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bite of the stuff, I'll turn into a pig.’

    ‘Really?’ she said sarcastically. ‘My son's had his head shaved and has sworn off eating pork. Is he leaving home to become a monk?’

    ‘Just you wait and see,’ I said. ‘The next time I eat pork will definitely be the day I become a monk.’

    A week later, my vow to Mother still rang in my ears but I was hungry for pork once more. And not just pork—I was hungry for beef too. And chicken and donkey and the flesh of any edible animal that walked the earth. Mother and Father got busy as soon as lunch was over. She sliced the stewed beef, braised pork liver and ham sausage she'd bought and laid them out on fine Jingde platters borrowed from Sun Changsheng, while Father scrubbed the table, also borrowed from Sun Changsheng, with a wet rag.

    Everything we needed for this spur-of-the-moment meal for our guest we were able to borrow from Sun Changsheng, whose wife was my mother's cousin. The look on his face let us know us how he felt about the loan but he said nothing. Mother's cousin, on the other hand, frowned as she watched my parents walk out with their possessions, not at all happy with her relatives. Not quite forty, this woman already had thinning hair, which, with no sense of embarrassment, she wove into short braids that stuck up on the sides of her head like dried beans. The sight put my teeth on edge.

    As she took things out of her cupboard, following my mother's list, she muttered, her voice growing louder and louder: ‘Yuzhen, no one lives like you two, getting by with nothing. I'm not talking about a houseful of furniture. You don't even own a spare set of chopsticks!’

    ‘You know our situation,’ Mother replied with a smile, ‘how we had to put all our money into building the house.’

    Her cousin looked at Father disapprovingly: ‘Part of running a household is furnishing the basics. Always borrowing what you need is not the answer.’

    ‘It's important for us to get on his good side,’ Mother explained. ‘He is, after all, the village head, someone who oversees…’

    ‘I don't know how Lao Lan thinks, but after putting in a hard day's work at this, you might well wind up eating all the food yourself,’ her cousin carried on. ‘If I were him, I wouldn't go. Not in times like these. And certainly not for a paltry meal. If you want to get on his good side, take him a red envelope filled with money.’

    ‘I sent Xiaotong three times before he agreed to come.’

    ‘That might give Xiaotong some standing, but if you're going to have him over, do it right. He'll laugh if you give him common fare. Don't invite someone if you're afraid of spending money. Since you're set on hosting him, then go ahead and spend. I know you too well. Even small change sticks to your ribs.’

    ‘People aren't mountains, they can change…’ Mother's face grew red as she struggled to hold on to her temper.

    ‘Except it's easier to change the course of a river than a person's nature.’ Mother's cousin was intent on making things hard for her.

    Sun Changsheng was the one who snapped first. ‘That's enough!’ he growled at his wife. ‘If your mouth itches, rub it against the wall. You fart three times for every time you kowtow. Your good deeds don't make up for your bad behaviour. Why must you offend your cousin who only wants to borrow a few things?’

    ‘I'm just looking out for them,’ Mother's cousin defended herself.

    ‘She hasn't offended me,’ Mother hurried to appease him. ‘I know what to expect from her. I wouldn't have come if we weren't kin. It gives her the right to talk to me like that.’

    Sun Changsheng took out a packet of cigarettes and handed one to Father: ‘Yes, who doesn't have to lower their head when they're beneath an eave?’

    Father nodded, with no indication of whether or not he agreed.

    I revisited the furniture-borrowing episode in my mind, from beginning to end, as a means of passing an excruciatingly long time. An inch or more of kerosene had burnt off in the lamp, and a long ash had formed on the wick of the candle left over from New Year's, but there was still no sign of Lao Lan. Father turned to look at Mother.

    ‘Maybe we should snuff out the candle?’ he said cautiously.

    ‘Let it burn,’ she said as she flicked the wick with her finger and sent the ash flying. The candle flared, brightening the room and adding to the sheen of the meat on the table, especially the captivating red skin of the