Mo Yan - Pow!

Lao Lan took two Zhonghua cigarettes from his tin case, tossed one to Father and lit the other for himself, striking a dignified pose with each puff.

‘Back in those days…’ Father stammered in his attempts to stay in the conversation, ‘…that's the way things were…’

‘So, you see, Lao Luo,’ Lao Lan said sombrely, ‘it's important to go out and make money. In times like these, a man with money is the patriarch—a man without it is a grandchild. With it, you stand straight and tall—without it, you have no backbone. Being the head of this little village doesn't mean a thing to me. Have you checked out the Lan clan lineage? With those who got official titles, even the lowest was at least a circuit intendant. I'm not content with what we once were. I want to lead people onto a path to riches. Not only that, I want to make this a rich village. We already have paved roads and streetlights and we've repaired the bridge. Next, we need to build a school, a pre-school and a retirement home. Of course, I have personal reasons for wanting a school, but it's more than that. I'm committed to restoring the Lan manor to its original grandeur and then opening it to the public as a tourist attraction, the proceeds all going to the village, of course. Lao Luo, a long friendship has existed between our families. Your grandfather, a beggar who stood outside our gate cursing all day long, became one of my grandfather's best friends. When my third uncle and his family fled to the Nationalist area during the Civil War, it was your grandfather who took them in his wagon. That's an act of friendship we Lans will not dare forget. So, my good brother, there's no reason for you and me not to join forces and do important things. I have big plans and the confidence to see them through!’ Lao Lan paused for another puff: ‘Lao Luo, I know you disapprove of how the butchers inject water into animal carcasses. But you need to look beyond our village. Where will you find another village in the county, in the province, in the whole country, where water isn't injected into the meat? If everyone else does it but we don't, we'll not only fail to earn a living but also wind up in the red. If no one else did it, we wouldn't either, of course. We live in an age that scholars characterize as that of the primitive accumulation of capital. Just what does that mean? Simply that people will make money by any means necessary, and that everyone's money is tainted by the blood of others. Once this phase has passed, moral behaviour will again be in fashion. But during times of immoral behaviour, if we persist in being moral we might as well starve to death. Lao Luo, there's much more to discuss, so you and I will sit down one day and have a good long talk. Oh, what's wrong with me! I forgot to pour tea. You'll have some, won't you?’

‘No tea for us,’ Mother said. ‘We've already taken up too much of your time. We'll just sit a moment longer and then be on our way.’

‘You're already here, so what's the hurry? Lao Luo, seeing you here is a rare treat. Of all the men in the village, you're the only one who never dropped by, until today.’ He stood up, went across to the cabinet and selected five long-stemmed glasses. ‘Instead of pouring tea, let's have a drink. That's how the Westerners do it.’

He took out a bottle of imported liquor—Remy Martin XO, brandy that sold in the mall for at least a thousand yuan. Mother and I once bought some for three hundred yuan a bottle in the city's infamous Corruption Lane, then resold it to a little store near the train station for four-fifty apiece. We knew that the people who sold them to us were relatives of officials who'd received them as gifts.

Lao Lan poured brandy into all five glasses.

‘Not for the children,’ Mother said.

‘A little taste won't hurt.’

The amber liquid created a strange light show in the glasses. Lao Lan held out his glass; we did the same. ‘Happy New Year!’

Our glasses clinked, a crisp, pleasant sound.

‘Happy New Year!’ we echoed.

‘Well, how do you like it?’ he asked as he swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it closely. ‘You can add ice, you can even add tea.’

‘It has an interesting aroma,’ Mother said.

‘How's a farmer supposed to tell good from bad?’ asked Father. ‘It's wasted on us.’

‘Don't say things like that, Lao Luo,’ responded Lao Lan. ‘I want you to be the Luo Tong before he went to the northeast, not this passive shell of a man. Stand straight, my brother. Once a bent back becomes a habit, it's impossible to break.’

‘Lao Lan's right, Dieh,’ I said.

‘Xiaotong, who do you think you are,’ Mother bawled at me as she gave me a slap, ‘calling him Lao Lan?’

‘Great!’ Lao Lan said with a smile. ‘That's exactly what I want you to call me. From now on it's Lao Lan. I love the sound of it.’

‘Lao Lan!’ Now it was Jiaojiao's turn.

‘Terrific!’ said Lao Lan excitedly. ‘Just terrific!’

Father held his glass out, tipped his head back and drained his glass. ‘Lao Lan,’ he said, ‘I have only one thing to say. I work for you.’

‘No, you don't—we work together. I'll tell you what I'm thinking. We can take ownership of the one-time commune canvas factory and refit the buildings for a meatpacking plant. My sources tell me that officials in town are up in arms over the injection of water in the meat and are about to mount a “safe meat project”. The next step will be to outlaw independent butchers, which will put an end to our prosperity. We need to act before that happens by opening a meatpacking plant. We'll welcome any villager willing to join our consortium. As for the rest, well, we'll never have a shortage of manpower, since unemployment is rampant in all villages…’ The phone rang. He picked it up, dealt briefly with his caller and then hung up. ‘Lao Luo,’ he said, looking up at the digital clock on the wall, ‘something's come up, so we'll have to continue this another day.’

We stood up and said our goodbyes, but not before Mother reached into her black, faux-leather bag, took out the bottle of Maotai and placed it on the tea table.

‘Yang Yuzhen,’ Lao Lan said, looking displeased, ‘what's this?’

‘Don't be angry, Village Head, this isn't a gift,’ Mother said, smiling meaningfully. ‘Yao Qi brought this to our house last night as a gift for Luo Tong. How could we presume to drink anything as expensive as this? We'd rather you had it.’

Lao Lan picked the bottle up and held it close to the light to get a better look. Then he smiled and handed it to me. ‘Xiaotong, you be the judge. Is this the real thing or a knock-off?’

Without even looking at the bottle, I said with complete assurance: ‘A knock-off.’

Lao Lan tossed the bottle into a bin against the wall and laughed heartily. ‘You are very discriminating, worthy Nephew!’

Tongue stiff, cheeks numb, eyes dull and heavy, one yawn after another. I fight to keep going, muddling along with my tale…a car horn startles me awake. Morning sunlight streams into the temple; there's bat guano on the floor. An ambiguous smile adorns the little, basin-like face of the Meat God; just looking at it gives me a sense of pride, mixed with remorse and trepidation. My past is a fairy tale or, more accurately, a big lie. I stare at him, he stares back, lively and expressive, almost as if he's about to speak to me. I feel as if I could animate him with a single puff of air, send him running happily out of the temple over to the feast and the meat forum to eat his fill and join the discussion. If the Meat God is really anything like me, then he's someone who can talk and talk and talk. Wise Monk continues to sit, lotus position, on his rush mat, unchanged. He casts a meaningful look at me before shutting his eyes. I recall my sleep being interrupted by pangs of hunger in the middle of the night, but when I awoke this morning I wasn't hungry at all. I'm now reminded of how, I think, the woman who resembles Aunty Wild Mule nourished me with her spurting milk. I lick my lips and detect its sweet taste again. This is the second day of the Carnivore Festival, when forums and discussion groups on a variety of topics will take place in guest houses and restaurants in the twin cities, followed by all manner of banquets. Barbecue stands will continue in operation in the field across the temple, albeit with a new batch of cooks. At the moment, none of them and no prospective customers have arrived. No one but fast-moving cleanup crews are up and working at this hour, busy as battlefield mop-up units.