Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

rumbled down the street until they were stopped by a traffic cop in the intersection. A couple of dogs had met their end the day before thanks to chaotic traffic conditions. Your wife touched my nose.
    “He’s got another woman, Little Four,” she said. “I could smell it on him. You have a better nose than I do, so you must have known too.” She lifted her black leather purse, parts of which had turned white from use, out of her bicycle rack, took out a sheet of paper, and unfolded it. In it were two long strands of hair. She held it up to my nose. “This is her,” she said. “They were on his clothes. I want you to help me find her.” Her eyes were moist, but I saw flames in them.
    I didn’t hesitate. This was my job. Truth is, I didn’t have to sniff at those strands of hair to know who I should go looking for. Well, I trotted along seeking out a smell like mung-bean noodles, your wife following me on her bike. Because of her injury, she kept her balance better riding fast than riding slow.
    I did hesitate when we reached the New China Bookstore, since the scent from Pang Chunmiao’s body gave me a good feeling. But when I looked back and saw your wife limping toward me, I made up my mind to go through with it. I was, after all, a dog, and dogs are supposed to be loyal to their masters. I barked twice at the entrance, and your wife pushed open the door to let me go in first. I barked twice at Pang Chunmiao, who was wiping down a counter with a damp cloth, then I lowered my head. I simply couldn’t look Pang Chunmiao in the eye.
    “How could it be her?” your wife said. Keeping my head down, I whined. Your wife looked up into Pang Chunmiao’s red face. “How could it be you?” she said uncertainly, her voice betraying feelings of agony and forlornness. “Why is it you?”
    The two middle-aged clerks gave the newcomer and her dog suspicious looks. The red-faced one, whose breath reeked of pickled tofu and leeks, shouted angrily:
    “Whose dog is that? Get him out of here!”
    The other clerk, whose rear end smelled of hemorrhoid ointment, said softly:
    “Isn’t that County Chief Lan’s dog? Then that must be his wife. . . .”
    Your wife turned and glared hatefully at them. They lowered their heads. Then in a loud voice your wife confronted Pang Chunmiao.
    “Come outside,” she said. “My son’s class monitor sent me to talk to you.”
    After your wife opened the door to let me out, she went through the door sideways and, without looking behind her, walked over to her bicycle, unlocked it, and pushed it down the street, heading east. I was right behind her. I heard the door of the New China Bookstore open and close, and I didn’t need to look to know that Pang Chunmiao had come outside. Her smell was stronger than ever, a case of nerves.
    In front of a chili sauce shop your wife stopped and grasped a French plane tree with both hands; her legs were trembling. Chunmiao walked up with obvious hesitation and stopped three yards before she reached us. Your wife was staring straight ahead at the tree trunk. I kept an eye on each of the two women.
    “You were only six years old when we started at the cotton processing plant,” your wife said. “We’re twenty years older than you, different generations.
    “He must have tricked you,” she continued. “He’s a married man, you’re a young maiden. That’s completely irresponsible of him, he’s a brute and he’s hurt you.” Your wife turned around, rested her back against the tree, and glared at Pang Chunmiao. “With that blue birthmark he looks three parts human, seven parts demon. For you to be with him is like planting a fresh flower on a pile of cow shit!”
    A pair of speeding squad cars, sirens blaring, drew curious looks from people out on the street.
    “I’ve already told him the only way he’ll get his freedom is over my dead body,” your wife said emotionally. “You know what’s what. Your father, your mother, and your sister are all public figures. If word of your affair were to get out, the shame they’d feel would be overwhelming; they’d have no place to hide their faces. As for me, what do I care? Half my bottom is missing, and I have no reputation worth saving, so I have nothing to lose.”
    Children from the kindergarten were just then crossing the street, with one nanny in front, another at the rear, and two more running up and down to keep the children in line, shouting the whole time. Cars in both directions