The Republic of Wine

Mo Yan and Li Yidou are walking down Donkey Avenue.

Donkey Avenue is in fact paved with ancient cobblestones, which have been washed clean by an overnight rainfall A crisp, chilled, acrid smell rises from the cracks between stones, reminding Mo Yan of one of Li Yidou’s stories. ‘Is there really a ghostly black donkey that haunts this street?’

‘That’s a legend,’ Li Yidou says. ‘No one has actually seen it’

‘There must be countless donkey ghosts that wander this street,’ Mo Yan says.

‘That’s a fact. The street’s history goes back at least two hundred years, and the number of donkeys that have been slaughtered here is incalculable.’

‘How many a day?’ Mo Yan asks.

‘Twenty, at least,’ Li Yidou replies.

‘How could there be so many donkeys?’

‘Would anyone open a slaughterhouse if there were no donkeys to slaughter?’ Li Yidou assures him.

‘Are there enough customers?’

‘Sometimes they go away empty-handed.’

While they’re discussing the situation, a man dressed like a peasant walks up with two fat black donkeys. Mo Yan goes up to him. ‘Say, old villager, you selling those?’

The man gives Mo Yan a cold stare without answering, then continues on his way. ‘Want to watch them slaughter a donkey?’ Li Yidou asks.

‘Yes,’ Mo Yan replies. ‘Of course I do.’

So they turn back and fall in behind the man leading the donkeys down the street. When they reach the Sun Family Butcher Shop, the man shouts, ‘Here are the donkeys, Boss.’

A bald middle-aged man comes rushing out of the shop. ‘What took you so long, Old Jin?’

‘I got hung up at the ferry landing,’ Old Jin tells him.

Baldy opens a gate next to the shop. ‘Bring them on in,’ he says.

‘Hey there, Old Sun,’ Li Yidou steps up and greets the man.

‘My my,’ a surprised Baldy says. ‘A little early for a stroll, isn’t it, old friend?’

Li Yidou points to Mo Yan. ‘This is an important writer from Beijing,’ he says. ‘Mo Yan, the fellow who wrote the movie Red Sorghum.’

‘Don’t get carried away, Yidou,’ Mo Yan says.

‘Red Sorghum?’ Baldy says, looking at Mo Yan. ‘Isn’t that the stuff they use to make good liquor?’

‘Mo Yan would like to see how you slaughter a donkey.’

Baldy, uncomfortable with the idea, stammers, ‘I… urn… there’s blood flying everywhere, you don’t want all that bad luck settling over you…’

‘No stalling,’ Li Yidou says. ‘Mo Yan is a guest of Secretary Hu of the Municipal Party Committee. He’s going to do some publicity for Liquorland.’

‘Oh!’ Baldy says. ‘He’s a reporter. Come on, come see for yourself. This little shop of mine can use the publicity.’

Mo Yan and Li Yidou follow the black donkeys out to the back, where Baldy circles the animals to look them over. The donkeys, apparently afraid, shy away from him.

‘For donkeys, this guy is the butcher from Hell,’ Li Yidou comments.

‘I’ve seen better, Old Jin,’ Baldy says finally.

‘Tender meat, shiny black coats, fattened up on bean cakes. What else do you want?’

‘You want to know?’ Baldy says. ‘These donkeys have been fed hormones. They won’t taste good!’

‘Where the hell am I going to get my hands on hormones?’ Old Jin says. ‘Give it to me straight, do you want them or don’t you? If not, I’ll take them away. You’re not the only butcher shop on this street!’

‘Calm down, my friend,’ Baldy says. ‘We’ve known each other for years, and even if you brought me a pair of donkeys made of cardboard, I’d buy them and burn them in offering to the Kitchen God.’

Old Jin sticks out his hand. ‘How much?’

Baldy reaches out to clasp the other man’s hand, both concealed by their sleeves.

‘That’s how it’s done around here,’ Li Yidou whispers to an obviously puzzled Mo Yan. ‘The price for livestock is always given by the number of fingers.’

The expressions on the faces of Baldy and the man selling the donkeys speak volumes. They look like actors in a mime drama.

Mo Yan’s imagination is piqued by the expressions on their faces.

Baldy’s arm twitches. ‘That’s my final offer,’ he says. ‘I can’t go any higher, not a penny!’

The arm of the man selling the donkey also twitches. ‘I want this much!’

Baldy pulls his hand back. ‘I told you,’ he says, ‘I can’t go any higher. Take it or take your donkeys away!’

The other man sighs. ‘Baldy Sun,’ he says loudly, ‘Baldy Sun, you son of a bitch, you can go straight to Hell, where all the donkeys will chew you up and spit you out!’

‘They’ll chew you up first, you damned donkey peddler!’ Baldy fires back.

The man unties the ropes. The deal is made.

‘Mother of our little daughter, give Old Jin here a bowl of the hard stuff.’

A grease-spattered middle-aged woman emerges with a large white bowl filled with liquor and hands it to Old Jin.

Old Jin takes the bowl but doesn’t drink. Instead he looks at the woman and says, ‘Sister-in-law, I've brought you a couple of black males today. Two big donkey dicks should be enough for you to gnaw on for a while.’

With spittle flying, the woman says, I’ll never get my hands on one of those trinkets, no matter how many there are. But your old lady ought to be content with the one she has at home.’

With a loud guffaw, Old Jin gulps down the liquor and hands her the bowl. Then, after tying the ropes around his waist, he says loudly, I’ll be back later for the money, Baldy.’

‘Go on about your business,’ Baldy replies. ‘But don’t forget to buy a “meaty offering” to pay your respects to the Widow Cui.’

‘She’s already got someone,’ Old Jin says, ‘so I won’t have the good fortune to pay my respects anymore.’ With that, he strides through the shop, past the counter, and out onto Donkey Avenue.

By this time Baldy has his mallet in hand and is ready to begin the slaughter. Turning to Li Yidou, he says, ‘You and the reporter stand over there, old friend. You don’t want to ruin your clothes.’

Mo Yan notices that the two donkeys are meekly huddling together in a corner, neither trying to run away nor braying unhappily. They are, however, trembling.

‘No matter how feisty a donkey might be,’ Li Yidou comments, ‘when it sees him, all it can do is tremble.’

Baldy walks up behind one of the donkeys, raises the blood-spattered mallet in his hand, and brings it down hard in the space between the animal’s leg and its hoof. The donkey’s hindquarters crash to the ground. The next blow lands on the donkey’s forehead, laying the animal out flat, its legs spread out in front like wooden clubs. Instead of trying to run away, the other donkey presses its head hard against the wall, as if trying to push all the way through.

Baldy then drags a basin over and places it under the collapsed donkey’s neck, picks up his butcher knife, and severs the animal’s carotid artery, sending a torrent of purplish blood into the basin…

After witnessing the donkey slaughter, Mo Yan and Li Yidou are back out on Donkey Avenue. ‘That was damned cruel,’ Mo Yan says.

‘A lot more humane than the old days,’ Li Yidou says.

‘What was it like then?’

‘Back in the last years of the Qing dynasty, there was a butcher shop here on Donkey Avenue known for its delicious donkey meat. Here’s the way they did it: They dug a hole in the ground and covered it with thick boards with holes drilled in the four corners for the donkey’s legs. That way it couldn’t put up a fight. Then they drenched the donkey with scalding water and scraped every inch of the hide. The customers would choose the part they felt like eating, and the butcher would cut it out for them then and there. Sometimes all the meat would be sold off, and you could still hear the animal’s pitiful wheezing. Would you call that cruel?’

‘You bet I would,’ Mo Yan says, clicking his tongue.

‘The Xue Family Butcher Shop reintroduced this method not long ago, and did a land-office business until the city fathers put a stop to it.’