stopping only to pick up a pig's ear—no chopsticks required, hands only—and stuff it into their mouths. The one with the long, skinny face even tipped back his head and dropped one into his mouth just to make my mouth water, the no-good arsehole, the cunning prick. By the look of him, he could have been a cigarette-peddler, even a cattle thief. He was no good, whatever line of work he was in, but he thought he was something special. So you're eating and drinking—big deal! If we wanted to eat at home, we'd do better than you. Our butchers can tell the difference between meat from a sick animal and meat from a slaughtered one, and they'd never be caught smacking their lips over meat from a sick pig. Sure, if there was no slaughtered pork they might eat a little from a sick pig. I once heard Lao Lan say that we Chinese are blessed with iron stomachs that can turn rotten stuff into nutrients. My mouth watered as I gaped at the pig's head in Mother's hand.
Father seemed to sense that someone was standing in front of him. He looked up, and his face turned purple from embarrassment. His lips parted to expose the yellow teeth. His daughter, my little half-sister Jiaojiao, who had been sleeping beside him, woke up. The sleepy eyed girl's pink face could not have been cuter. She snuck up close to Father and sneaked a look at us from under his arm.
Mother made a sound in her throat—a fake cough.
Father made a sound in his throat—a fake cough.
Jiaojiao had a coughing fit and her face turned red.
I could tell she'd caught a cold.
Father gently thumped her back to stop the coughing.
Jiaojiao coughed up a wad of phlegm, and began to cry.
Mother handed me the pig's head, reached down and tried to pick up the girl. Jiaojiao began to cry harder and burrowed into Father's protective arms, as if Mother had the thorny hands of a child-snatcher. People who bought and sold children or who bought and sold women often stopped here, because it was a rich village. The peddlers of human cargo did not arrive with stolen children or bound women in tow. They were too clever for that. They'd walk up and down the village streets pretending to sell wooden hairbrushes or bamboo head-shavers. The fellow who sold combs could talk with the best of them and had a terrific routine—a string of witty remarks and plenty of humour. To prove the quality of his head-shavers he'd even saw a shoe in half with one of them.
Mother straightened up, stepped back and wrung her hands, then took a quick look round as if hoping someone would come to her aid. Three seconds after she turned to look at me, her eyes clouded over and my heart ached to see her so helpless. She was, after all, my mother. As she let her hands drop, she looked down at the floor, possibly to take in Father's boots, which, despite the mud, looked to be of pretty good leather. They were the only evidence of the respectable stature he'd once enjoyed.
‘This morning,’ she said so softly you'd have thought she was talking to herself, ‘my words were too strong…it was cold, I was tired, in a bad mood…I've come to apologize…’
Father fidgeted in his seat, as if being bitten by fleas. ‘Don't talk like that, please,’ he waved his hands and stammered. ‘You were right, I deserve everything you said. I should be apologizing to you…’
Mother took the pig's head from me and rolled her eyes at me. ‘Why are you standing there like a moron? Help your dieh with his things so we can go home.’
Then she glared at me once more and headed for the door, which creaked on rusty hinges. The pig's head flashed white for an instant before vanishing. ‘Damn door,’ I heard her grumble.
I hopped over, sparrow-like, to the bench where Father sat to take the bulging canvas satchel from him but he grabbed the strap, looked me in the eye and said: ‘Xiaotong, go home and take care of your mother. I'd be a burden to you both…’
‘No,’ I insisted, refusing to let go. ‘I want you to come with me, Dieh.’
‘Let go,’ he began sternly but then grew forlorn. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘A man needs dignity the way a tree needs bark. Your dieh has fallen on hard times but he's still a man, and what