Mo Yan - Pow!

But, led by Mother, we squeezed in through the gate and pushed Tiangua out of the way. I saw the well-fed wolfhounds jump to their feet, eyes and teeth flashing in the light, metal chains ringing out as they were pulled taut. They were as close to being wolves as dogs could possibly be, and those chains were all that kept them from tearing us limb from limb. On that earlier day, when I'd come alone to invite Lao Lan to dinner, they hadn't seemed as frightening.

‘Tiangua,’ Mother said once she'd elbowed her way into the yard, ‘it's all right if your dieh isn't home. We're just as happy saying hello to you and your niang and chatting for a few minutes.’

Before Tiangua could react, we spotted Lao Lan, standing big and tall in the doorway of his home's eastern wing.

The three cat-nappers are merciless. One swipe of the net and the cat is caught, one swing of the club and it's out. Into the burlap sack it goes. I want to rush to the cat's rescue but I've been sitting with my legs under me so long that they've gone to sleep. ‘She's just had kittens,’ I shout, ‘let her go !’ My voice cuts through the air like a knife—even I can feel it—but they turn a deaf ear to my cry, their attention caught by the cluster of ostriches sleeping in the corner. They charge at the huddled birds excitedly, like starving wolves. Startled awake, the ostriches screech in anticipation of the inevitable fight or flight. One of the birds, a male, leaps up and strikes the net-holder in the nose with one of its powerful legs. Then the whole group, necks stretched as far as they'll go, takes off in all directions, feet flying; but they quickly come together and bolt for the highway. The thud of ostrich feet pounding the ground fades into the darkness and then vanishes altogether. The injured cat-napper is sitting on the ground holding his nose, blood seeping between his fingers. His partners help him to his feet and console him in hushed voices. But the moment they let go, he slumps back to the ground, as if his bones have turned to tendons and sinews no longer capable of support. His partners’ consoling words are drowned out by his sobs and whimpers. Just then another of them discovers the three headless ostriches, and the thrill nearly throws him off balance. ‘Number One,’ he shouts, jumping in excitement, ‘stop crying, there's meat !’ The injured man stops crying and drops his hand from his nose. All six eyes are riveted to the three ostrich carcasses; the men seem frozen in place. Then the excitement claims them, including the one with the injury—he jumps to his feet. They throw the cat out of their sack—it runs in circles, mewing, a sign that the blow was serious but not fatal—and try to stuff in the dead ostriches; but they're too big, they won't fit. Plan B: forget the sack and drag the ostrich carcasses by the feet, one apiece, like donkeys pulling a wagon onto the highway. I watch them go, following the progress of their elongated silhouettes.

A pair of electric heaters warmed the eastern wing of Lao Lan's house, the thick tungsten wires burning red behind transparent covers. All those years of scavenging with Mother had taught me a lot, no lesson more valuable than how electric appliances work. I knew that his heater was not energy efficient, that the large amounts of electricity it consumed made it impractical for most people. Lao Lan was wearing a V-necked cable-knit sweater over a white shirt and a red-striped tie in a room that was uncomfortably hot. He'd shaved off his sideburns and had his hair cut short, which combined to draw attention to the mutilated ear. His freshly shaved cheeks had begun to go slack and his eyelids were slightly puffy, but none of that had any effect on my new image of him. A peasant? I hardly think so. No, clearly someone on the government payroll. His attire and demeanour put my father, with his wool tunic, to shame. Nothing in his expression indicated that he was unhappy with us for turning up without an invitation. On the contrary, he politely invited us to sit and even patted me on the head. My rear end settled comfortably into the softness of his black leather sofa, but unnaturally so, as if I was sitting on a cloud. Jiaojiao shifted her little bottom on the leather sofa and giggled. Both Father and Mother respectfully sat on its edge, so respectfully they couldn't possibly have appreciated its comforts. Lao Lan walked over to a cabinet by the wall and brought back a lovely metal box; he opened it, took out pieces of chocolate wrapped in gold foil and handed them to Jiaojiao and me. She took a bite and spat it out: ‘It's medicine!’

‘It's not medicine, it's chocolate,’ I corrected her, displaying some of the knowledge I'd acquired while scavenging with Mother. ‘Eat it. It's nutritious and it's packed with calories. All the athletes eat it.’

The look of approval on Lao Lan's face filled me with pride. But I knew a lot more than that. Scavenging is life's encyclopedia. Picking up junk and sorting it into categories is the same as reading a book of facts. The older I got, the more I grew to appreciate the wealth of knowledge I'd acquired during those years; they constituted my elementary, middle and high school, and yielded endless benefits.

Jiaojiao refused to eat another bite of chocolate, so Lao Lan returned to the cabinet and brought out a tray of hazelnuts, almonds, pistachios and walnuts, which he set down on a tea table by the sofa. Then he knelt in front of us, picked up a small hammer and cracked open a walnut and a hazelnut, carefully scooping out the meat and laying it in front of my sister.

‘You'll spoil them, Village Head,’ complained Mother.

‘Yang Yuzhen,’ Lao Lan said, ignoring her comment, ‘you're a lucky woman.’

‘Lucky?’ Mother remarked. ‘You can't be lucky with a face like a monkey.’

Lao Lan looked at Mother. ‘Anyone who can denigrate herself,’ he said with a smile, ‘deserves my respect.’

‘Village Head,’ Mother said, blushing, ‘this has been a wonderful New Year's for my family, thanks to you, and we're here to deliver our holiday greetings. Xiaotong, Jiaojiao, get down on your knees and kowtow to his honour.’

‘No, no, no…’ Lao Lan jumped to his feet, waving his large hands. ‘Yang Yuzhen, only you could think of such an elaborate courtesy, one I hardly deserve. Have you taken a good look at the children you're bringing up?’ He bent to pat us on the head. ‘You have a true Golden Boy and Jade Girl here. Nothing can stop them from enjoying a wonderful future. As for us, no matter how hard we struggle, we'll always be loaches at the bottom of a ditch. Not a dragon among us. But them, they're different. I may not know my horses but I do know my people.’ He reached out, cupped our chins and looked closely into our faces. He then glanced up at our parents: ‘I want you to take a good look at these remarkable faces. I guarantee that these two will make you proud.’

‘They don't deserve such a compliment, Village Head,’ Mother demurred. ‘They're only a couple of children who hardly understand a thing.’

‘Village Head,’ Father added, ‘dragons beget dragons, and phoenixes beget their kind. With a dieh like me—’

‘That's no way to talk!’ Lao Lan interrupted. ‘Lao Luo, we peasants have muddled along for decades, until even we have no respect for ourselves. Ten years ago, I walked into a restaurant in town and didn't know how to order a single thing off the menu. The waiter, an impatient man, tapped the edge of the table with his ballpoint pen and said, “What do you peasants know about ordering food? Here's my recommendation: order a meat and vegetable stew. It's cheap and it's filling.” “Stew?” I said. “You mean leftovers you toss in the pot and heat up?” One of of my companions urged me to obey but I refused. “What do you think we are, a bunch of pigs, only good for eating other people's trash?” Whether or not he liked it, I wanted some specialities of the house, so I ordered a “Green Dragon Lying in Snow” and “Fried Pork with Celery Sprouts”. But when they arrived from the kitchen, Green Dragon Lying in Snow was nothing but a cucumber in a bed of sugar sprinkles. So I complained to the waiter. He simply rolled his eyes and said, “That's Green Dragon Lying in Snow,” and then turned to leave, but not before I heard him swear: “Hick turtles!” That made me so mad that smoke nearly came out of my ears, but I swallowed my anger. I also made a vow that, before too long, this country turtle would control the lives of those city tortoises!’