The Republic of Wine

hemorrhoids were throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeats. Lightbulb filaments that shimmered as hot current passed through them set up a hum that was translated into a ringing in Ding Gou’er’s ears. He heard his heart beating against the background hum. When he struggled to get out of bed, his arms and legs refused to do his bidding. A long night of drinking drifted into his consciousness like a distant dream, when all of a sudden that golden-hued, perfumed little boy seated in a gilded platter smiled at him. A strange cry escaped from the investigator as his consciousness broke from its confinement, sending currents of ideas racing through his brain and burning their way into his bones and muscles. He flew out of bed like a carp leaping out of the water, forming a beautiful arc through the air and changing the room’s spatial makeup and magnetic field, shattering the light into its prismatic components as the investigator struck a pose not unlike that of a dog fighting over shit just before landing headfirst on the synthetic carpet.
    Lying there stripped to the waist, he studied with amazement the four +s [tens] on the wall, as a chill ran down his spine. The vivid image of a scaly youngster and the willow-leaf knife he held in his mouth materialized out of the alcohol. He discovered that he was naked from the waist up; his ribs were nearly poking through his skin, his belly protruded slightly, a shock of tangled brown hair lay limply on his chest, and his belly button was filled with lint. After the investigator splashed cold water over his head and looked in the mirror - puffy face, lifeless eyes, and all - he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might as well commit suicide right there in the bathroom. He located his briefcase, took out his pistol, and cocked it. Holding it in his hand, he felt the cold but gentle heft of the handle, and as he stood at the mirror, he was struck by a thought that he was staring into the eyes of an enemy, someone he’d never seen before. He put the muzzle up to his nose, the tip boring its way in, highlighting two rows of parasitic-looking blackheads. He then moved the muzzle up to his temple, causing the skin to quiver joyously. Finally he shoved the muzzle into his mouth and clamped his lips tightly, hermetically, around the cold steel - a needle couldn’t have been wedged in - producing such a funny sight that even he felt like laughing. And when he did, so did the reflection in the mirror. The barrel, smelling and tasting of gunpowder, nearly gagged him. When had it been fired? Pow! The little boy’s head had splattered like a watermelon, sending colorful debris sailing in all directions, the fragrant brain matter staining everything in the area, and he had a picture of someone lapping up the gore like a greedy cat. Pangs of conscience rose in his heart, dark clouds of suspicion descended onto his head. Who could guarantee it wasn’t a hoax? That the arms weren’t actually made of fresh lotus root and melon? Or that the boy’s arms had been prepared in such a way as to look like sections of lotus root and melon?
    A knock at the door. Ding Gou’er took the muzzle out of his mouth.
    The Mine Director and Party Secretary walked in, all smiles.
    Deputy Head Diamond Jin entered behind them, handsome and dignified.
    ‘Did you sleep well, Comrade Ding Gou’er?’
    ‘Did you sleep well, Comrade Ding Gou’er?’
    ‘Did you sleep well, Comrade Ding Gou’er?’
    Feeling extremely awkward, Ding Gou’er threw a blanket around his shoulders and said, ‘Somebody stole my clothes.’
    Instead of replying, Deputy Head Jin fixed his gaze on the four +s carved into the wall, a grave look frozen on his face. A long silence was finally broken by his muttered comment, ‘Him again.’
    ‘Him who?’ Ding Gou’er asked anxiously.
    ‘An expert, a shadowy cat burglar.’ Diamond Jin rapped the bent middle finger of his left hand on the symbols carved into the wall. ‘This is the mark he always leaves after one of his capers.’
    Ding Gou’er walked up to get a better look at the carvings. When he did, occupational instincts quickly brought his fuzzy thoughts into focus, and he was feeling pretty good about himself again. Fresh fluids flowed from his aching eyes, his hawklike vision returned in a flash. The four +s had been carved in a straight line, about a third of the way into the wall, the plastic wallpaper curling outward on the edges to reveal the plaster behind