The Republic of Wine

to straighten them out. Thoughts of the earlier shouts of ‘Hold on to the cord! Don’t let go!’ enraged him. What bullshit! How, he wondered, could they let go, when they’re tied to it?
    He leaned against the tree and asked one of the women coldly:
    ‘Why do you tie them like that?’
    She gave him an icy glare.
    ‘Lunatic!’ she said.
    The children looked over at him.
    ‘Lu-na-tic-!’ they echoed in unison.
    The way they drew out the syllables, he couldn’t tell if it was spontaneous or coached. Their lilting, falsetto voices rose like birds on the wing. Smiling idiotically, he nodded an apology to the woman on the far end, who dismissed him by looking away. He followed the column of children with his eyes until they disappeared down a lane bordered by a pair of high red walls.
    It was a struggle, but he finally made it to the other side of the street, where a Xinjiang vendor roasting skewers of lamb hailed him in a heavy accent. He wasn’t tempted. But a long-necked girl walked up and bought ten. Reddened lips like chili peppers. Dipping the skewers of sizzling, greasy meat into the pepper jar, she bared her teeth as she ate, to protect her lipstick. His throat burning, he turned and walked off.
    A while later he was in front of the elementary school smoking a cigarette and waiting for his son, who didn’t see him as he ran out the gate with his backpack. He had blue ink smudges on his face, the marks of a student. He called his son’s name. When the boy reluctantly fell in behind him, he told him he was being sent to Liquorland on business. ‘So what?’ Ding Gou’er asked his son what he meant by So What? ‘So what? means So what? What do you expect me to say?’
    “So what? That’s right. So what?’ he said, echoing his son’s comment.
    Ding Gou’er walked into the mine’s Party Committee Security Section, where he was greeted by a crewcut young man who opened a floor-to-ceiling cabinet, poured a glass of liquor, and handed it to him. This room too was furnished with a large stove, which kept the temperature way up there, if not as stifling as the gate house. Ding Gou’er asked for some ice; the young fellow urged him to try the liquor:
    ‘Drink some, it’ll warm you up.’
    The earnest look made it impossible for Ding Gou’er to refuse, so he accepted the glass and drank slowly.
    The office was hermetically sealed by perfectly dovetailed doors and windows. Once again Ding Gou’er started to itch all over, and rivulets of sweat ran down his face. He heard Crewcut say consolingly:
    ‘Don’t worry, you’ll cool off as you calm down.’
    A buzzing filled Ding Gou’er’s ears. Bees and honey, he was thinking, and honeyed infants. This mission was too important to be undone by carelessness. The glass in the windows seemed to vibrate. In the space between heaven and earth outside the room, large rigs moved slowly and noiselessly. He felt as if he were in an aquarium, like a pet fish. The mining rigs were painted yellow, a numbing color, an intoxicating color. He strained to hear the noise they made, but no dice.
    Ding Gou’er heard himself say:
    ‘I want to see your Mine Director and Party Secretary.’
    Crewcut said:
    ‘Drink up, drink up.’
    Touched by Crewcut’s enthusiasm, Ding Gou’er leaned back and drained the glass.
    He no sooner set down his glass than Crewcut filled it up again.
    ‘No more for me,’ he said. ‘Take me to see the Mine Director and Party Secretary.’
    ‘What’s your hurry, Boss? One more glass and we’ll go. I’d be guilty of dereliction of duty if you didn’t. Happy events call for double. Go on, drink up.’
    The sight of the full glass nearly unnerved Ding Gou’er, but he had a job to do, so he picked it up and drank it down.
    He put down the glass, and it was immediately refilled.
    It’s mine policy,’ Crewcut said. If you don’t drink three, how edgy you will be.’
    I’m not much of a drinker,’ Ding Gou’er protested.
    Crewcut picked up the glass with both hands and raised it to Ding Gou’er’s lips.
    ‘I beg you,’ he said tearfully, ‘Drink it. You don’t want me to be edgy, do you?’
    Ding Gou’er saw such genuine feeling in Crewcut’s face that his heart skipped a beat, then softened; he took the glass and poured the liquor down his throat.
    ‘Thank you,’ Crewcut said gratefully, ‘thank you. Now, how about three more?’
    Ding Gou’er clamped his hand over the glass. ‘No more for me, that’s it,’ he said.