Mo Yan - Pow!

Mother was studying Father, who had stepped away from the chopping board, with a look so ambiguous that even I, a son who thought he could read her mind and anticipate her every move, had no idea what she was thinking. But here's what it boiled down to: the moment Father split that pig's head in two, Mother's mood underwent a change. She pursed her lips slightly and poured half a bucket of water into the pot on the stove, a little too forcefully, I thought, since some of it splashed over the sides onto a box of matches on the stove rack. She then tossed the bucket into the corner, where it rattled noisily and gave us a bit of a fright. Father stayed where he was, looking awkward and unsure and not a pretty sight. We all watched as Mother picked up half the head by the ear and tossed it into the pot, followed by the other half. I wished I could have reminded her that the best way to bring out the flavour of a pig's head was to season it with fennel, ginger, green onions, garlic, Chinese cinnamon and cardamom and, finally, a spoonful of Korean vinegar, but that was Aunty Wild Mule's secret recipe. In days past, I'd often sneaked over to her restaurant with Father to feast on meat dishes she'd prepared, and more than once I'd watched her cook a pig's head. I'd even seen Father split one for her—one chop, maybe two, but never more than three, and it was done. She'd gaze at him with admiring eyes. Once I heard her say: ‘Luo Tong, I say, Luo Tong, you're the best at anything you put your hand to, with no help from any teacher!’

There was something special about Aunty Wild Mule's pig's head, which had earned her a fine reputation, not only in our village but also, thanks to her greedy customers, all the way to the market town fifteen or twenty li away. Even Lao Han, who had the onerous responsibility of overseeing township officials’ dietary concerns, made the trip every three or four days. He arrived with a shout of ‘Old Wild!’ and she came out running. ‘Elder Brother Han,’ she said (that's what she called him, a term of endearment). ‘Got one in the pot? I'll take half.’ ‘I sure do. It'll be ready in a minute. Have some tea while you wait.’ She poured the tea and lit his cigarette, smiling broadly. ‘Did you say that officials from the city are here?’ ‘They're fans of your cooking. Mayor Hua says he wants to meet you. Old Wild, your future looks bright. Have you heard that his wife's on her deathbed? She won't last more than a couple of days. Once she's gone, he might just take you home. But when you're the mayor's wife, living in the lap of luxury, don't turn your back on your friends!’ Father coughed then to attract Uncle Han's attention. He turned and spotted Father, stared at him with buggy yellow eyes. ‘Luo Tong, you old son of a bitch, is that you? What the fuck are you doing here?’ ‘Why the fuck shouldn't I be here?’ Father replied, neither servile nor overbearing. Uncle Han's taut face relaxed as he absorbed the language of Father's reply, and then smiled, revealing a set of teeth as white as limestone. ‘Be careful,’ he said, ‘you're nothing but a bum, while Wild Mule, well, she's a piece of fruit just ripe for the picking. There are plenty of potential pickers, and if you try to keep this juicy titbit to yourself those others might gang up and relieve you of your cock.’ ‘You can both shut your traps,’ snapped Aunty Wild Mule, ‘and you can stop treating me like a toy for your entertainment, a little something for you to snack on. Get me mad, and I'll take the knife to both of you.’ ‘My, my, what a feisty thing we've got here,’ Han said. ‘After all the sweet talk, how can you turn on me like that? Aren't you afraid of offending one of your most loyal customers?’ Aunty Wild Mule pulled half a cooked pig's head out of the pot with her steel hook; it was coated with a fragrant red sauce. I couldn't take my eyes off it and was drooling before I knew it. She laid it on a chopping board, picked up a gleaming cleaver, twirled it, and— whack —chopped off a fist-sized piece. Sticking a skewer through it, she held it up to me. ‘Take it, Xiaotong, you greedy little cat, before your chin drops off!’ ‘I thought you were saving that for me, Old Wild,’ grumbled Uncle Han, clearly annoyed. ‘Mayor Hua says he wants to sample your meat!’ ‘You mean Mayor Dickhead, that piss-ant of a Party secretary? He may have power over you but do you honestly believe he can handle me?’ ‘Aren't you the fierce one! And I mean fierce! I give up, I'm no match for you. Does that let me off the hook? Now, hurry up and wrap the meat in lotus leaves so I can be on my way. But I'm not lying. Mayor Hua plans to come here.’ ‘Put your Mayor up against my boy, and there's no comparison. Mayor Hua smells like piss, doesn't he, son?’ Aunty Wild Mule asked me genially. I wasn't about to waste my time responding to such an idiotic question. ‘OK, then, like shit, how's that?’ asked Uncle Han. ‘Our Mr Mayor Hua smells like shit, and we won't dick around with him, OK? As for you, dear Aunty, won't you please give me the meat I came for?’ Han took out his pocket watch and looked at it with increasing annoyance: ‘How long have we known each other, Old Wild? I beg you, don't smash my rice bowl. My wife and children depend on me to put food on the table.’ Aunty Wild Mule expertly picked out the bones of what was left of the pig's head, singeing her hands in the process and sucking in her breath as her fingers nimbly opened up the head yet somehow retained its shape. She wrapped it in lotus leaves, tied it with braided grass and pushed it over to him. ‘Now, get out of here. Go pay your respects to your patrons!’ If Mother had thoughts of preparing a pig's head that came close to Aunty Wild Mule's, she'd have had to add a spoonful of finely ground alum, Aunty Wild Mule's secret ingredient. She never hid her secrets from me. But Mother clapped on the lid without adding anything, content to let it cook in plain water. How could anything good come of that? But it was, after all, pig's head. And me? I was, after all, a boy who loved to eat meat but who hadn't enjoyed the experience in years.

The fire in the belly of the stove was as hot as blazes. The flames lit up Mother's face. Thanks to the pine oil, the firewood burnt hot and long, making it unnecessary to add any more. Mother could have walked off to do something else but she chose not to. She sat in front of the stove with quiet serenity, hugging her knees and resting her chin in her hands as she stared at the kaleidoscopic crackling of the fire, which never strayed from its purpose. Her eyes? They radiated a luminous sparkle.

The water began to boil, making a rumbling sound, as if from far away. I was sitting in the doorway with Jiaojiao, who yawned loudly, her open mouth a scene of perfect little white teeth.

‘Put her to bed,’ Mother said to Father without turning.

Father picked Jiaojiao up and stepped out into the yard. When he returned, she was in his arms, head on his shoulder, snoring softly. He stood behind Mother, waiting for something.

‘A comforter and pillows are stacked at the head of the kang. Cover her with the one with orchids for now. I'll make you another one tomorrow.’

‘That's putting you to an lot of trouble,’ Father said.

‘Stop talking nonsense,’ Mother replied. ‘Even if she was a child you picked up off the street, I couldn't make her sleep on a pile of hay, could I?’ As Father carried Jiaojiao into the bedroom, Mother blew up at me: ‘What are you hanging round here for? Go outside and pee and then off to bed! A slow boil like this won't be ready till morning.’

My eyelids were getting heavy, my thoughts growing fuzzy. I felt as if the special aroma of one of Aunty Wild Mule's cooked heads was floating in the air, coming at me in waves. All I had to do was close my eyes for it to settle in front of me. I stood up. ‘Where am I supposed to sleep?’ I asked.