Pow!

thick fir posts. Then a hoist atop the rack with a block and tackle, christened the ‘lifting gourd’. Another team joined two flatbeds to make a moveable platform. With that device, when the workers led or dragged a water-treated cow or some other large animal to the exit—standing if possible, lying if not—a rope was placed under its belly to hoist it up onto the platform, which was then pushed and pulled—two men on each end—rumbling straight into one of the kill rooms.

    What happened to it there was not our concern.

    Water-injected large livestock no longer presented a problem. As for pigs, sheep, dogs and other domestic animals—well, they're not even worth a mention.

POW! 35

    My narrative is cut short by the wail of ambulance sirens, one from West City and another from East City. Then two more out from each, making it a total of six. When they meet on the highway, two turn onto the grass field, leaving the remaining four in the middle of the road. Their flashing red and green lights heighten the tension and terror in the air. EMTs in white smocks, white caps and blue masks, some carrying medical bags, others lugging simple stretchers, rush out of the ambulances in the direction of the meat-vendors, where people have formed a dozen or more tight circles. The medics push people out of their way to get to the stricken—some lying unconscious, some rolling on the ground, some others bent over, vomiting. People pat the backs of their retching friends, and family members kneel beside the unconscious and anxiously call out their names. The medics first examine and tend the unconscious and those rolling on the ground. Then up onto the stretchers they go, to be carried off to the ambulances. There are not enough stretchers so an EMT asks for help to carry or help poison victims to the ambulances. The medical vehicles halt traffic from both directions and, in no time, more than forty cars are stopped, bumper to bumper. They do not suffer in silence, however, and announce their displeasure with a barrage of blaring horns. It's the worst noise in the world. If I were king of the world, Wise Monk, I'd destroy every single horn and horn-blower. Now come the police cars and the police. A policeman drags a truck-driver out of his cab because he refuses to stop honking. The driver resists, and his surly manner so angers the policeman that he grabs the man by the throat and throws him into a ditch. The driver crawls out, soaked, and screams in a heavy accent: ‘I'll sue, damn it! All you cops are thugs!’ The policeman takes a step in his direction and the driver jumps back into the ditch. With the police directing traffic, the ambulances bearing the poison victims drive onto the temple grounds, then turn and speed off to their respective hospitals through the slender spaces between the lines of cars. The police cars lead the way. A policeman sticks his head out the window and orders the drivers to clear a path. Another group of poison victims has collected on the grassy field, the sound of their retching and moaning merging with the shouts of the police directing traffic. The police have commandeered several private vans to take the sick into town, ignoring the drivers’ complaints. ‘Who told those people to eat so much?’ grouses a low-ranking Party official. His comment draws a glare from a large, swarthy policeman. Thus silenced, he stands by the road and lights a cigarette. Now van-less drivers begin to congregate in our compound. Some poke their heads inside the temple, others gape at the Meat God lying out in the sun. One of them, delighted at the calamity that has struck the enviable Carnivore Festival, says: ‘Well, folks, I think we're witnessing the end of the Carnivore Festival.’ ‘The whole thing's ridiculous,’ another agrees. ‘Baldy Hu was looking to make a big splash. It was a terrible idea but his superiors think the world of him and let him go ahead. He's in big trouble now, and he'll be lucky if no one dies. If lots of people die—’ A woman with piercing eyes steps out from behind a tree and interrupts in a severe tone of voice: ‘If lots of people die, Chairman Wu, what good will that do you?’ ‘I was just thinking aloud,’ the man replies, obviously embarrassed, ‘and I apologize. We were about to phone the hospital to send help for you.’ The woman, a cadre herself, shouts into her cellphone: ‘It's beyond urgent! To hell with the cost! Mobilize everything you've got,