Howard Goldblatt (Editor) - Chairman Mao Would Not Be Amused – Fiction From Today

A pretty common opening, if you ask me. What do you think? I realize that my readers are concerned about why Wheatie Liu would feign illness following the death of Talented Wu. So here goes.

In Fritter Hollow, July is the best month to eat corn. On one particular night, Broad Bean's wife, Jade Beauty Wu, sweat oozing from every pore in her body, was boiling a pot of corn. Broad Bean was eating fragrant kernels right off a cob, using both hands. As he munched away, he told his wife to light a coil of mosquito incense. She walked over to the kang and lit one. "That guy pocketed seven or eight hundred just by getting sick," she muttered for the umpteenth time. His patience long since worn thin, Broad Bean reached out and poked her a couple of times on one of those fleshy spots of hers. "Fuck you!" he said.

Broad Bean's wife giggled. Picking up the mosquito coil, she walked over and set it down on the windowsill, then leaned her head back to sniff the air. "What a stink! If fucking doesn't kill me, the stink will."

Broad Bean also leaned his head back, then gagged and turned to run outside; before he got there, he puked all over the floor.

"You're supposed to do that in the pigpen," his wife said. "Who do you expect to eat it in the house? Your father?".

"Fuck you! I'll feed it to your mother if I feel like it! What if somebody heard you?" Broad Bean wiped his mouth. "I think I'm going to do it again."

His wife went outside and returned with the family pig in tow to clean up Broad Bean's yellow mess, but the animal turned its nose up at it.

"Fuck you, you old sow!" Broad Bean kicked the pig. "You're more pampered than Wheatie Liu!"

"That Wheatie Liu is no one to fool with," Broad Bean's wife said from the side. "I guess everyone's scared to make a phone call to the district office."

"Not so loud. Why don't you go?" Broad Bean said. "Take a look outside, make sure there's nobody around."

Fritter Hollow had a telephone, but hardly anyone ever used it. Countryfolk don't need such things; if they have something to say, that's what fences are for. If the district office called, it was always to talk to someone in charge about tying off tubes or wearing diaphragms or fertilizer costs or planting trees or water conservation. So there isn't much to say about telephones. The only reason they ever came into the lives of the citizens of Fritter Hollow was because of the episode when Talented Wu cut Wheatie Liu seventeen times, an incident that resulted in the loss of one of Maple Leaf's eyes. Big Eye Liu at the district clinic later had this to say: "You didn't think of making a phone call? If you'd called the clinic, would she be blind in one eye today?" Now that caused a real stir among the people.

In the final analysis, residents of Fritter Hollow thought about many things in their day-to-day lives: plows, hoes, axes, spades, picks, baskets, hampers, creels, carrying poles, wicker ornaments, pickle vats, manure sacks, rats, insects, dogs, pigs, donkeys, cows, cats, mules, goats, sheep, peppers, aniseed, salt, vinegar, children, women, eating, sex, and more; but they never thought about telephones. Until August 2, 1992, that is. That was five days after the death of Talented Wu, and Greater Principle Zhou's younger brother, Lesser Principle, suddenly thought about the telephone. "Why doesn't somebody call the epidemic-prevention station?"

Greater Principle Zhou spread himself across the counter and said to Scarface, "Let the epidemic-prevention people come over and collect the body of that fucker Talented Wu."

"Who will make the call?" Scarface asked as he handed over the telephone. "You?"

Greater Principle Zhou clammed up at that and rolled his eyes. "You want me to offend Wheatie Liu?" He spat in disgust.

No one else advocated telephoning the district office either, even though the stench from the ripening corpse was getting to them all, and they were dabbing wine on their upper lips to counteract it. Whose idea that was no one knows, but soon everyone was doing it; even the notoriously henpecked Kiddie Wu managed to talk his wife into giving him some wine, which he then guzzled down, having suffered a long dry spell.

Comrade New Day Tian once said that telling a story is a bit like weaving a basket: hard to start and hard to wrap up. But my stories seem to start out all right; it's wrapping them up that I have trouble with. This story about Fritter Hollow is a case in point; I have no idea how to end it. But I'll give it a try:

Neither Broad Bean Tian nor Scarface went straight home that day, since Wheatie Liu seemed to be softening his position a bit. They talked and they cajoled until Wheatie Liu decided to go with the current; he gave the OK to bury Talented Wu and put his own vengeance to rest. Broad Bean Tian and Scarface wasted no time getting on with the preparations, heading immediately for Talented Wu's home, where they were greeted with the revolting sight of a steady stream of maggots crawling out the door…

Sorry, I can't do it. That ending simply doesn't work since in point of fact, it was Wheatie Liu who summoned Broad Bean Tian, and not as I have given it above. This, then, is how the tale is supposed to end:

Without warning, Wheatie Liu summoned Broad Bean to his home. Seated all nice and proper, he smiled and said, "Call the fucking epidemic-prevention station, and have them dispose of that murderer!"

Broad Bean could hardly believe his ears. "You want me to call the district?" he asked with staring eyes.

"That's right."

It was another scorcher that day, and Broad Bean's shirt was soaked through by the time he reached the country store, where several men were drinking. They were quickly let in on the news that Wheatie Liu had told Broad Bean to phone the district.

Before I take up the matter of lime, I need to deal with the aftermath of Broad Bean's telephone call to the district. The very next day, two very ordinary individuals-one tall, the other short, but enough of that-came to the village; when they strode into Talented Wu's courtyard, they drew the attention of Fritter Hollow villagers, who followed behind them-at some distance-to see what they would do inside the house of Talented Wu, the murderer. Everyone had pretty much stayed clear of the place over the past six days, but now a few people rested against the compound wall just in time to see the two district personnel come charging out of the house, ashen faced, and run straight to the medium-sized tree outside his yard, where they emptied the contents of their stomachs.

"What are those chickens doing in the yard?" someone asked.

"Eating maggots!" one of the district personnel replied. He had been vomiting so energetically that tears clouded his eyes.

Repulsion quickly showed on the villagers' faces.

"We have to spread some lime," the man said, "and put something under our noses."

Just before dark, Fritter Hollow villagers saw the two men from the district epidemic-prevention station enter Talented Wu's house and spread lime all over the floor; it showed up very white in the fading light of dusk but was quickly marked up by chicken tracks.

That evening, villagers repeatedly chased chickens out of the yard, sending the squawking birds flying over the wall in the direction of the tree.

How about that, enough of an ending for you?

No? Then, how about this (briefly):

The day after the epidemic-prevention personnel spread lime in and around the house was yet another scorcher. The villagers, having learned that Wheatie Liu had said it was OK to put Talented Wu into the ground, rushed over to watch, turning it into a festive occasion and raising clouds of dust. There they saw Wheatie Liu, in his straw hat, walk over to the shade of the tree in the company of the two district personnel; people at the rear of the crowd were too far away to hear what was being said but not too far away to see the strangers put on rubber gloves and spread a sheet of plastic on the ground, then dip their gauze masks in strong wine.