Pow! - By Mo Yan Page 0,105

chains ringing out as they were pulled taut. They were as close to being wolves as dogs could possibly be, and those chains were all that kept them from tearing us limb from limb. On that earlier day, when I'd come alone to invite Lao Lan to dinner, they hadn't seemed as frightening.

‘Tiangua,’ Mother said once she'd elbowed her way into the yard, ‘it's all right if your dieh isn't home. We're just as happy saying hello to you and your niang and chatting for a few minutes.’

Before Tiangua could react, we spotted Lao Lan, standing big and tall in the doorway of his home's eastern wing.

POW! 26

The three cat-nappers are merciless. One swipe of the net and the cat is caught, one swing of the club and it's out. Into the burlap sack it goes. I want to rush to the cat's rescue but I've been sitting with my legs under me so long that they've gone to sleep. ‘She's just had kittens,’ I shout, ‘let her go!’ My voice cuts through the air like a knife—even I can feel it—but they turn a deaf ear to my cry, their attention caught by the cluster of ostriches sleeping in the corner. They charge at the huddled birds excitedly, like starving wolves. Startled awake, the ostriches screech in anticipation of the inevitable fight or flight. One of the birds, a male, leaps up and strikes the net-holder in the nose with one of its powerful legs. Then the whole group, necks stretched as far as they'll go, takes off in all directions, feet flying; but they quickly come together and bolt for the highway. The thud of ostrich feet pounding the ground fades into the darkness and then vanishes altogether. The injured cat-napper is sitting on the ground holding his nose, blood seeping between his fingers. His partners help him to his feet and console him in hushed voices. But the moment they let go, he slumps back to the ground, as if his bones have turned to tendons and sinews no longer capable of support. His partners’ consoling words are drowned out by his sobs and whimpers. Just then another of them discovers the three headless ostriches, and the thrill nearly throws him off balance. ‘Number One,’ he shouts, jumping in excitement, ‘stop crying, there's meat!’ The injured man stops crying and drops his hand from his nose. All six eyes are riveted to the three ostrich carcasses; the men seem frozen in place. Then the excitement claims them, including the one with the injury—he jumps to his feet. They throw the cat out of their sack—it runs in circles, mewing, a sign that the blow was serious but not fatal—and try to stuff in the dead ostriches; but they're too big, they won't fit. Plan B: forget the sack and drag the ostrich carcasses by the feet, one apiece, like donkeys pulling a wagon onto the highway. I watch them go, following the progress of their elongated silhouettes.

A pair of electric heaters warmed the eastern wing of Lao Lan's house, the thick tungsten wires burning red behind transparent covers. All those years of scavenging with Mother had taught me a lot, no lesson more valuable than how electric appliances work. I knew that his heater was not energy efficient, that the large amounts of electricity it consumed made it impractical for most people. Lao Lan was wearing a V-necked cable-knit sweater over a white shirt and a red-striped tie in a room that was uncomfortably hot. He'd shaved off his sideburns and had his hair cut short, which combined to draw attention to the mutilated ear. His freshly shaved cheeks had begun to go slack and his eyelids were slightly puffy, but none of that had any effect on my new image of him. A peasant? I hardly think so. No, clearly someone on the government payroll. His attire and demeanour put my father, with his wool tunic, to shame. Nothing in his expression indicated that he was unhappy with us for turning up without an invitation. On the contrary, he politely invited us to sit and even patted me on the head. My rear end settled comfortably into the softness of his black leather sofa, but unnaturally so, as if I was sitting on a cloud. Jiaojiao shifted her little bottom on the leather sofa and giggled. Both Father and Mother respectfully sat on its edge, so respectfully they couldn't possibly have appreciated its comforts. Lao Lan

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