newly laid, colorful cement tiles. He may have lived in the city for many years, but he discovered that he wasn't even as brave as a common villager he spotted riding an unwieldy bicycle down the street. The man was carrying a gas can with sweet potatoes baking inside; with steam pouring off the back of his bike, even fancy sedans gave way to him. A pair of villagers with saws and axes over their shoulders strolled down the street, whistling; the shorter of the two, wearing a corduroy jacket, carefree as can be, swung his ax at the trunk of an Oriental plane tree. Old Ding shuddered, almost as if he had been the target of the chopping blow. Peddlers’ stands filled the tree-lined street, one every few paces, and nearly every one of them hailed him as he passed by. They displayed a motley array of wares, as large as electric appliances and as small as buttons, and everything in between. One of them, a dark-skinned man with slanted eyes, was squatting beneath a tree, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a pair of fat little piglets on tethers.
“Old uncle, how about a nice piglet?” the peddler asked fervently. “They're real Yorkshires, the finest breed you can find. They make great pets, clean and neat, much better than dogs or cats. In the West they're more popular than dogs and cats. A United Nations study has proved that the only animals smarter than pigs are people. Pigs can recognize words, they can paint pictures, and if you've got the patience, you can even teach them to sing and dance.” He took a crumpled newspaper clipping out of his pocket, stuck the tethers under his foot to free both hands, and pointed to the clipping. “Old uncle,” he said, “you don't have to believe me, it's right here in black and white. See here – an elderly Irish woman raised a pig, and it was the same as hiring a nanny. Every morning, after bringing in the paper, it went out and bought her some milk and bread. Then it scrubbed the floor and boiled water, but most amazing of all, one day the old woman had a heart attack, and that smart little pig went straight to the local clinic for an ambulance. It saved that old woman's life…”
Thanks to the peddler's honeyed words, the sort of good mood he hadn't enjoyed for a very long time settled upon Ding. He cast a warm, tender gaze down at the piglets, which were tethered by their rear legs and huddled closely together, like a pair of inseparable twins. Their bristles glistened like silver threads, their bellies sported black spots. Their snouts were pink, their little eyes like shiny black marbles. A pudgy little girl with pigtails that stuck straight up waddled up and squatted in front of the piglets, entering old Ding's field of vision. Frightened by the little girl, the piglets pulled in opposite directions, squealing like a couple of puppies. Next to enter his field of vision was a young woman with a radiant face who reached out both arms – her skin milky white – and scooped up the little girl, who kicked and howled so much that the woman had to put her back down on the ground. Showing no fear at all, the little girl went right up next to the piglets, which squeezed up against each other. She reached out with her dainty little hand, and the piglets squeezed together even tighter and began to quake. Finally, she touched one of them. It squealed, but didn't try to get away. Looking up at the young woman, the girl giggled. The peddler saw it was time to put his three-inch weapon of a tongue into play. He repeated his earlier sales pitch, this time spicing it up even more. The woman kept her eyes on him, a captivating smile frozen on her lips. She was wearing an orange-colored dress, bright as a flaming torch and so low-cut that when she bent over, her full breasts crept into view. Old Ding couldn't help glancing over at her, much to his embarrassment, as if he'd done something he really shouldn't have done. He noticed that the pig seller had his eyes glued on the exact same spot. Every time the woman tried to pick up the little girl, her plan was shattered by the little girl's tantrum. Old Ding noticed a heavy gold necklace around the woman's neck and deep green jade bracelets on both arms. And he couldn't miss the woman's heavy fragrance: sweeter smelling than the jasmine tea he'd been given in the factory reception room, sweeter smelling than the perfume the factory secretary wore, so sweet smelling it made him giddy. Knowing instinctively where his sale was coming from, the peddler zeroed in on the little girl, regaling her with all the advantages of raising pigs and holding his little piglets right up in front of her, despite their noisy struggles to keep a distance between them and her. Scratching one pig's belly, then the other's, he said to the little girl in the sweetest tone of voice he could manage, “Go ahead, little sister, touch the two little cuties.”
Now that they'd been scratched, the piglets calmed down and grunted contentedly, gazing off into the distance as they rocked back and forth a bit before settling softly onto the ground. The little girl summoned up the courage to tug one of their ears and gently poke its belly. More contented grunts as both the little pigs started to fall asleep.
Having made up her mind to leave, the woman picked up the little girl, only to spark yet another tantrum. She put her down again, and as soon as the little feet hit the ground, they headed unsteadily right for the piglets; no more tears. A crafty smile spread across the peddler's face as he launched into yet another sales pitch.
“How much for one of those?” the woman asked him.
After a thoughtful “hmm,” he replied decisively:
“For anybody else, three hundred apiece, but you can have the pair for five hundred.”
“Can't you make it a little less?” she asked.
“Young lady, take a good look at those pigs. You don't see animals like that every day. They're purebred, living, breathing Yorkshires! Go to the toy section of any department store, and you'll find that a toy pig will cost you a couple of hundred! If my son weren't getting married and didn't need money to set up a household, I wouldn't part with these two for five thousand yuan, let alone five hundred!”
The woman smiled sweetly. “Slow down,” she said. “The next thing you'll be telling me is that they're a pair of unicorns!”
“That's not far from the truth!”
“I didn't bring any money with me.”
“No problem. I'll deliver them to your door.”
But when the peddler tugged on the tethers to leave, the piglets started scurrying back and forth, and he was forced to pick them up and tuck one under each arm. They squealed their displeasure.
“Stop squealing, little ones. Luck is with us today. You're about to become the happiest little pigs in the world. Joyful days are here for you two. Instead of squealing like that, you should be laughing.”
The peddler followed the woman into a lane, a pig under each arm. The little girl, who was perched on the woman's shoulders, turned around and laughed loudly at the sight of the pigs.
Old Ding watched the procession of pigs and people as long as he could with a growing sense of melancholy. Then he started walking again, all the way up to the middle of the overpass, where he stopped and thought dreamily about the captivating elegance of the young woman. The bridge too was crowded with little stalls, each one manned by a peddler who had the look of a laid-off worker. The overpass swayed slightly; gusts of hot wind hit him in the face. Cars whizzed back and forth on the sparkling asphalt below. He spotted his apprentice, Lu Xiaohu, wearing a yellow vest, speeding down the sidewalk across the way on his three-wheeled pedicab. A white canopy over the back shielded a stately young couple. They were traveling so fast he couldn't see the spokes in the wheels, which were just a silvery blur. The two heads behind the man up front touched from time to time. Sweat poured down Lu Xiaohu's face. He was no one to mess with, old Ding was thinking, but was a terrific fitter, and any fitter worthy of the name was good at just about anything he put his hand to.
After walking down off the overpass, he entered a farmer's market, filled with hope. The canopy over the market was made of green nylon, which gave the faces of all the vegetable sellers a green tint. The smell of vegetables, meat, fish, and fried snacks merged and engulfed him; so did the shouts of hawking peddlers. In front of one of the stalls he spotted Wang Dalan, the one-handed woman who had worked with him at the factory. She was watching over a pile of sticky strawberries.
“Ding Shifu,” she called to him warmly. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”
He stopped in his tracks. And when he did, he spotted three more former workers from the factory. They all smiled at him. Then they asked him to sample their wares.
“Have some strawberries, Ding Shifu!”
“How about a tomato, Ding Shifu?”
“Try one of my carrots, Ding Shifu!”
He was about to ask them how business was, until he got a good look at their faces. There was no need to ask. Life was tough, all right, but as long as you were willing to work hard and put your pride aside, you could always get by. But there was no way a man his age could compete with younger folks in opening a vegetable stall, let alone pedaling a pedicab like his apprentice. He also couldn't sell piglets out on the street; you couldn't call it hard work, but you needed the gift of gab, someone who could talk a dead man into coming back to life. At the factory, old Ding had a reputation for almost never having anything to say. This was all very disappointing, but he hadn't reached the point of despair. He'd take a look around and find something he could do. In fact, that's what he was doing now. He refused to believe that in a city this big, there wasn't a single thing he could do to make a living. And
