Pow! - By Mo Yan Page 0,20

picked up his trusty butcher's knife and went after them and the murder in his eyes made them run for their lives. But one day Huang Biao's lovely new wife set the dogs loose, the stupid ones following the smarter mongrels, on her husband's tormentors, and in a matter of moments human shrieks and canine growls filled the village's twisting streets and byways. As she laughed gloriously, her skin as white as ivory, he stood there with a silly smile, scratching the coal-black skin of his neck. Before taking a wife, Huang Biao had been a frequent visitor to a spot beneath Wild Mule's window, where he sang to her in the middle of the night. ‘Go home, little brother,’ she'd say to him. ‘I've got my man. But don't worry, I'll find you a wife.’ And she did—a girl who worked in a roadside shop.

Negotiations began as soon as the butchers arrived. As they circled the animals, a casual observer may have thought they were having trouble deciding which ones to buy. But if one of them reached out and grabbed a halter, within three seconds the others would do the same, and, lightning quick, all the cows would be chosen. No one could recall seeing two butchers fight over the same animal, but if that had happened, the dispute would have been quickly resolved. Competitors are rivals in most occupations but the butchers in our village, thanks to the prestige and organizational skills of Lao Lan, were united in friendship, prepared to confront any and all militant opponents as a brotherhood. Once they adopted Lao Lan's water-injection method, they were bound together by their windfall profits and their illegal activity. When each of them had a halter in his hand, the peddlers approached languidly and the bargaining began. Now that my father had cemented his authority, these negotiations took on little importance, became pro forma, a mere custom, for it was left to him—he had the last word. The men would jockey back and forth for a while, then walk up to my father, cow in tow, like applicants for a marriage licence at the town office. But something special occurred on this particular day: instead of heading straight for the cows, the butchers chose instead to pace at the edge of the square, their meaningful smiles making the observers uncomfortable. And when they passed in front of my father, something unpleasant seemed to lurk behind those fake smiles, as if a conspiracy were afoot, one that could erupt at any moment. I cast a timid glance at Father—he sat there woodenly smoking one of his cheap cigarettes, just like every other day. The better cigarettes tossed his way by the peddlers lay on the ground, untouched. That was his custom: once the deals were struck, the butchers would come over, gather up the cigarettes and smoke them. And as they smoked, they would praise my father for his incorruptibility. ‘Lao Luo,’ one would say, half in jest, ‘if all Chinese were like you, Communism would have been realized decades ago.’ He'd smile but say nothing. And that would be the moment when my heart would swell with pride and I'd vow that this was how I'd do things, that this was the kind of man I wanted to be. It was obvious to the peddlers as well that something was in the air that day, and they turned to look at my father, except for a few who coolly observed the butchers as they paced. A tacit agreement had been reached: they would all wait to see what happened, like an audience patiently waiting for the play to begin.

POW! 7

Outside, the rain has let up a little, the thunder and lightning have moved away. In the yard, the stone path is submerged under a layer of water on which float leaves—some green, some brown. There is also a plastic blow-up toy, its legs pointing skyward. It appears to be a toy horse. Before long the rain stops altogether, and a breeze arrives from the fields, rustling the leaves of the gingko tree and sending down a fine silver spray, as if through a sieve, poking holes in the water below. The two cats stick their heads out of the hole in the tree trunk, screech briefly and pull their heads back in. I hear the pitiful mewling of kittens somewhere in that hole and I know that, while the sky was opening up, sending torrents of water