The Republic of Wine

‘I want to see your Mine Director and Party Secretary.’

Crewcut said:

‘Drink up, drink up.’

Touched by Crewcut’s enthusiasm, Ding Gou’er leaned back and drained the glass.

He no sooner set down his glass than Crewcut filled it up again.

‘No more for me,’ he said. ‘Take me to see the Mine Director and Party Secretary.’

‘What’s your hurry, Boss? One more glass and we’ll go. I’d be guilty of dereliction of duty if you didn’t. Happy events call for double. Go on, drink up.’

The sight of the full glass nearly unnerved Ding Gou’er, but he had a job to do, so he picked it up and drank it down.

He put down the glass, and it was immediately refilled.

It’s mine policy,’ Crewcut said. If you don’t drink three, how edgy you will be.’

I’m not much of a drinker,’ Ding Gou’er protested.

Crewcut picked up the glass with both hands and raised it to Ding Gou’er’s lips.

‘I beg you,’ he said tearfully, ‘Drink it. You don’t want me to be edgy, do you?’

Ding Gou’er saw such genuine feeling in Crewcut’s face that his heart skipped a beat, then softened; he took the glass and poured the liquor down his throat.

‘Thank you,’ Crewcut said gratefully, ‘thank you. Now, how about three more?’

Ding Gou’er clamped his hand over the glass. ‘No more for me, that’s it,’ he said. ‘Now take me to your leaders.’

Crewcut looked at his wristwatch.

It’s a bit early to be going to see them now,’ he said.

Ding Gou’er whipped out his ID card. I’m here on important business,’ he said truculently, ‘so don’t try to stop me.’

Crewcut hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Let’s go.’

Ding followed Crewcut out of the Security Section office and down a corridor lined with doors, beside which wooden name-plaques hung.

‘The offices of the Party Secretary and Mine Director aren’t in this building, I take it,’ he said.

‘Just come with me,’ Crewcut said. ‘You drank three glasses for me, so you don’t have to worry that I’ll lead you astray. If you hadn’t drunk those three glasses, I’d have taken you to the Party Secretary’s office and simply handed you over to his appointments secretary.’

As they walked out of the building, he saw his face reflected dimly in the glass door and was shocked by the haggard, unfamiliar expression staring back at him. The hinges creaked when the door was opened, then sprang back and bumped him so hard on his backside that he stumbled forward. Crewcut reached out to steady him. The sunbeams were dizzyingly bright. His legs went wobbly, his hemorrhoids throbbed, his ears buzzed.

‘Am I drunk?’ he asked Crewcut.

‘You’re not drunk, Boss,’ Crewcut replied. ‘How could a superior individual like you be drunk? People around here who get drunk are the dregs of society, illiterates, uncouth people. Highbrow folks, those of the “spring snow,” cannot get drunk. You’re a highbrow, therefore, you cannot be drunk.’

This impeccable logic completely won over Ding Gou’er, who tagged along behind the man as they passed through a clearing strewn with wooden logs. A bit bewildering, given the range of sizes. The thick logs were a couple of meters in diameter, the thin ones no more than two inches. Pine, birch, three kinds of oak, and some he couldn’t name. Possessed of scant botanical knowledge, he was happy to have recognized those few. The gouged, scarred logs reeked of alcohol. Weeds that were already beginning to wither had sprouted between and among the logs. A white moth fluttered lazily in the air. Black swallows soared overhead, looking slightly tipsy. He tried to wrap his arms around an old oak log, but it was too thick. When he thumped the dark red growth rings with his fist, liquid oozed out over his hand. He sighed.

⁴What a magnificent tree this was at one time!’ he remarked.

‘Last year a self-employed winemaker offered three thousand for it, but we wouldn’t sell,’ Crewcut volunteered.

‘What did he want it for?’

‘Wine casks,’ Crewcut answered. ‘You must use oak for high quality wine.’

‘You should have sold it to him. It isn’t worth anywhere near three thousand.’

‘We do not approve of self-employment. We’d let it rot before we’d support an entrepreneurial economy.’

While Ding Gou’er was secretly applauding the Mount Luo Coal Mine’s keen awareness of the public ownership system, a couple of dogs were chasing each other around the logs, slipping and sliding as if slightly mad, or drunk. The larger one looked a little like the gate-house dog, but not too much. They scampered around one stack of logs, then another, as if trying to enter a primeval forest. Fresh mushrooms grew in profusion in the plentiful shade of the huge fallen oak, layers of oak leaves and peeled bark exuded the captivating smell of fermented acorn sap. On one of the logs, a mottled old giant, grew hundreds of fruits shaped like little babies: pink in color, facial features all in the right places, fair, gently wrinkled skin. And all of them boys, surprisingly, with darling little peckers all red and about the size of peanuts. Ding Gou’er shook his head to clear away the cobwebs; mysterious, spooky, devilish shadows flickered inside his head and spread outward. He reproached himself for wasting so much time at a place where he had no business spending any time at all. But then he had second thoughts. It’s been less than twenty- four hours since I started this case, he was thinking, and I’ve already found a path through the maze – that’s damned efficient. His patience restored, he fell in behind the crewcut young man. Let’s see where he plans to take me.

Passing by a stack of birchwood logs, he saw a forest of sunflowers. All those blossoms gazing up at the sun formed a patch of gold resting atop a dark-green, downy base. As he breathed in the unique, sweet, and intoxicating aroma of birch, his heart was filled with scenes of autumn hills. The snow-white birch bark clung to life, still moist, still fresh. Where the bark had split open, even fresher, even more tender flesh peeked through, as if to prove that the log was still growing. A lavender cricket crouched atop the birch bark, daring someone to come catch it. Unable to contain his excitement, the crewcut young man announced:

‘See that row of red-tiled buildings there in the sunflower forest? That’s where you’ll find our Party Secretary and Mine Director.’

There looked to be about a dozen buildings with red roof tiles nestled amid the contrasting greens and golds in the forest of thick-stemmed, broad-leafed sunflowers, which were nourished by fertile, marshy soil. Under the bright rays of sunlight, the yellow was extraordinarily brilliant. And as Ding Gou’er took in the exquisite scenery, a giddy feeling bordering on intoxication spread throughout his body – gentle, sluggish, heavy. He shook off the giddiness, but by then Crewcut had vanished into thin air. Ding jumped up onto a stack of birchwood logs for a better vantage point, and had the immediate sensation of riding the waves – for the birchwood stack was a ship sailing on a restless ocean. Off in the distance, the mountain of waste rock still smoldered, although the smoke had given up much of the moisture it had carried at dawn. Undulating black men swarmed over the exposed mounds of coal, beneath which vehicles jostled for position. Human shouts and animal noises were so feeble that he thought something had gone wrong with his hearing; he was cut off from the material world by a transparent barrier. The apricot-colored rigs stretched their long limbs into the opening of the coal pit, their movements excruciatingly slow yet unerringly precise. Suddenly dizzy, he bent over and lay face-down on one of the birchwood logs. It was still being tossed by the waves. Crewcut had indeed vanished into thin air. Ding slid down off the birchwood log and walked toward the sunflower forest.

He could not help thinking about his recent behavior. A special investigator, highly regarded by the country’s senior leaders, crouching on a pile of birchwood logs like a puppy too scared of the water to appreciate its surroundings; this behavior had already become a factor in his investigation of a case that would become an international scandal if the accusations proved to be true. So spectacular that if it were made into a movie, people would scoff. He supposed he was a bit drunk, but that didn’t alter the fact that Crewcut was a sneak, and not altogether normal, no, decidedly not normal. The investigator’s imagination began to soar, wings and feathers carried on gusts of wind. The crewcut young man is probably a member of the gang of people who eat infants, and was already planning his escape while he was leading me through the maze of logs. The path he chose was Ml of traps and dangers. But he had underestimated the intelligence of Ding Gou’er.

Ding clasped his briefcase to his chest, for in it, heavy and steely hard, was a Chinese six-nine repeater. Pistol