on me like that? Aren't you afraid of offending one of your most loyal customers?’ Aunty Wild Mule pulled half a cooked pig's head out of the pot with her steel hook; it was coated with a fragrant red sauce. I couldn't take my eyes off it and was drooling before I knew it. She laid it on a chopping board, picked up a gleaming cleaver, twirled it, and—whack—chopped off a fist-sized piece. Sticking a skewer through it, she held it up to me. ‘Take it, Xiaotong, you greedy little cat, before your chin drops off!’ ‘I thought you were saving that for me, Old Wild,’ grumbled Uncle Han, clearly annoyed. ‘Mayor Hua says he wants to sample your meat!’ ‘You mean Mayor Dickhead, that piss-ant of a Party secretary? He may have power over you but do you honestly believe he can handle me?’ ‘Aren't you the fierce one! And I mean fierce! I give up, I'm no match for you. Does that let me off the hook? Now, hurry up and wrap the meat in lotus leaves so I can be on my way. But I'm not lying. Mayor Hua plans to come here.’ ‘Put your Mayor up against my boy, and there's no comparison. Mayor Hua smells like piss, doesn't he, son?’ Aunty Wild Mule asked me genially. I wasn't about to waste my time responding to such an idiotic question. ‘OK, then, like shit, how's that?’ asked Uncle Han. ‘Our Mr Mayor Hua smells like shit, and we won't dick around with him, OK? As for you, dear Aunty, won't you please give me the meat I came for?’ Han took out his pocket watch and looked at it with increasing annoyance: ‘How long have we known each other, Old Wild? I beg you, don't smash my rice bowl. My wife and children depend on me to put food on the table.’ Aunty Wild Mule expertly picked out the bones of what was left of the pig's head, singeing her hands in the process and sucking in her breath as her fingers nimbly opened up the head yet somehow retained its shape. She wrapped it in lotus leaves, tied it with braided grass and pushed it over to him. ‘Now, get out of here. Go pay your respects to your patrons!’ If Mother had thoughts of preparing a pig's head that came close to Aunty Wild Mule's, she'd have had to add a spoonful of finely ground alum, Aunty Wild Mule's secret ingredient. She never hid her secrets from me. But Mother clapped on the lid without adding anything, content to let it cook in plain water. How could anything good come of that? But it was, after all, pig's head. And me? I was, after all, a boy who loved to eat meat but who hadn't enjoyed the experience in years.
The fire in the belly of the stove was as hot as blazes. The flames lit up Mother's face. Thanks to the pine oil, the firewood burnt hot and long, making it unnecessary to add any more. Mother could have walked off to do something else but she chose not to. She sat in front of the stove with quiet serenity, hugging her knees and resting her chin in her hands as she stared at the kaleidoscopic crackling of the fire, which never strayed from its purpose. Her eyes? They radiated a luminous sparkle.
The water began to boil, making a rumbling sound, as if from far away. I was sitting in the doorway with Jiaojiao, who yawned loudly, her open mouth a scene of perfect little white teeth.
‘Put her to bed,’ Mother said to Father without turning.
Father picked Jiaojiao up and stepped out into the yard. When he returned, she was in his arms, head on his shoulder, snoring softly. He stood behind Mother, waiting for something.
‘A comforter and pillows are stacked at the head of the kang. Cover her with the one with orchids for now. I'll make you another one tomorrow.’
‘That's putting you to an lot of trouble,’ Father said.
‘Stop talking nonsense,’ Mother replied. ‘Even if she was a child you picked up off the street, I couldn't make her sleep on a pile of hay, could I?’ As Father carried Jiaojiao into the bedroom, Mother blew up at me: ‘What are you hanging round here for? Go outside and pee and then off to bed! A slow boil like this won't be ready till morning.’
My eyelids were getting heavy, my thoughts growing