The Republic of Wine

the investigator occupying the commanding position, which helped to lighten his mood. He was struck by the spine-chilling look of evil in the boy’s face, despite the benign smile that all tavern service people are trained to effect. Evil of that magnitude is not easy to mask. Like ink seeping through cheap toilet paper.
    The lady trucker answered:
    ‘We want to drink, and we want dinner. I’m a friend of your manager, Mr Yu Yichi.’
    The little fellow bowed deeply:
    ‘I recognize you, Madam,’ he said. ‘We have a private room upstairs.’
    As the little fellow led the way, the investigator was taken by how much the little creep resembled one of the demons in the classic novel Monkey . He even fantasized that the tail of a fox or a wolf was hidden in the crotch of his baggy pants. The polished marble floor made their muddy shoes look especially grimy, rein-stilling feelings of inferiority in the investigator. Out on the dance floor, beautifully decked-out women were dancing cheek-to-cheek with men whose faces glowed with health and happiness. A dwarf in a tuxedo and white bow tie, perched atop a high stool, was playing the piano.
    They followed the little fellow up the winding staircase and into a private room, where two tiny serving girls ran up with menus. The lady trucker said:
    ‘Please ask Manager Yu to come up. Tell him Number Nine is here.’
    While they waited for Yu Yichi, the lady trucker demonstrated a lack of decorum by taking off her slippers and wiping her mud-caked feet on the spongy carpet. Then she sneezed, loudly, from the effects of the stuffy air. When one of her sneezes wouldn’t come, she looked up at the light, squinted, and screwed up her mouth to help it along. The look disgusted the investigator, who was reminded of a donkey in heat when it sniffs the odor of a female donkey’s urine.
    In one of the between-sneeze lulls, he asked:
    ‘Are you a basketball player?’
    ‘Ah-choo - what?’
    ‘Why Number Nine?’
    ‘I was his ninth mistress, ah-choo -’
    II
    Dear Mo Yan, Sir
    Greetings!
    I have passed your message to Mr Yu Yichi, who gleefully replied, ‘Now what do you say? I told you he’d write my biography, and that’s what he’s going to do.’ He also said that Yichi Tavern’s doors are always open to you. Not long ago, the municipal government earmarked a large sum of money for repairs to Yichi Tavern. It’s open twenty-four hours a day, and is richly appointed, lavish and sumptuous. With a modicum of modesty, you might say it’s three-and-a-half star quality. Recently they entertained some Japanese, and the little runts went home happy as clams. Their group leader even wrote a piece for The Traveler magazine, in which Yichi Tavern scored very high. So when you come to Liquorland, you can stay at Yichi Tavern and enjoy untold pleasures without spending a cent.
    I had a lot of fun with my chronicle-story ‘Yichi the Hero.’ In my last letter I said it was my gift to you, to which you can refer when you write his biography. Still, I’m keeping an open mind about what you said. My failing is that I have too rich an imagination, and sometimes I lose control and digress so much I lose sight of the principles of writing fiction. From now on, I’ll take your critique to heart, and work like the devil to write fiction worthy of the name.
    Sir, I hope with all my heart that you will pack your things soon and come to Liquorland. Anyone who passes up the opportunity to visit Liquorland has wasted his time on this earth. In October well hold the first-ever Ape Liquor Festival. It will be a lavish, unprecedented spectacle, with something exciting planned every day for a month. It’s not something youll want to miss. Of course, the second annual festival will be held next year, but it won’t be nearly as stirring as the first, or as epochal My father-in-law has been up in White Ape Mountain, south of the city, living with the apes for three years just so he can learn the secrets of Ape Liquor, and has nearly gone native up there. But that’s the only way he’ll ever find out how to prepare the stuff, just as there’s only one way to write a good novel.
    Some years back I came across a copy of that book you want, Strange Events in Liquorland , at my father-in-law’s place, but I haven’t seen it since. I phoned a friend at the Municipal Party Committee’s Propaganda Department, and asked him to find a copy for you, no matter what it takes. The little booklet is filled