The Republic of Wine (11 page)

It was noon by the time he reached town, tired and thirsty; Little Treasure was hot as a cinder in his arms. He reached into his pocket, found he still had a few coins, and headed for a little wineshop, where he sat at a corner table and ordered a bowlful of bottom liquor, most of which he poured down Little Treasure's throat, saving a mouthful for himself. When he raised his hand to drive off some flies buzzing around Little Treasure's head, his hand froze in mid-air, as if struck by lightning.

There, in another corner, sat the bearded man, the little demon who had thrown such fear into Jin Yuanbao's heart perched atop the table and drinking a glass of liquor as if it were water, his practiced, easy movements showing he knew his way around such an establishment. His body did not fit his movements or his manner, creating an absurd sight for everyone in the room, waiter and customer alike, their eyes glued to the little demon. But the bearded man seemed oblivious to the stares around him, too busy drinking his Penetrating Fragrance to notice. Yuanbao quickly finished his drink, tossed four coins onto the table, picked up Little Treasure, and ran out of the shop, his head so low his chin nearly touched his chest. Materialistic by nature, he was known in his village for his courage; but today was different - he had become a man terrified of his own suspicions.

It was afternoon nap time when Yuanbao found himself standing in front of the Special Purchasing Section of the Culinary Academy, which was housed in a spotless white building with a domed roof and ringed by a high brick wall with a moon gate. A garden of exotic plants and flowers, evergreens, and lush hedges surrounded an oval pond with a man-made hill that spewed water like a volcano, but in the shape of a chrysanthemum, an unending geyser of blooming and falling. The water splashed noisily when it hit the surface of the pond, which was home to turtles with intricate shell patterns. Even though this was Jin Yuanbao's second visit, he was still on pins and needles, like a man about to enter a fairy grotto, every pore of his body tremulous with the prospect of blessings.

Thirty or more people were lined up beside the steel railing; Yuanbao went to the end of the line, behind the bearded man and the little demon in red, whose head emerged above the bearded man's shoulder, the same sinister gaze in his malevolent eyes.

Yuanbao opened his mouth to scream. But he didn't dare, not there.

Two excruciatingly long hours later, the sound of a bell came from inside the building, breathing life into the dispirited, tired people in line, who stood up and began cleaning the faces or wiping the noses or straightening the clothes of the little boys in their arms. A few of them even powdered their sons' faces with cotton and added saliva-moistened dabs of rouge to their cheeks. Yuanbao wiped Little Treasure's sweaty face with his jacket sleeve and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. Only the bearded man kept his composure, as the little demon lay curled in his arms, taking in the scene with his cold eyes - calm, cool, collected.

The steel door up front swung open on groaning hinges to reveal a bright, spacious room. The business of purchasing was about to begin, and the only notable sounds were children's sobs. Purchasing agents spoke to their clients in hushed tones, lending the scene a peaceful, harmonious air. Yuanbao dropped back a bit in line, fearful of the little demon's gaze. It couldn't hurt, since the space inside the railing was wide enough to accommodate only one child-laden adult at a time. No one could squeeze past him from behind. The sound of splashing water in the fountain rose and fell, but never stopped completely; birds chirped in the trees.

After a woman came out of the room empty-handed, the bearded man and the little demon went in to be interviewed. Yuanbao and Little Treasure were a good ten feet away, too far to hear what was said. Putting his fears aside, Yuanbao observed them carefully. He watched a man in a white uniform and a red-bordered chef's hat take the little demon from the bearded man. The normally somber look on the little demon's face was replaced by a smile that terrified Yuanbao; the staff worker, on the other hand, seemed unaffected, since the smile was intended to give him a warm, fuzzy feeling. After removing the little demon's clothes, the man prodded his chest with a glass rod, which made him giggle. A moment later, Yuanbao heard the big man bellow:

‘Second-grade? You're trying to cheat me, damn you!'

The staff worker raised his voice slightly:

'I know my business, friend, and how to judge quality. This boy of yours has heft, that I'll admit. But his skin is leathery and his flesh is tough. If he hadn't smiled so sweetly, he'd be no better than third-grade!'

The bearded man grumbled angrily before snatching the proffered bills. After a cursory count, he stuffed them into his pocket and walked out of the room with his head down. Yuanbao heard the little fellow inside, who'd had a second-grade tag stuck to his skin, curse the retreating back of the bearded man:

‘You fucking murderer! I hope you get hit by a truck as soon as you walk outside, you bitch-fucking bastard, you!'

His voice was shrill and hoarse, and no one alive could possibly have mistaken the vile language as having come from the mouth of a child not even three feet tall. Yuanbao looked into that face, which had been smiling only a moment ago and was now scowling angrily, his brow creased, and he was reminded of a pint-sized butcher. All five staff workers leaped to their feet in astonishment, faces clouded with fear; for a moment they didn't know what to do. The little demon, hands on his hips, spat a mouthful of saliva at them, then swaggered over to a crowd of huddled children with tags on their bodies.

The staff workers stood dumbfounded for a moment, then exchanged glances, as if comforting one another: No big deal, right? No big deal.

The work recommenced. A ruddy-faced, middle-aged man in a chef's cap sitting behind a desk motioned genially to Jin Yuanbao, who rushed up to him. His heart was in his mouth. Little Treasure started crying again, and Yuanbao tried his best to calm him. He recalled what had happened on the previous occasion: He had arrived late that time, and the quota was already filled. He might have been able to beg his way in the door, but Little Treasure had cried so hard he'd nearly gone crazy. Now it was happening all over again.

‘Good little boy, don't cry,' he said imploringly. ‘People don't like children who cry all the time.'

The worker asked softly:

‘Was this child born specifically for the Special Purchasing Section?'

Yuanbao's throat was so painfully dry that his affirmative answer sounded forced and strange.

‘So, he's not a person, right?' the worker continued.

‘Right, he's not a person.'

‘What you're selling is a special product and not a child, right?'

‘Right.'

‘You give us the merchandise, we pay you. You're a willing seller, we're willing buyers, a fair business transaction. Once the exchange is made, there'll be no quibbling, is that right?'

‘Right.'

‘OK, put your thumbprint here.' The worker slid a prepared document across the desk along with an ink pad.

‘I don't know how to read, comrade,' Yuanbao said. ‘What does this say?'

‘It's a written version of the transaction we just completed,' the worker replied.

Yuanbao left a big red thumbprint in the spot pointed out to him by the worker. He felt relieved, as if he'd finished what he came to do.

A staff member walked up and took Little Treasure from him. He was still bawling, which the woman brought to a halt by squeezing his neck. Yuanbao bent down to watch as she removed Little Treasure's clothes and quickly but efficiently examined him from head to toe, including a look up his little asshole and a tug at his foreskin to check the head of his little pecker.

She clapped her hands and announced to the man behind the desk:

‘Top grade!'

Yuanbao nearly burst with excitement; he damn near cried.

Another staff member picked up Little Treasure and put him on a scale.

‘Twenty-one catties, four ounces,' he announced softly.

A staff member punched a little machine, from which a slip of paper emerged with a whirr. He motioned Yuanbao over.

‘Top grade goes for a hundred yuan a cattie,' he said to Yuanbao as he walked up to the machine. ‘Twenty-one catties, four ounces works out to be two thousand one hundred forty yuan in People's Currency.'

He handed Yuanbao a stack of bills and the slip of paper.

‘Count it,' he said.

Yuanbao was trembling so badly he could barely make his way through the stack of bills. His mind was like mush. Holding on to the money for dear life, he asked with a catch in his voice:

‘Is this all mine?'

The man nodded.

‘Can I go now?'

The man nodded.

The boy sat cross-legged in the middle of the gilded platter, golden brown and oozing sweet-smelling oil, a giddy smile frozen on his face. Lovely, naive. Around him was spread a garland of green vegetable leaves and bright red radish blossoms. The stupefied investigator swallowed back the juices that rumbled up from his stomach as he gawked at the boy. A pair of limpid eyes gazed back at him, steam puffed out of the boy's nostrils, and the lips quivered as if he were about to speak. His smile, his naive loveliness, filled the investigator's mind with many thoughts; somewhere, he sensed vaguely, he'd seen this boy. Somewhere, and not so long ago. Crisp laughter rang in the investigator's ears. The aroma of fresh strawberries surged from the boy's tiny mouth. Tell me a story, Papa. Leave Papa alone. The pink-faced child was cradled by the sweet-smiling wife. All of a sudden, her smile turned strange, spooky. Her cheeks twitched noticeably with feigned mystery. Bastards! He banged his fist on the table and stood up angrily.

A meaningful smile showed on Diamond Jin's face, the Mine Director and Party Secretary grinned craftily. The investigator thought he must be dreaming. He opened his eyes to survey the scene; the boy was still sitting cross-legged on the platter.

‘After you, Comrade Ding, old fellow,' Diamond Jin said.

‘This is a famous dish in these parts,' the Party Secretary and Mine Director said. It's called Stork Delivering a Son. We serve it only to visiting dignitaries. It's a dish they won't forget for as long as they live, one that has drawn nothing but praise. We've earned a lot of convertible currency for the nation by serving it to our most honored guests. Such as yourself, sir.'

‘After you, Comrade Ding! Special Investigator Ding Gou'er of the Higher Procuratorate, please sample our Stork Delivering a Son.' The Party Secretary and Mine Director waved their chopsticks in the air, urging their guest to dig in.

The boy exuded a powerful, irresistible fragrance. His mouth watering, Ding Gou'er reached into his briefcase to feel the cold muzzle and star-inlaid carved handle of his pistol. The muzzle was round, the sight atop it triangular; it was cool to the touch. Everything felt just right, his senses were in good working order. I'm not drunk, I'm Investigator Ding Gou'er, on assignment in the city of Liquorland to investigate a group of cadres, led by Diamond Jin, who are reputed to be feasting on little boys, a serious charge, a major charge, a damning accusation, a cruelty virtually unknown anywhere in the world, a corruption unprecedented in the history of man. I am not drunk, I am not hallucinating. They're mistaken if they think they can get away with this. A braised chad has been placed on the table in front of me, in their words, a platter of Stork Delivering a Son. My mind is clear, but fll test my faculties, just in case: eighty-five times eighty-five is seven thousand two hundred twenty-five. There, that should prove it. They killed a little boy for my dining pleasure. These conspirators want to make me an accessory by stuffing his flesh into my mouth. He whipped out his pistol.

‘Don't move.' he commanded. ‘Put your hands up, you monsters!'

The three men sat there stunned, but the red girls shrieked and huddled together, like a flock of startled chicks. Pistol in hand, Ding Gou'er pushed back from the table and retreated a couple of steps, until he was standing with his back to the window. If they had any battle experience, he thought, they'd have little trouble wresting the pistol out of my hand. But they didn't, and now all three were staring down the barrel of his gun. They'd better not move, if they knew what was good for them. His briefcase had fallen to the floor when he stood up. The skin between his thumb and index finger felt the cold steel of the pistol resting against it; he tested the gentle give of the trigger. He had released the safety when he pulled the pistol from his briefcase, so the bullet and firing pin were ready for the next move; one twitch is all it would take.

‘You bastards.' he said coldly. ‘You lousy Fascists! Get your hands up, I said!'

Diamond Jin raised his hands slowly; the Party Secretary and Mine Director followed suit.

‘Comrade Ding, old fellow, aren't you carrying this joke a little too far?' Diamond Jin asked with a smile.

‘Joke?' Ding Gou'er gnashed his teeth in anger. ‘Who do you think is joking? You child-eating monsters!'

Diamond Jin threw his head back and roared with laughter. The Party Secretary and Mine Director laughed too, but foolishly.

‘Old Ding, good old Ding, you're a fine comrade with a strong humanistic bent, for which I respect you,' Diamond Jin said. ‘But you're wrong. You've made a subjective error. Look closely. Is that a little boy?'

His words had the desired effect on Ding Gou'er, who turned to look at the boy on the platter. He was still smiling, his lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak.

‘He's incredibly lifelike!' Ding Gou'er said loudly.

‘Right,
lifelike,
Diamond Jin repeated. ‘And why is this fake child so lifelike? Because the chefs here in Liquorland are extraordinarily talented, uncanny masters.'