Mo Yan - Pow!

‘No. I want to talk to you about school.’

‘Boss Lan,’ Mother said, ‘the boy doesn't want to go to school. He wants to work at the plant.’

‘Is that so?’ His eyes narrowed into a smile. ‘Why?’

Snapping awake, I began to explain: ‘Because the things they teach in school are useless and because I have feelings for meat. I can hear it talk.’

Surprised at my unexpected response, Lao Lan burst out laughing. ‘You're a true wonder. I'd better not offend you because, who knows, you might really have extraordinary powers. But you still need schooling.’

‘I'm not going,’ I said. ‘Forcing me to attend school is a waste of my life. I sneak into the plant through the sewer ditch every day, and I've discovered lots of problems. If you let me work there, I can help you solve them for you.’

‘Enough of this nonsense,’ Father said, impatiently. ‘Go to bed. We have things to discuss.’

I could have carried on, but the look on Father's face stopped me. ‘Xiaotong!’ he roared.

So I went into the bedroom, grumbling to myself, and sat in a mahogany chair we'd just bought, intent on watching and listening to the adults in the other room.

Lao Lan swirled the wine in his tall-stemmed glass. ‘Lao Luo, Yuzhen,’ he said unemotionally, ‘what's your view? Will we make or lose money?’

‘If the price of meat doesn't rise, then we're bound to lose,’ Mother said, clearly worried. ‘They won't give us a higher price just because we don't inject water into our meat.’

‘That's why I want to talk to you,’ Lao Lan said as he sipped his wine. ‘Over the past few days, Huang Biao and I have visited meatpacking plants in several nearby counties, pretending to be meat-sellers. We discovered that they all inject their meat products with water.’

‘But we broadcast our assurance in front of those dignitaries,’ Father said softly. ‘That was only a few days ago. Our words are probably still ringing in their ears.’

‘My friend, our hands are tied. The way things are these days, even though we're unwilling to inject our meat with water, others aren't. So soon we'll not only lose money but also be out of business.’

‘Can't we think of something?’ Father asked.

‘Like what? What are our options? There's nothing I want more than to do business the way it ought to be done. If you can figure out a way of staying in business without injecting water, I'm all for it.’

‘We can report them to the authorities,’ Father said weakly.

‘Is that what you call a good idea? The authorities know exactly what's going on but there's nothing they can do about it,’ he said coldly.

‘Crabs go where the currents take them,’ Mother said. ‘If others inject water and we don't, the only thing that proves is how stupid we are.’

‘We can try another line of work,’ Father offered. ‘Who says we have to be butchers?’

‘That's all we know,’ Lan said with a caustic laugh. ‘It's what we're good at. Your ability to evaluate beef on the hoof, for instance, is part of the butcher system.’

‘What good am I anyway?’ Father said. ‘I have no talents.’

‘None of us have any talents, except this,’ Lan said. ‘But we've got an edge, and if we inject our meat with water then we'll do a better job of it than the rest.’

‘You have to do it, Luo Tong,’ Mother said. ‘We can't operate at a loss.’

‘If that's what you both want to, then go ahead,’ Father said. ‘The key is Lao Han at the Inspection Station—will he give us trouble?’

‘He wouldn't dare,’ Lao Lan said. ‘He's a dog we feed.’

‘When the monkeys attack, the dogs grow fangs,’ Father said.

‘You two do what you have to, and I'll take care of Lao Han. It won't take more than a few rounds of mah-jongg. I'm sure he remembers that his station is a product of the meatpacking plant—it wouldn't exist if not for us.’

‘There's nothing I can say,’ Father conceded, ‘except that I hope we don't inject our meat with formaldehyde.’

‘That goes without saying,’ Lao Lan responded solemnly. ‘It's a matter of conscience. Most of our customers are ordinary citizens, and we have a responsibility to safeguard their health. We'll inject only the purest water. Of course, adding a trace of formaldehyde would pose no danger—it could even protect them against cancer, slow the ageing process, prolong their life. But we've vowed not to add formaldehyde. We have long-range goals. We have moved beyond the independent butcher system. Now that we've come together as a united slaughterhouse, there are limits to what we do, and that includes not experimenting with the people's health.’ Smiling, he continued: ‘Before too long we'll evolve into a major enterprise with an automated production line—a living animal in one end and sausage and canned meats out the other. By then the water issue will be irrelevant.’

‘Under your leadership, we're certain to achieve that goal,’ declared Mother, charmed by his words.

‘Dream on, you two,’ Father said in icy tones. ‘But let's come back to the water issue. The question is: How do we do it? And how much? And what do we do if someone reports us? In the past, it was every family for itself. But now there are more mouths than we can control…’

I walked into the room. ‘Dieh,’ I said, ‘I know an ideal way to inject water.’

‘What are you doing out of bed?’ he demanded. ‘Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong.’

‘I'm not!’

‘Let's hear what he has to say,’ Lao Lan said. ‘Go ahead, Xiaotong, what's your brilliant idea?’

‘I know how it's done. I've watched every family in Slaughterhouse Village do it. They attach a high-pressure hose to the heart of a newly slaughtered animal. But since the animal is dead, its organs and cells can no longer absorb the water and half of it is lost. Why can't we inject water when the animal is still alive?’

‘Makes sense,’ Lao Lan said. ‘Go on, my young friend.’

‘I watched a doctor administer an IV once, and that gave me an idea. We'll do the same with the animals before they're slaughtered.’

‘But that's so slow,’ said Mother.

‘It doesn't have to be an IV,’ Lao Lan volunteered. ‘There are other ways. It's a great idea, no matter how you look at it. Injecting water into a living animal and into a dead one are radically different concepts.’

‘Adding water to a dead animal is injection,’ I said. ‘But adding it to a living animal is something different. It's cleansing their organs and their circulatory system. If you ask me, this meets both your output goals and your standard for high-quality meat.’

‘Worthy Nephew Xiaotong, I'm impressed,’ Lao Lan said. His fingers shook as he took a cigarette out of his case, lit it and took a drag. ‘Were you listening, Lao Luo? Your son puts us old-timers to shame. Our brains are stuck in a rut. He's right, we wouldn't be injecting meat with water—we'd be cleansing our cows of toxins and improving the quality of their meat. We can call it meat-cleansing.’

‘Does this mean I can work in the plant?’ I asked.

‘In theory you don't have to go to school, since you could cause Teacher Cai to die of apoplexy. But your future is at stake, and you're better off listening to your parents.’

‘I don't want to listen to them—I want to listen to you.’

‘I'm neutral on this,’ he said evasively. ‘If you were my son, I wouldn't force you to go to school. But you're not my son.’

‘So you're in favour of my working in the plant?’

‘What do you say, Lao Luo?’ Lao Lan asked.

‘No.’ Father was adamant. ‘Your mother and I both work there, and that's enough for one family.’

‘This plant will never succeed without me,’ I said. ‘None of you has an emotional attachment to meat, so you can't produce a top-quality product. Try me out for a month? If I don't do a good job, you can fire me and I'll go back to school. But if I do a good job, I'll stay on for a year. After that, I'll either return to school or go out on my own and see what the world has in store for me.’