Pow!

residents and most of them illegal butchers—had no interest in carrying out my orders. Putting me in charge of a workshop was, in their view, a stupid mistake by Lao Lan and one further compounded by my drawings and my instructions. I'd have wasted my time trying to explain things to them, so I thought I'd let the results speak for themselves. ‘Just do as I say,’ I ordered. ‘And think whatever you want.’

    Once the structure was complete, the workers backed off to smoke or woolgather while I gave Father and Lao Lan a guided tour. After pointing out the features and their uses, I turned to the smoking workers. ‘If you light up in this building tomorrow, I'll fine you two-weeks’ pay.’

    Their eyes blazed with fury at my threat but they did stub out their cigarettes.

    Early the next morning, six men filled the two overhead reservoirs. I could have had them hook up a hose to an electric pump but that would have been expensive and, as I saw it, unexciting and dull. I preferred the view of six men labouring to and from the well, time after time.

    When the reservoirs were full, the six men walked over to the entrance and laid down their shoulder poles for a rest. ‘Once the process begins,’ I said, ‘it's your job to see that there's always water in the reservoirs. There can be no interruptions.’ ‘No sweat, Director,’ they said as they thumped their chests, apparently in high spirits. I knew why. I'd known from the very beginning that only four men were needed to keep the reservoirs full, but I'd added two more just to spice things up.

    Before the formal work day began, my father and mother, along with Lao Lan, showed up for the guided tour. As I spiritedly explained the technical aspects, I really looked the part of a water-station manager, at least I thought so. Over the past few days Jiaojiao had followed me everywhere, carrying my army canteen—another item Mother and I had found scavenging—filled with sugar water. Every time I'd hand out an order, she'd raise her thumb and say, ‘My brother's great!’ Then she'd unscrew the cap and hand me the canteen: ‘Here, drink.’

    After the guided tour, it was time to start work. I stood on a chair by the entrance so I could see everything in the building.

    ‘Is everyone ready?’ I shouted.

    They stared blankly for a moment, but then quickly responded in unison, the way we'd practiced: ‘Ready! We await the director's instructions!’

    Their false show of enthusiasm turned what was ceremoniously serious into something akin to farce, and I saw the smirks on the faces of the less sincere workers. But I let it go. I'd worked things out carefully and I knew my plan was all right.

    Time to give the order: ‘Bring the first beef cows in from the cattle pens.’

    The men picked up their halters and ropes: ‘Got it!’

    ‘Go!’ I made a chopping motion, the way I'd seen film toughs give commands.

    The men's faces froze. I knew that if Lao Lan and my parents hadn't been there then they'd have burst out laughing. Instead, they ran to the door, bumping into one another on their way out. Since we'd rehearsed the drill, they knew what to do and so ran straight to the cow pen in the plant's southeast corner. A hundred head of recently purchased cattle had been herded into a circular pen. Local peasants had brought some to us, others had been driven over by cattle merchants, there were even some that the cattle thieves had delivered in the middle of the night. Mixed with the cattle were ten donkeys, five ageing mules and seven old nags, plus some camels with patchy hides, like old men with padded jackets draped over their shoulders in early summer. We happily accepted any and all livestock that could be turned into meat. We'd also built a sty nearby for, in addition to pigs, a quantity of sheep and goats, including milch goats. And dogs. Fed an enhanced diet, our dogs looked like young hippos, their movements slowed by bloated bodies. No longer agile and intelligent, they had lost all their canine traits and become dull, stupid animals who were useless as watchdogs—they'd wag their tails in welcome at thieves and snarl at their owners. All these animals, without exception, were scheduled to pass through our meat-cleansing station. But let's start with the cows, since they were our main concern. We were the official suppliers to farmers’ markets and restaurants in town. Urbanites tend to be faddish diners and their tastes change like the