The Republic of Wine

bedsheet - do not look back - and he walks down the sun-drenched Liquorland street, between crowds of people staring at him with a mixture of reverence and fear - men and women, young and old, one of the old women looking exactly like his mother, with tears in her eyes, her haggard lips quivering. Child, she says, my child - a girl in a virginal white dress, long golden tresses flowing over her shoulders, pushes her way through the crowd, eyes beneath thick, curly lashes glistening with tears, her arching breasts heaving, gasping for breath as she elbows her way through the tightly packed crowd, shouting in a tearful yet still sweet voice, Ding Gou’er -Ding Gou’er - but Ding Gou’er does not turn to look, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, striding forward with resounding, determined steps, heading into the sunlight, into the bright-colored sunset, onward and onward, until he becomes one with the red wheel of the sun …
    The old revolutionary laid his hard hand on Ding Gou’er’s shoulder. The investigator, having become one with the sun, shivered as he struggled to regain consciousness. His heart was pounding; the tears of a tragic hero welled in his eyes.
    ‘What goddamned demon possessed you?’ the old revolutionary asked scornfully.
    Quickly wiping his eyes with his sleeve, the embarrassed investigator laughed drily.
    In the wake of his turbulent fantasy, he felt as if cracks had suddenly appeared in his chest amid the melancholy that lay there, while his exhausted brain felt weighted down, and there was a dull ringing in his ears.
    It looks like you’ve got a fucking cold,’ the old revolutionary said, ‘Your face is as red as a monkey’s ass!’
    The old revolutionary reached into the fire hole beneath his bed and took out a white bottle of liquor with the brand stamped in red. He waved it in front his guest’s eyes. ‘This’ll do it. The alcohol will kill the virus and get rid of the poison in your body. Alcohol is good medicine, it’ll cure what ails you. Back when I crossed the Red River four times with Mao Zedong, we passed through Maotai township twice. I had to drop out because of a case of malaria, so I hid in a distillery. When the Kuomintang “white bandits” opened fire outside, I was quaking. Drink up, it’ll chase away the fear! So, glug glug , I downed three bowlfuls, one right after the other. Well, it not only calmed me down, but it gave me courage and stopped the shakes. I picked up a board, ran out of the distillery, and clubbed two of the white bandits to death. Then I took one of their rifles, ran off, and caught up with Mao’s troops. Back then, Mao Zedong, Zhu De, Zhou Enlai, and Wang Jiaxiang all drank Maotai. When Mao drank it, his mind was sharp as a tack and full of strategies. If not for that, his small band of soldiers would have been wiped out easily. So Maotai liquor played a key role in the Chinese revolution. You probably think it was chosen as our national liquor by a fluke, right? Hell no, it was to commemorate it! And after a lifetime of making revolution, I ought to be able to drink a little Maotai. That son of a bitch Section Chief Yu wants to cut off my supply and replace it with - what’s it called? - Red-Maned Stallion. Well, he can stick it up his grannie’s you know what!’
    The old revolutionary poured some liquor into a chipped ceramic mug, tipped back his head, and drank it down. ‘Now it’s your turn,’ he said. ‘Genuine Maotai, down to the last drop.’ Seeing tears in Ding Gou’er’s eyes, he said scornfully, ‘Scared? Only turncoats and traitors are scared to drink, afraid they’ll get drunk and tell the truth or divulge some secrets. Are you a turncoat? A traitor? No? Then how come you’re scared to drink?’ He downed another mugful, the liquor gurgling as it cascaded down his throat. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to force you! I suppose you think I came about this little bit of Maotai easily! Well, that Trotskyite Section Chief Yu watches me like a hawk. On the ground a phoenix is worse off than a chicken, and a tiger on the open plain is at the mercy of dogs!’
    Ding Gou’er found the bouquet of the liquor irresistible; emotional moments are made for drinking good liquor. He snatched the mug out of the old revolutionary’s hand, put it up to his lips, took a deep breath, and sent a flood of liquor straight down to his stomach. A spray of pink lotuses blossomed in front of his eyes, spreading their thought-provoking