Free The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan Page B

of venomous snakes, and he knew that his intestines were making mischief. The feeling moved upward, a burning flame, a balding bamboo broom sweeping the walls of his stomach - scrape scrape - as if it were a painted chamber pot with a buildup of filth. Oh, dear mother, the investigator groaned inwardly, this is more than I can bear! I’ve fallen on evil times. I’ve fallen into the sinister trap of the Mount Luo Coal Mine. Fallen into the trap of food-and-liquor! Fallen into the trap of pretty faces!
    Ding Gou’er got to his feet, bent over at the waist, and found he couldn’t feel his legs, which was why he never knew who or what guided him back into his seat. Was it his own legs or his brain? Was it the keen, sparkling eyes of the red girls? Or was it the Party Secretary and Mine Director who pushed down on his shoulders?
    Once his hind quarters were resettled in the chair, he heard a rumbling noise escape from down below. The red girls covered their mouths and giggled. He didn’t have the strength to react angrily; his body and his consciousness were filing for divorce, either that or - the same old trick - his turncoat consciousness was about to flee. At this painful, awkward moment, Deputy Head Diamond Jin, his body sparkling like diamonds, emitting a golden aroma, pushed open the red naugahyde-covered, soundproof door of the dining room, like a breath of spring, a ray of sunlight, the embodiment of ideals, the promise of hope.
    He was an urbane, middle-aged man with a swarthy complexion, a high-bridged nose on a long face, and eyes shielded by tea-colored, silver-rimmed crystal-mirror spectacles. In the lamplight his eyes were like bottomless black wells. Of medium height, he was wearing a freshly pressed dark blue suit over a snowy white dress shirt and a blue-and-white striped tie. His black leather shoes shone like glass. He had a full head of loosely coifed hair, neither rumpled nor thinning. The man had one additional unique feature: a bronze (maybe gold) inlaid tooth. That, in a nutshell, was Diamond Jin.
    Ding Gou’er got clearheaded in a big hurry, sensing, almost as if it were fate, that he was now face-to-face with his true adversary.
    The Party Secretary and Mine Director jumped to their feet, unconcerned that they banged their knees on the edge of the table on their way up. Someone’s sleeve knocked over a glass of beer, the yellow liquid quickly soaking the tablecloth and dripping onto their knees. They didn’t care. Pushing their chairs back, they rushed from both sides of the table to greet the new arrival. Happy shouts of Deputy Head Jin, you’re here! erupted even before the beer glass hit the table.
    The man’s booming laugh squeezed the air in the room in waves and pressed down on the beautiful butterfly atop Ding Gou’er’s head. He stood up in spite of his desire not to. He smiled despite his wish to keep a straight face. A smiling Ding Gou’er rose to greet the man.
    In unison, the Party Secretary and Mine Director said:
    ‘This is Deputy Head Diamond Jin of the Municipal Party Committee Propaganda Department, and this is Investigator Ding Gou’er of the Higher Procuratorate.’
    Clasping his hands in front, Diamond Jin smiled and said:
    ‘My apologies for being so late.’
    He thrust his hand toward Ding Gou’er, who shook it in spite of his desire not to. This child-eating devil’s hand should be cold as ice, he thought. So why is it so warm and soft? And comfortably moist. He heard Diamond Jin say politely:
    Welcome! I’ve heard wonderful things about you.’
    Once everyone was seated, Ding Gou’er clenched his teeth in his determination not to take another drink, so as to remain in complete control of his faculties. It’s time to go to work! he silently commanded himself.
    He was now sitting shoulder to shoulder with Diamond Jin, and was prepared for anything. Diamond Jin, ah, Diamond Jin. You may be an impregnable fortress, you may be on intimate terms with the rulers, your