The Republic of Wine

Purchasing agents spoke to their clients in hushed tones, lending the scene a peaceful, harmonious air. Yuanbao dropped back a bit in line, fearful of the little demon’s gaze. It couldn’t hurt, since the space inside the railing was wide enough to accommodate only one child-laden adult at a time. No one could squeeze past him from behind. The sound of splashing water in the fountain rose and fell, but never stopped completely; birds chirped in the trees.
    After a woman came out of the room empty-handed, the bearded man and the little demon went in to be interviewed. Yuanbao and Little Treasure were a good ten feet away, too far to hear what was said. Putting his fears aside, Yuanbao observed them carefully. He watched a man in a white uniform and a red-bordered chef’s hat take the little demon from the bearded man. The normally somber look on the little demon’s face was replaced by a smile that terrified Yuanbao; the staff worker, on the other hand, seemed unaffected, since the smile was intended to give him a warm, fuzzy feeling. After removing the little demon’s clothes, the man prodded his chest with a glass rod, which made him giggle. A moment later, Yuanbao heard the big man bellow:
    ‘Second-grade? You’re trying to cheat me, damn you!’
    The staff worker raised his voice slightly:
    'I know my business, friend, and how to judge quality. This boy of yours has heft, that I’ll admit. But his skin is leathery and his flesh is tough. If he hadn’t smiled so sweetly, he’d be no better than third-grade!’
    The bearded man grumbled angrily before snatching the proffered bills. After a cursory count, he stuffed them into his pocket and walked out of the room with his head down. Yuanbao heard the little fellow inside, who’d had a second-grade tag stuck to his skin, curse the retreating back of the bearded man:
    ‘You fucking murderer! I hope you get hit by a truck as soon as you walk outside, you bitch-fucking bastard, you!’
    His voice was shrill and hoarse, and no one alive could possibly have mistaken the vile language as having come from the mouth of a child not even three feet tall. Yuanbao looked into that face, which had been smiling only a moment ago and was now scowling angrily, his brow creased, and he was reminded of a pint-sized butcher. All five staff workers leaped to their feet in astonishment, faces clouded with fear; for a moment they didn’t know what to do. The little demon, hands on his hips, spat a mouthful of saliva at them, then swaggered over to a crowd of huddled children with tags on their bodies.
    The staff workers stood dumbfounded for a moment, then exchanged glances, as if comforting one another: No big deal, right? No big deal.
    The work recommenced. A ruddy-faced, middle-aged man in a chef’s cap sitting behind a desk motioned genially to Jin Yuanbao, who rushed up to him. His heart was in his mouth. Little Treasure started crying again, and Yuanbao tried his best to calm him. He recalled what had happened on the previous occasion: He had arrived late that time, and the quota was already filled. He might have been able to beg his way in the door, but Little Treasure had cried so hard he’d nearly gone crazy. Now it was happening all over again.
    ‘Good little boy, don’t cry,’ he said imploringly. ‘People don’t like children who cry all the time.’
    The worker asked softly:
    ‘Was this child born specifically for the Special Purchasing Section?’
    Yuanbao’s throat was so painfully dry that his affirmative answer sounded forced and strange.
    ‘So, he’s not a person, right?’ the worker continued.
    ‘Right, he’s not a person.’
    ‘What you’re selling is a special product and not a child, right?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘You give us the merchandise, we pay you. You’re a willing seller, we’re willing buyers, a fair business transaction. Once the exchange is made, there’ll be no quibbling, is that right?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘OK, put your thumbprint here.’ The worker slid a prepared document across the desk along with an ink pad.
    ‘I don’t know how to read, comrade,’ Yuanbao said. ‘What does this say?’
    ‘It’s a written version of the transaction we just completed,’ the worker replied.
    Yuanbao left a big red thumbprint in the spot pointed out to him by the worker. He felt relieved, as if he’d finished what he came to do.
    A staff member walked up and took Little Treasure from him. He was still bawling, which the woman brought