The Republic of Wine

busy watching a pair of mules to answer.
    Both of them watched as a wagon drawn by the mules came their way on the mine road, which was strewn with waste rock, coal dust, broken stone slabs, and rotting lumber; as it drew near, they watched the driver, in an arrogant display of power, grip the reins in his left hand and drive the mules forward with a flick of the whip he held in his right. They were beautiful black mules. The larger of the two, seemingly blind, was strapped to the shafts; the smaller mule, not only sighted, but in possession of a pair of fiery eyes the size of bronze bells, pulled at the harness. Ao-ao-ao - wu-la-la - pull pull pull - The snaking whip snapped and crackled in the air, forcing the doughty little black mule to lurch ahead. And as the creaky wagon bounded forward, disaster struck: The little black mule lost its footing and crashed to the weedy, seedy, unforgiving ground, like a collapsed greasy black wall. The tip of the driver’s whip landed on the animal’s rump; it struggled mightily to its feet, shaking uncontrollably and rocking from side to side, piteous brays tearing at the heart of all within earshot. The driver, momentarily petrified with fear, threw down his whip, jumped off the wagon, and fell to his knees in front of the mule. He reached down and lifted out a discolored hoof - green and red and white and black all mixed together - that was wedged between two stone slabs. Ding Gou’er grabbed the female trucker’s hand and took several steps toward the scene.
    Cradling the mule’s hoof in his hands, the sallow-faced driver was wailing loudly.
    In the traces the older mule hung its head in silence, like a participant in a wake.
    The little black mule stood on three legs; its fourth, the maimed rear leg, was thumping against a piece of rotten wood on the ground, like a mallet beating a drum, but with the difference that dark flowing blood stained the wood and the ground around it red.
    Ding Gou’er, whose heart was beating wildly, turned to walk away, but Miss Alkaline had a vicelike grip on his wrist; he wasn’t going anywhere.
    Everyone in the vicinity had an opinion: Some felt sorry for the little mule, others felt sorry for the driver; some blamed the driver, others blamed the rough, pitted road. A flock of quarreling ravens.
    ‘Make way, make way!’
    Stunned by the interruption, the bemused crowd parted to let two tiny, skinny people tumble in among them out of nowhere. A close look revealed that it was two women with ghostly white faces like winter cabbages. They wore spotless white uniforms and matching caps. One carried a waxed bamboo hamper, the other a wicker basket. A pair of angels, it seemed.
    ‘The veterinarians are here!’
    The veterinarians are here, the vets are here, stop crying, little friend, the vets are here. Hand them the mule’s hoof, hurry. They’ll reattach it for you.
    The women in white hastened to explain: ‘We’re not veterinarians! We’re chefs at the guest house.’
    ‘Municipal officials are coming to tour the mine tomorrow, and the Mine Director has ordered us to treat them like royalty. Chicken and fish, nothing special there. And just as we were worrying ourselves sick, we heard that a mule had lost one of its hooves.’
    ‘Braised mule’s hoof, mule’s hoof in chicken broth.’
    ‘Driver, go on, sell them the mule’s hoof.’
    ‘No, I can’t sell it…’ The driver hugged the hoof tightly, a look of affectionate longing on his face, as if he were embracing the severed hand of his beloved.
    ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, you moron?’ one of the women in white demanded angrily. ‘Do you plan to reattach that somehow? Where are you going to get the money? I doubt if anyone could manage that on a person these days, let alone a beast of burden.’
    ‘We’ll pay top dollar.’
    ‘You won’t find a shop like this in the next village.’
    ‘How, urn, how much will you give me?’
    ‘Thirty yuan apiece. A good price, wouldn’t you say?’
    ‘You only want the hooves?’
    ‘Only the hooves. You can keep the rest.’
    ‘All four of them?’
    ‘All four.’
    ‘He’s still alive, you know.’
    ‘What good is he with one missing hoof?’
    ‘But he’s still alive …’
    ‘Talk talk talk. Do we have a deal or don’t we?’
    ‘Yes…’
    ‘Here’s the money! Count it.’
    ‘Take him out of the traces, quickly!’
    Holding the money for the four hooves in his hand, the driver handed the severed hoof to