‘Calm down, my friend,’ Baldy says. ‘We’ve known each other for years, and even if you brought me a pair of donkeys made of cardboard, I’d buy them and burn them in offering to the Kitchen God.’
Old Jin sticks out his hand. ‘How much?’
Baldy reaches out to clasp the other man’s hand, both concealed by their sleeves.
‘That’s how it’s done around here,’ Li Yidou whispers to an obviously puzzled Mo Yan. ‘The price for livestock is always given by the number of fingers.’
The expressions on the faces of Baldy and the man selling the donkeys speak volumes. They look like actors in a mime drama.
Mo Yan’s imagination is piqued by the expressions on their faces.
Baldy’s arm twitches. ‘That’s my final offer,’ he says. ‘I can’t go any higher, not a penny!’
The arm of the man selling the donkey also twitches. ‘I want this much!’
Baldy pulls his hand back. ‘I told you,’ he says, ‘I can’t go any higher. Take it or take your donkeys away!’
The other man sighs. ‘Baldy Sun,’ he says loudly, ‘Baldy Sun, you son of a bitch, you can go straight to Hell, where all the donkeys will chew you up and spit you out!’
‘They’ll chew you up first, you damned donkey peddler!’ Baldy fires back.
The man unties the ropes. The deal is made.
‘Mother of our little daughter, give Old Jin here a bowl of the hard stuff.’
A grease-spattered middle-aged woman emerges with a large white bowl filled with liquor and hands it to Old Jin.
Old Jin takes the bowl but doesn’t drink. Instead he looks at the woman and says, ‘Sister-in-law, I've brought you a couple of black males today. Two big donkey dicks should be enough for you to gnaw on for a while.’
With spittle flying, the woman says, I’ll never get my hands on one of those trinkets, no matter how many there are. But your old lady ought to be content with the one she has at home.’
With a loud guffaw, Old Jin gulps down the liquor and hands her the bowl. Then, after tying the ropes around his waist, he says loudly, I’ll be back later for the money, Baldy.’
‘Go on about your business,’ Baldy replies. ‘But don’t forget to buy a “meaty offering” to pay your respects to the Widow Cui.’
‘She’s already got someone,’ Old Jin says, ‘so I won’t have the good fortune to pay my respects anymore.’ With that, he strides through the shop, past the counter, and out onto Donkey Avenue.
By this time Baldy has his mallet in hand and is ready to begin the slaughter. Turning to Li Yidou, he says, ‘You and the reporter stand over there, old friend. You don’t want to ruin your clothes.’
Mo Yan notices that the two donkeys are meekly huddling together in a corner, neither trying to run away nor braying unhappily. They are, however, trembling.
‘No matter how feisty a donkey might be,’ Li Yidou comments, ‘when it sees him, all it can do is tremble.’
Baldy walks up behind one of the donkeys, raises the blood-spattered mallet in his hand, and brings it down hard in the space between the animal’s leg and its hoof. The donkey’s hindquarters crash to the ground. The next blow lands on the donkey’s forehead, laying the animal out flat, its legs spread out in front like wooden clubs. Instead of trying to run away, the other donkey presses its head hard against the wall, as if trying to push all the way through.
Baldy then drags a basin over and places it under the collapsed donkey’s neck, picks up his butcher knife, and severs the animal’s carotid artery, sending a torrent of purplish blood into the basin…
After witnessing the donkey slaughter, Mo Yan and Li Yidou are back out on Donkey Avenue. ‘That was damned cruel,’ Mo Yan says.
‘A lot more humane than the old days,’ Li Yidou says.
‘What was it like then?’
‘Back in the last years of the Qing dynasty, there was a butcher shop here on Donkey Avenue known for its delicious donkey meat. Here’s the way they did it: They dug a hole in the ground and covered it with thick boards with holes drilled in the four corners for the donkey’s legs. That way it couldn’t put up a fight. Then they drenched the donkey with scalding water and scraped every inch of the hide. The customers would choose the part they felt like eating, and the butcher would cut it out for them then and there. Sometimes all the meat would be sold off, and you could still hear the animal’s pitiful wheezing. Would you call that cruel?’
‘You bet I would,’ Mo Yan says, clicking his tongue.
‘The Xue Family Butcher Shop reintroduced this method not long ago, and did a land-office business until the city fathers put a stop to it.’
‘Good for them!’
‘If you want the truth,’ Li Yidou says, ‘the meat wasn’t very good at all.’
‘Your mother-in-law says that the quality of meat is affected by the fear an animal feels just before it’s killed. That was in one of your stories.’
‘You’ve got a good memory.’
‘I’ve eaten braised live fish,’ Mo Yan says. ‘Even when its body is steaming under that gravy, its mouth keeps opening and closing, like it’s trying to say something.’
‘There’s no paucity of examples of cruel eating practices,’ Li Yidou says. ‘My mother-in-law is an expert in that area.’
‘Are there many differences between the parents-in-law in your stories and your real-life in-laws?’
‘Night and day,’ Li Yidou says, blushing.
‘I admire your nerve,’ Mo Yan says. ‘If your stories actually get published one day, your wife and your father-in-law will have you braised, that’s for sure.’
‘I wouldn’t mind. They could even steam or deep-fry me, as long as the stories got published.’
‘I don’t think it’d be worth it.’
‘I do.’
‘Let’s talk about it some more tonight,’ Mo Yan says. ‘You’re OK in my book. There’s no doubt that you’re more talented than lam.’
‘You flatter me, Sir.’
IV
The luncheon is held at the Yichi Tavern.
Mo Yan occupies the seat of honor, Secretary Hu is the host. Seven or eight other people are seated around the table, all city fathers. Yu Yichi and Li Yidou fill out the guest list. With all his experience, Yu Yichi cuts a dashing figure. Li Yidou, on the other hand, is very uncomfortable, and doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Secretary Hu, who looks to be in his mid-thirties, has a square face, big eyes, hair combed straight back, and an oily, shiny face; poised and dignified, and extremely well spoken, he wears his authority like a cloak.
After three rounds of toasts, Secretary Hu stands up, saying he’s expected at several more luncheons, and leaves. Deputy Head Jin of the Propaganda Department picks up the decanter to host the next round. A half-hour later, Mo Yan’s head is spinning, his lips like pieces of wood.
‘Deputy Head Jin,’ Mo Yan declares, ‘I never thought you’d turn out to be such a fine individual… I figured you to be a… child-eating demon…’
Mo Yan does not notice the beads of cold sweat that suddenly appears on Li Yidou’s face.
‘Our Deputy Head is an accomplished musician – he plays a number of instruments and sings as well,’ one of the dignitaries says. ‘You should hear him sing the part of the legendary Magistrate Bao. His stentorian voice is as good as the great Qiu Shengxu!’
‘Let’s hear some, Deputy Head Jin,’ Mo Yan proposes.
‘If you don’t mind my making a fool of myself,’ Deputy Head Jin says.
He gets to his feet, clears his throat, and, in a thunderous voice with a series of crescendos and diminuendos, sings a long aria without turning red in the face or gasping for air. When it is over, he clasps his hands and announces, ‘Please don’t laugh!’