The Republic of Wine (17 page)

In your letter you mention writing about liquor -witticisms abound, serio.us yet humorous, inspirations from all sides, depth and breadth united - just what I'd expect from a doctor of liquor. You have my undying respect. I look forward to more discussions of liquor with you, since it's a favorite topic of mine.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry over your claim that pissing in a liquor vat, as I wrote in
Red Sorghum
, is a technological marvel. I don't know a thing about chemistry, and even less about the distiller's craft. I wrote that episode as a practical joke, wanting to poke a little fun at all those esthetes, them with their eyes bloodshot from envy. Imagine my surprise when you proved, through scientific theory, the logic and lofty nature of this episode, and now, to my admiration for you I must add gratitude. This is what's known as ‘The professional asks How? The amateur says Wow!' or what we call ‘Plant a flower, and no blooms will show; drop a willow seed, and a shade tree will grow.'

Regarding Eighteen-Li Red, a serious lawsuit is in the works. After
Red Sorghum
won its prize at the Berlin Film Festival, the head of a distillery in my hometown came running over to the warehouse where I'd set up my study to tell me he wanted to make a batch of Eighteen-Li Red. Unfortunately, he couldn't come up with the financial backing. A year later, on an inspection trip to our county, members of the provincial leadership asked to try some Eighteen-Li Red. It was an awkward moment, and after the dignitaries left, the county revenue office came up with the money for a task group responsible for a trial production of Eighteen-Li Red. By trial production, I thought that meant they were going to mix up a batch or two, design a new bottle, slap on a label, and that would be that. I don't know if they added the piss of young boys or not. But when the distillery excitedly sent their new product to the county government office to report their success,
Movies for the Masses
published a notice about a press conference in Shenzhen, where the Eighteen-Li Red distillery in Henan's Shangcai county announced to the film community that their brew was the bona fide Eighteen-Li Red from
Red Sorghum
. The cases of their liquor were stamped with the following (or words to this effect): The heroine of
Red Sorghum
, Dai Jiu'er, was originally from Shangcai county in Henan province, and only fled to Northeast Gaomi township in Shandong with her father during a famine. She had taken the recipe for Eighteen-Li Red from Shangcai county to Shandong's Gaomi, which is why Shangcai county must be considered the real hometown of Eighteen-Li Red.

The head of the distillery in my hometown immediately attacked Henan's Shangcai county for their deviousness, and sent someone with authentic Eighteen-Li Red to Beijing to ask me, as the author of the novel, to help him bring Eighteen-Li Red back to Gaomi township, where it belongs. But the clever people in Henan's Shangcai county had already registered their Eighteen-Li Red with the trademark office, and since the law is dispassionate, our Eighteen-Li Red no longer had any legal standing. When the Gaomi people asked me to help them initiate a lawsuit, I said it was a suit without merit, that Dai Jiu'er is only a fictional character, not my real grandmother, and that it's not illegal for the Shangcai county people to insist that she was originally from Henan. There was no way the Gaomi side could win. They'd just have to take their lumps this time. Later on, I heard that the Henan people rode their Eighteen-Li Red into the international market and earned quite a bit of foreign currency. I hope that's true. For literature and liquor to be integrated like that is pretty terrific. And because of newly promulgated copyright laws, I'm going to go to Shangcai county with the film director Zhang Yimou to get a little of what I've got coming to me.

All the wonderful liquors you mentioned are renowned for their quality, but I don't need any of them. What I do need - and badly - is material about liquor, and I hope youll send me some of the more important items. Naturally, I'll pay the postage.

Please give my best to Liu Yan the next time you see her. Warmest regards,

Mo Yan

Investigator Ding Gou'er opened his eyes. His eyeballs felt dull and heavy, he had a splitting headache, his breath was foul, and his gums, his tongue, the walls of his mouth, and his throat were coated with a sticky substance. In the murky yellow light of a chandelier he couldn't tell if it was day or night, if it was dawn or dusk. His wristwatch was missing, his biological clock was out of whack, his stomach was growling, and his hemorrhoids were throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeats. Lightbulb filaments that shimmered as hot current passed through them set up a hum that was translated into a ringing in Ding Gou'er's ears. He heard his heart beating against the background hum. When he struggled to get out of bed, his arms and legs refused to do his bidding. A long night of drinking drifted into his consciousness like a distant dream, when all of a sudden that golden-hued, perfumed little boy seated in a gilded platter smiled at him. A strange cry escaped from the investigator as his consciousness broke from its confinement, sending currents of ideas racing through his brain and burning their way into his bones and muscles. He flew out of bed like a carp leaping out of the water, forming a beautiful arc through the air and changing the room's spatial makeup and magnetic field, shattering the light into its prismatic components as the investigator struck a pose not unlike that of a dog fighting over shit just before landing headfirst on the synthetic carpet.

Lying there stripped to the waist, he studied with amazement the four +s [tens] on the wall, as a chill ran down his spine. The vivid image of a scaly youngster and the willow-leaf knife he held in his mouth materialized out of the alcohol. He discovered that he was naked from the waist up; his ribs were nearly poking through his skin, his belly protruded slightly, a shock of tangled brown hair lay limply on his chest, and his belly button was filled with lint. After the investigator splashed cold water over his head and looked in the mirror - puffy face, lifeless eyes, and all - he couldn't shake the feeling that he might as well commit suicide right there in the bathroom. He located his briefcase, took out his pistol, and cocked it. Holding it in his hand, he felt the cold but gentle heft of the handle, and as he stood at the mirror, he was struck by a thought that he was staring into the eyes of an enemy, someone he'd never seen before. He put the muzzle up to his nose, the tip boring its way in, highlighting two rows of parasitic-looking blackheads. He then moved the muzzle up to his temple, causing the skin to quiver joyously. Finally he shoved the muzzle into his mouth and clamped his lips tightly, hermetically, around the cold steel - a needle couldn't have been wedged in - producing such a funny sight that even he felt like laughing. And when he did, so did the reflection in the mirror. The barrel, smelling and tasting of gunpowder, nearly gagged him. When had it been fired?
Pow!
The little boy's head had splattered like a watermelon, sending colorful debris sailing in all directions, the fragrant brain matter staining everything in the area, and he had a picture of someone lapping up the gore like a greedy cat. Pangs of conscience rose in his heart, dark clouds of suspicion descended onto his head. Who could guarantee it wasn't a hoax? That the arms weren't actually made of fresh lotus root and melon? Or that the boy's arms had been prepared in such a way as to look like sections of lotus root and melon?

A knock at the door. Ding Gou'er took the muzzle out of his mouth.

The Mine Director and Party Secretary walked in, all smiles.

Deputy Head Diamond Jin entered behind them, handsome and dignified.

‘Did you sleep well, Comrade Ding Gou'er?'

‘Did you sleep well, Comrade Ding Gou'er?'

‘Did you sleep well, Comrade Ding Gou'er?'

Feeling extremely awkward, Ding Gou'er threw a blanket around his shoulders and said, ‘Somebody stole my clothes.'

Instead of replying, Deputy Head Jin fixed his gaze on the four +s carved into the wall, a grave look frozen on his face. A long silence was finally broken by his muttered comment, ‘Him again.'

‘Him who?' Ding Gou'er asked anxiously.

‘An expert, a shadowy cat burglar.' Diamond Jin rapped the bent middle finger of his left hand on the symbols carved into the wall. ‘This is the mark he always leaves after one of his capers.'

Ding Gou'er walked up to get a better look at the carvings. When he did, occupational instincts quickly brought his fuzzy thoughts into focus, and he was feeling pretty good about himself again. Fresh fluids flowed from his aching eyes, his hawklike vision returned in a flash. The four +s had been carved in a straight line, about a third of the way into the wall, the plastic wallpaper curling outward on the edges to reveal the plaster behind it.

Turning to study the expression on Diamond Jin's face, he discovered that the man's handsome eyes were fixed on him, as if he were under scrutiny, as if he had run into a cunning adversary, as if he had fallen into an enemy's trap. But the friendliness that exuded from Diamond Jin's handsome, smiling eyes chipped away at the wariness in the investigator's mind. ‘Comrade Ding Gou'er,' he said in the intoxicating voice of fine liquor, ‘you're the expert in this area. What do these four tens mean to you?'

The words wouldn't come, for the butterfly of consciousness that had been washed out of his head by alcohol hadn't yet returned in all its gracefulness. And so he could only stare in terror at Diamond Jin's mouth and the light glinting off his gold or bronze tooth.

‘I think,' Diamond Jin said, ‘that it's a gang symbol, a gang with forty members, or four times ten, in other words, forty thieves, which means an Ali Baba could show up at any time. Maybe you, Comrade Ding Gou'er, will assume the role of Ali Baba without knowing it. That would be a blessing to the two million citizens of Liquorland.' He saluted Ding Gou'er with his hands clasped in front, making Ding feel more awkward than ever.

Ding Gou'er said, ‘My papers, my wallet, my cigarettes, lighter, electric shaver, toy pistol, and telephone book were all stolen by those forty thieves.'

‘How dare they touch a single hair on the head of the mighty Jupiter!' Diamond Jin said with a raucous laugh.

‘Lucky for me they didn't take my real pal here!' Ding Gou'er said as he flashed his pistol.

‘Old Ding, I've come to say good-bye. I was going to ask you to join me in a farewell drink, but in consideration of how wrapped up in your official duties you are, I won't disturb you. Come see me at the Municipal Party Committee office if there's anything I can do for you.' Diamond Jin stuck out his hand.

Still in a daze, Ding Gou'er took the other man's hand and, still in a daze, released it; then, still in a daze, he watched Diamond Jin vanish from the room under the escort of the Party Secretary and Mine Director. A dry heave came charging up from his stomach, creating shooting pains in his chest on the way. His hangover hung on. The situation was anything but clear. After sticking his head under the faucet and running cold water over it for a good ten minutes, he drank the glass of cold tea. He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes, settling his diaphragm and clearing his mind of all selfish ideas and personal considerations; then his eyes snapped open, and his thoughts were acute and focused again, like an ax sharpened to a razor's edge, ready to hack away at the vines and grasses covering his eyes and clouding his vision; a new thought came to him at that moment, as if splashed brightly on the picture screen of his mind: Liquorland is home to a gang of cannibalistic monsters, and everything that happened at the banquet was part of an elaborate hoax!

After drying his head and face, putting on his shoes and socks, and fastening his belt, he put away his pistol, clapped his hat on his head, wrapped his blue checked shirt around his shoulders -the one the scaly youngster had tossed onto the carpet, where it had soaked up his vomit - and strode boldly to the door; jerking open the dark-brown door, he strode down the corridor in search of an elevator or flight of stairs. A friendly, cream-colored attendant at the service desk told him how to find his way out of the maze.

Outside he was greeted by mixed weather conditions: rolling rain clouds in a sun-splashed sky. It was past noon already, and gigantic cloud-shadows skittered across the ground, as golden sunlight shimmered on yellow leaves. Ding Gou'er's nose began to itch, and seven sneezes followed in rapid succession; he was bent over like a dried shrimp, tears welled up in his eyes. After straightening up, through the misty veil covering his eyes, he saw the enormous black drum atop the dark red windlass at the entrance to the mine, which was still pulling silver gray cable up and down. Everything was just as it had been when he entered: golden sunflowers covered the ground; stacks of lumber gave off a delicate fragrance, spreading the aura of a primeval forest. A rail car carrying lumps of coal shuttled back and forth on narrow tracks between towering mounds of coal. The car was equipped with a small motor attached to a long rubber-wrapped cord. It was manned by a coal-black girl with rows of white teeth that sparkled like pearls. She stood on a ledge at the rear of the car, her bearing proud and majestic as a warrior
in
full combat readiness. Each time the car reached the end of the line, she slammed on the brake to bring it to a halt, then tipped it to send glistening coal over the side like a waterfall with a loud
whoosh
What appeared to be the old wolfhound from the gate house came bounding toward Ding Gou'er and barked frantically for a moment, as if pouring out its deep hatred for him.

The dog ran off, leaving Ding Gou'er standing there in disappointment. If I thought things out objectively, he was thinking, I'd have to say f m a pretty sorry case. Where did I come from? I came from the county seat. What did I come to do? Investigate a major case. On a tiny speck of dust somewhere in the vast universe, amid a vast sea of people stands an investigator named Ding Gou'er; his mind is a welter of confusion, he lacks the desire for self-improvement, his morale is low, he is disheartened and lonely, and he has lost sight of his goal. Bereft of that, with nothing to gain and nothing to lose, he headed toward the noisy vehicles at the coal-loading area.