before he knew it, he was standing at the gate of the Eastern Bird Sanctuary.
He paced irresolutely. Every time he got up the nerve to go in, he held back at the last minute. When a true man says he’s setting out, a team of four horses can’t hold him back. If there’s no place for me here, there’ll be one somewhere. A good horse doesn’t turn and eat the grass it’s trampled on. I do not lower my head even if I die from hunger; I stand tall before the wind as I die from the cold. I’ll fight over a good showing, but not over bread. We may lack food, but we don’t lack will. Everyone has to die sometime, and we must leave a name for history. He recited one cliche after another to strengthen his resolve, but he’d taken no more than a few steps before he returned to the gate. Jintong faced a dilemma. He hoped against hope that he might bump into Parrot Han or Lianlian there at the gate. But then he heard Parrot Han call out something, and he ran behind a tree. And so he remained, just outside the gate, until the sun went down. Gazing up at the house, he saw soft light streaming out of Lianlian’s window, and melancholy set in. He continued gazing, but nothing came to mind, and in the end he turned and dragged himself off in the direction of town.
It was the smell of food that drew him instinctively to the night snack market in town. Originally the site of a martial arts training center, it was now the place where tasty snacks were sold. When he arrived, the shops were still open, their neon lights flashing on and off. Shop owners lolled about in their doorways, spitting watermelon seed husks effortlessly into the street as they waited in vain for customers. The scene on the cobblestone street, was more welcoming, the asphalt glistening with water, both sides alight with warm red electric lamps. Proprietors of roadside stands were dressed in white uniforms and high hats, their faces shone. A plaque at the entrance proclaimed:
SILENCE IS GOLDEN
HERE YOUR MOUTH IS FOR EATING, NOT FOR TALKING
YOUR COMPLIANCE WILL BE REWARDED
He never dreamed that the snow market regulations would find their way to this little snack market. Pink mist rose above the street, thanks to the red lamps, framing the shop owners as they signaled passersby with their eyes and their hands, lending the area a mysterious, furtive aura. Clusters of boys and girls in bright clothes, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, cuddling together and passing looks, but scrupulously observing the no-talking ban, were part of a grand spectacle, sharing in the strange, joyous mood of what was neither a game nor a joke, resembling tiny clutches of birds, staggering along, pecking here and there, buyers and sellers alike caught up in the seriousness of the moment. The moment Jintong stepped onto this street of silence, he experienced the rush of returning to his roots, and momentarily forgot his hunger and the humiliation of that morning. It felt to him that the silence had broken down all barriers between the people
Sometime after midnight, damp, cold winds from the southeast covered him like the skin of a snake. He had walked from one place to another, eventually winding up back in the night market, which had closed up for the night. The red lamps had been turned off, leaving only a few dim streetlights shining down on the street, now cluttered with feathers and snakeskins. Sanitation workers were sweeping up the garbage; some young hooligans were engaged in a wordless fistfight. They stopped when they saw him and simply stared. The hooligans exchanged glances, one of them gave a signal with his eyes, and they swarmed around Jintong. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself on the ground being freed of his suit, his shoes, everything but his underwear. Then, with a loud whistle as a sign, his tormentors vanished like a school of fish in the ocean.
Jintong went off looking for the thieving hooligans, up one dark lane and down another”, half naked and barefoot. Maintaining the silence was no longer a concern to him, as he cursed one minute and wailed the next. The sauna-softened soles of his feet took a beating from the shards of brick and tile on the ground, while the freezing night air cut into his skin, made tender by the Thai masseuse. At that moment he realized that people who have spent years in Hell aren’t especially bothered by its agonies, but such is not the case with those who have lived in more heavenly circumstances. Now he felt as if he’d been consigned to the lowest level of Hell, that he was as miserable as he’d ever been. Thoughts of the scalding water in the sauna baths made the bitter cold seem as if it had penetrated the marrow of his bones. Thinking back to the days of passion spent with Old Jin, he reminded himself that he had been naked then too; but that was being naked for fun. And now? Walking the streets late at night, he felt like a zombie.
Dogs had been outlawed in the city by municipal order. A dozen or more abandoned dogs – fascist-like German shepherds, mastiffs with the bearing of lions, loose-skinned Shar-Peis, and other breeds – had come together to form a pack, making its home in garbage heaps. Sometimes they were so stuffed with food they poisoned the air with their farts; at other times they were so hungry they could barely drag themselves along. The dogcatchers of the Municipal Environmental Protection Bureau were their mortal enemies. Not long before, Jintong had heard that the son of Zhang Huachang, the MEP Bureau chief, had been singled out from the hundreds of children at a kindergarten, taken off by a pack of savage dogs, and eaten. At the time, Zhang’s son was playing on a carousel when a black wolfhound soared like an eagle from a high chain bridge, landing precisely in the seat occupied by the poor little boy; it grabbed his neck in its jaws as a motley collection of mongrels emerged from hiding places as a protective unit for the wolfhound. They swaggered unhurriedly past the petrified kindergarten teachers and carried the bureau chief’s son off with them. The famous radio personality, Unicorn, ran a series of broadcasts about this frightful incident on the local radio station, concluding with the astonishing view that the dog pack was disguised members of a society of criminals. Back when Jintong had been neatly dressed and was eating like a king, the news had made no impression on him. But now he could think of nothing else. The city was just then promoting “Love your city, keep it clean month,” and garbage collection had become a priority, so the dogs had been reduced to skin and bones. Dogcatchers were armed with imported automatic rifles with laser gunsights, forcing the dogs to spend the days down in the sewers, not daring to show themselves above ground, emerging only at night to scavenge for food. They’d already killed and eaten the Shar-Pei belonging to the owners of a furniture shop, and Jintong, with his inviting naked flesh, was in danger of becoming the next course.
The mastiff pressed toward him on paws as big as human fists, its fangs glinting between upturned lips, growls emerging from deep in its throat. A pair of wolfhounds that could have been twins were right behind it, one on each side as a protective escort, sinister looks on their long, thin faces. A ragtag assortment of mutts brought up the rear.
They were about to attack; the fur on their backs was standing straight up. Slowly Jintong retreated, after bending down and picking up two black rocks. His first impulse had been to turn and run; but then he recalled the advice Birdman Han had once given him: When you’re face-to-face with a wild animal, the worst thing you can do is run. No two-legged animal can outrun a four-legged one. Your only hope is to stare it down.
The dogs pressed forward, confident that this big piece of tender meat in front of them was on the verge of cracking up, getting closer and closer to total paralysis. His steps began to falter as his legs turned increasingly rubbery and his body swayed from side to side; the rocks were about to slip from his hands, and the foul sweat of fear oozed from his pores.
Jintong’s eyes were glazing over; the rocks fell to the ground. He knew that the moment of his liberation from worldly concerns had arrived. But how could he end his days on earth in the stomachs of a pack of dogs? Wearily, he thought of his mother, and he thought of Old Jin, who, with her single breast, would take on any man alive and never come out second best. He didn’t have the energy to let his thoughts continue. Once he was seated on the steps, his sole wish was that the dogs would finish him off quickly. He hated the thought of leaving behind a leg, or something like that. Gobble up every scrap, lick up every drop of blood, and let Shangguan Jintong’s disappearance be a complete mystery.
A wayward calf came to Jintong’s rescue, a miraculous scapegoat. The calf, fat and oily, its hide like fine satin, had broken free from a nearby butcher shop. Its flesh obviously surpassed that of Jintong, for the dogs abandoned their assault on Jintong the instant they laid eyes on the fat little calf. He watched as the calf, frightened out of its wits, ran right in amid the pack of dogs. With a single leap, the mastiff sank its fangs into the calf’s neck. With a mournful lowing, it was thrown onto its side, and the wolfhounds went for its belly, ripping it open in a flash. The rest of the dogs joined in the kill, nearly picking the calf up off the ground as they tore it limb from limb.
Jintong took off running, avoiding dark lanes. This time, by god, if I run into those dogs, there won’t be a calf to come to my rescue. It’s out in the open for me. I’m bound to have better luck if I go where people are and try to scare up some rags to cover my body. If all else fails, I’ll go home to Mother. If necessary, I’ll follow in her footsteps and become a scavenger, since I’ve had my share of the good life these past few years with Old Jin and Geng
