The Republic of Wine

Seventh Uncle said:
    ‘Are you dreaming, boy?’
    I’m not dreaming. I saw the Branch Secretary, the Brigade Accountant, the Head of the Women’s League, and the Militia Commander. They were all drinking, and they were dipping legs of lamb into garlic paste, under a gas lamp, around a square table,’
    Seventh Aunt yawned grandly.
    ‘Hallucinating,’ she said.
    ‘I saw them clear as day!’
    Big Man Liu said, 'When I went down to the river to fetch water this afternoon, I did see the Head of the Women’s League and two old ladies washing legs of lamb.’
    ‘You’re hallucinating, too,’ Seventh Aunt said.
    ‘I really did!’
    ‘Really, my ass!’ Seventh Aunt said. ‘I think you’re crazed with hunger.’
    The young stove repairman tried to make peace:
    ‘Stop arguing, I’ll go take a look. You know, investigate.’
    ‘Are you crazy?’ Seventh Aunt said. ‘Do you believe in hallucinations?’
    The little stove repairman said:
    ‘You folks wait, I’ll run out there and run right back.’
    ‘Be careful they don’t catch you and beat you up,’ Seventh Uncle cautioned him.
    The little stove repairman was already out the door. A gust of cold wind blew in, nearly snuffing out the lamp.
    The stove repairman came rushing back in, gasping for air. A gust of cold wind nearly snuffed out the lamp. He gazed at me with the look of a simpleton, as if he’d seen a ghost. Seventh Aunt asked with a sarcastic grin:
    ‘What did you see?’
    The stove repairman turned and said:
    ‘Fantastic, fantastic, Little Fish is an immortal, he can see everything.’
    The stove repairman said that everything was exactly as I had described it. The banquet had taken place at the Branch Secretary’s house. He’d climbed the low wall to see.
    Seventh Aunt said:
    ‘I don’t believe it.’
    The little stove repairman went outside to get a frozen sheep’s head, which he held up to show Seventh Aunt. One look stopped Seventh Aunt’s hiccups.
    That night we busied ourselves with cleaning the sheep’s head before tossing it into the pot. Our thoughts were on liquor as the sheep’s head stewed. Seventh Aunt was the one who came up with the idea: Drink ethyl alcohol
    Seventh Uncle, a veterinarian, had a bottle of alcohol he used as a disinfectant. Needless to say, we diluted it with water.
    Thus began an arduous tempering process.
    People who grow up on industrial alcohol will shy away from no alcoholic drinks.
    Sad to say, the little stove repairman and Seventh Uncle went blind.
    He raised his arm to look at his wristwatch. Dear students, he said, that’s the end of today’s lecture.

Chapter Two
    I
    The Mine Director and Party Secretary stood facing him; they were holding their left arms bent across their chests, their right arms thrust out, palms straight, like a pair of professional traffic policemen. Their faces were so alarmingly alike they seemed to serve as one another’s mirror. Between them lay a path, about a meter wide and covered with a scarlet carpet, which intersected with a floodlit corridor. Ding Gou’er’s heroic mettle vanished in the face of this genuine show of courtesy, and as he cowered near the two dignitaries, he did not know if he should step forward. Their cordial looks were like redolent grease assailing his nostrils, getting thicker by the moment and not lessened or diluted by Ding Gou’er’s hesitancy. The gods never speak - how true that is. But while the men didn’t speak, their bearing was more infectious and more powerful than the sweetest, most honeyed words ever spoken, and they left you powerless to resist. Partly because he felt he had to, and partly because he was so grateful, Ding Gou’er stepped in front of the Mine Director and Party Secretary, who immediately fell in behind him, the three men forming a triangle. The corridor seemed endless. This baffled Ding Gou’er, for he clearly recalled the layout of the place: Only a dozen or so rooms occupied the space enclosed by sunflowers, too few to accommodate a corridor this long. Every three paces a pair of red lamps shaped like torches hung on facing walls covered with milky white wallpaper. The brass hands holding the torches were shiny bright and remarkably lifelike, as if protruding through the walls themselves. With growing trepidation he imagined two lines of bronze men standing on the other side; walking down the red-carpeted corridor was like marching between a phalanx of armed guards. I’ve become a prisoner, and the