundred yuan apiece, and the other was for imported Joan of Arc ones, at three hundred yuan apiece. Wandering Zhou took the two thick stacks of ads and, looking around, said, "Originally I was supposed to have twenty salespeople here, but with the car accident they are now all laid up at the hospital. Now I just have you, and that is not going to be enough."

At this point Song Gang opened his door and walked out. Poet Zhao called out, "Song Gang, I'll hire you to be a salesman and will pay you eighty yuan a day. Are you interested?"

Song Gang had not yet had a chance to react when Wandering Zhou patted his suit and said to Poet Zhao, "So I hire you to work for me for one hundred yuan a day, and then you turn around and hire someone else to work for you for eighty yuan, allowing you to come out earning twenty yuan?"

"No." Poet Zhao shook his head. "You will be the one paying the salary, and you will give him eighty yuan and then give me twenty yuan more as my finders fee."

Wandering Zhou continued patting his suit. "Then it would be me hiring him, not you."

Wandering Zhou saw that Song Gang was wearing a face mask despite the summer heat and asked curiously, "Is there something wrong with your mouth?"

"There's nothing wrong with my mouth," Song Gang replied, smiling behind his mask. "Its my lungs."

Wandering Zhou nodded. "I'll hire you, for one hundred yuan a day."

Song Gang didn't know what kind of work he was being hired for. He uncertainly mentioned his lung condition, but Wandering Zhou told him, "You won't need your lungs for this job. All you need is your mouth."

Wandering Zhou divided the flyers into two further piles and handed them to Poet Zhao and Song Gang, explaining that their assignment for the day was to distribute the flyers to every woman they saw. "Don't leave out anyone, not even the old ladies."