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  “Give me a break,” I told my dad. “You’re my father, and my behavior’s never even made you sick. Just because he’s got health problems, what right does he have to blame me?”

  Mr. Chen was afraid of me, and I knew it. When I passed his shop riding on that whore’s back, my father-in-law would be startled into retreat—like a rat scurrying back into his little hole. He didn’t want to see me, but as a son-in-law passing a father-inlaw’s store, you should always have some manners. So I would call out, wishing my father-in-law well as he scurried away.

  The wildest time was just after the Japanese surrender, when the Nationalist troops entered the city to recover their lost territory. That was truly an exciting day—both sides of the city streets were flooded with people holding small colored flags. Nationalist flags of a white sun against a blue sky jutted out at a slant from all the shops. My father-in-law even had a portrait of Chiang Kai-shek as large as two doors hanging before his store; the three hired hands at the rice shop stood under Chiang’s right-hand pocket.

  I spent that whole night gambling at the House of Qing. I felt muddleheaded, as if a heavy bag of rice had been placed on my shoulders. It had been over half a month since I’d been home, and my clothes reeked of a sour stench. I dragged that fat prostitute out of bed and had her carry me home. I also hired a rickshaw coolie to follow us so he could take the prostitute back to the House of Qing once I got home.

  As the prostitute carried me toward the city gate she wouldn’t stop yapping, blabbering on about how not even the god of thunder strikes people while they are asleep, and yet just as she had gotten to sleep I had the nerve to wake her up. She kept complaining about how coldhearted I was. I slipped a silver coin down her shirt and that shut her up. As we got close to the city gate I saw crowds on either side of the road, and my spirit suddenly soared.

  My father-in-law was the head of the city’s chamber of commerce. From far away I saw him standing in the center of the street, yelling, “Everybody get ready. Stand up straight, and as soon as the Nationalist army arrives everybody must clap and cheer.”

  Someone noticed me and jokingly yelled, “They’re coming! They’re coming!”

  My father-in-law thought the army had arrived and scuttled off to one side. My legs were wrapped around that whore as if I were riding a horse. I said to her, “Run! Run!”

  With crowds bawling with laughter on both sides of the street, the prostitute, huffing and puffing, went into a light jog.

  “At night you screw me and during the day you ride me!” She cursed me as we went. “You coldhearted bastard! You’re going to be the death of me!”

  Over and over, I grinned and nodded in respect to the swarms of people roaring with laughter. When we came before my father-in-law I pulled the prostitute’s hair. “Stop! Stop!”

  “Ow!” the prostitute yelped as she came to a halt.

  In a blaring voice I said to my father-in-law, “My esteemed father-in-law, your son-in-law wishes you a good morning.”

  That time I really did a good job of making my father-in-law lose face. At the time he just stood there stupefied, his lips trembling. After what seemed like an eternity he finally said in a hoarse voice, “My dear ancestors! Get out of here.”

  The voice that emerged from his lips didn’t seem like it belonged to him.

  My wife, Jiazhen, of course knew about my “colorful” romps in the city. Jiazhen was a good woman. For me to have had the good fortune to marry such a virtuous person in this life must have been repayment for having been a barking dog in the last. Jiazhen was always submissive toward me. While I was out screwing around she’d be at home worrying about me. But she would never say anything, just like my mother.

  My escapades in the city were actually a bit too much. Jiazhen, of course, was a wreck. She was so disturbed that she had trouble keeping herself together. One day I came home from town and, just as I sat down at the dinner table, I noticed a strange smile on her face as she brought out four different dishes. She poured me a glass of wine and sat down next to me while I ate and drank. Her beaming expression seemed a bit strange. I couldn’t imagine what good fortune had befallen her. I thought as hard as I could, but couldn’t figure out what the special occasion was. I asked her, but she wouldn’t say. She just gazed at me with a strange, elated smile on her face.

  Those four dishes were all vegetable dishes. Jiazhen had prepared each one differently, but as I got to the bottom, I started to find pieces of pork hidden in each dish. At first I didn’t really pay attention to this, but as I ate the last dish, I discovered that there was again a piece of meat on the bottom. At first I was stumped but then I began to laugh out loud. I understood what Jiazhen was up to. She was trying to teach me that although women all look different on the outside, when you get down to it they are all the same.

  “I understand this little principle,” I told Jiazhen.

  But even though I knew what she meant, that didn’t change the fact that when I saw a woman who looked a little different on the outside, I couldn’t help thinking that she really was different. It was actually a hopeless situation.

  Jiazhen would never let me know when she was upset with me—that was just the kind of person she was. But in her roundabout way she still would try to get me in the end. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t put up with either soft or hard tactics; neither my father’s cloth shoes nor Jiazhen’s cooking could stop me. I still loved going into town, and I still loved visiting the whorehouse. It was really my mom who understood a bit of what makes men tick. She said to Jiazhen, “Men are nothing but a bunch of gluttonous cats.”

  When Mom said this she not only exonerated me, but also exposed some inside information about my dad. Dad was sitting nearby, and as soon as he heard this his eyes squinted like two little peepholes and he began to giggle. When Dad was younger he couldn’t contain himself when it came to the ladies. It wasn’t until he was too old to screw around that he began to behave himself.

  The House of Qing was also where I usually gambled. I’d often play mah-jongg, nine card and dice. Every time I gambled I lost, and the more I lost, the more I wanted to win back that hundred mu of land my father lost when he was young. In the beginning I would pay up right there, and if I didn’t have money I’d just steal jewelry from Jiazhen and my mom. I even stole my daughter Fengxia’s gold necklace. Afterward I just set up an account on credit. The creditors all knew about my family’s wealth, so they let my debts ride. Once I started playing on credit I stopped keeping track of how much I lost, and the creditors didn’t remind me. But every day they were secretly scheming away my family’s one hundred mu.

  It wasn’t until after Liberation that I finally found out the winning party had everything set up. No wonder I always lost and never won—they had been secretly digging a hole for me. At the time there was a Mr. Shen at the House of Qing. He was about sixty years old, and his eyes were as cunning and bright as a cat’s. He wore a long blue gown and would usually sit in the corner with his back straight. His eyes would be closed as if he were dozing off. Only after the action at the gambling table started to get exciting would Mr. Shen begin to cough and casually walk over, selecting a good spot from which to watch. He would never have to stand for long before someone would get up and offer him his place. “Mr. Shen, have a seat.”

  Mr. Shen would lift his long gown as he sat down and address the other three gamblers: “Please proceed.”

  No one in the House of Qing ever saw Mr. Shen lose. The blue veins in his hands would be practically popping out as he shuffled the deck of cards. All you could hear was the fluttering sound of wind as the deck became long and short, disappearing and reappearing in his hands. It made my eyes tired just watching.

  Once when Mr. Shen was drunk he said to me, “Gambling relies entirely upon a good set of eyes and a quick pair of hands. You’ve got to train your eyes to open wide as a melon and your hands to be as slippery as an eel.”

  After the Japanese surrender, Long Er came.
He spoke with a mixed accent, and just by listening to him you could tell he was a rather complicated person. He was a man who had been to many places and seen the world. He didn’t wear a long gown; instead he wore clothes made from pure white silk. Two other men came with Long Er to help him carry a large wicker chest.

  The games between Mr. Shen and Long Er that year were really amazing. The gambling room at the House of Qing was flooded with people as Mr. Shen gambled with Long Er and his men. Behind Long Er stood a waiter with a dry towel on a serving tray. From time to time Long Er would grab the towel to wipe his hands. We all thought it interesting that he didn’t use a wet towel to wipe his hands, but a dry one; he would wipe his hands as if he had just finished a meal. In the beginning Long Er would always lose. Although it didn’t seem to bother him, the two men who came with him could barely take it. One of them would curse under his breath while the other would take deep sighs. Mr. Shen always won, but the expression on his face was not that of a winner. Mr. Shen knitted his brow as if he had lost a bundle. He was getting on in years, and after gambling half the night he would start to breathe heavily, and the sweat on his forehead would drip down. His head hung down, but his eyes bore into Long Er’s hands like nails.

  “This round decides everything,” Mr. Shen said.

  Long Er took the towel from the tray, and as he wiped his hands one last time he said, “All right.”

  They piled all of their money on the table. The money took up practically all the space, leaving just a small open area in the center. Each of them got five cards. After Long Er showed four of his cards, his two men instantly lost hope and, pushing the cards aside, said, “It’s over, we’ve lost again.”

  But Long Er quickly said, “We haven’t lost, we’ve won.”

  As he spoke, Long Er showed his last card—it was the ace of spades. When the two workers saw, they began to laugh. Actually, Mr. Shen’s last card was also an ace of spades—he had three aces and two kings. Long Er had three queens and two jacks. When Long Er showed his ace of spades, Mr. Shen seemed to be in shock for a while, then he finally put his cards away and said, “I lost.”

  Both Long Er’s and Mr. Shen’s ace of spades had come from their pockets. One pack of cards can only have a single ace of spades, so when Long Er showed his first, Mr. Shen knew he had no choice but to admit defeat. That was the first time we ever saw Mr. Shen lose. Leaning on the table to stand up, Mr. Shen clasped his hands and bowed to Long Er and his men before turning to leave. As he approached the door he smiled and said, “I’m getting old.”

  From then on no one saw Mr. Shen again. I heard someone say that he rode away on a rickshaw the next morning at the crack of dawn.

  After Mr. Shen left, Long Er quickly took his place as the top gambler in town. Long Er was different from Mr. Shen. While Mr. Shen would never lose, Long Er would lose when the stakes were low, but never when the stakes were high. I used to gamble with Long Er at the House of Qing. Sometimes I lost and sometimes I won, but because of this I never really felt like I was losing. Actually, when I won it was always small change, but when I lost it was a fortune. I was left in the dark, all the while thinking that I was just about to bring honor back to my ancestors.

  Jiazhen came looking for me on what would be my last night of gambling. When she arrived it was almost dusk—Jiazhen told me that later; at the time I had no idea if it was night or day. Jiazhen, who was seven or eight months pregnant with our son, Youqing, came to the House of Qing. When she found me she kneeled down before me in silence; at first I didn’t even see her. I was doing exceptionally well that day. We were playing dice, and, eight or nine times out of ten, the numbers were coming up in my favor. Sitting across from me was Long Er. As soon as he saw the numbers he’d giggle, “Well my friend, it looks like I’ve lost again.”

  After Long Er beat Mr. Shen by pulling a fast one, no one in the House of Qing, including me, dared bet on cards with Long Er. Long Er and I would always play dice, but even at dice Long Er was an expert. He almost always won and rarely lost. But that day I had him in the palm of my hand—he kept losing to me. With narrow eyes and a cigarette dangling from his lips, he acted as if everything was all right. He would snicker whenever he lost, but as his thin arms pushed the money over to my side of the table, he couldn’t have appeared more begrudging. I thought, Long Er, you should suffer at least once. People are all the same: When they’re taking the money from someone else’s pocket, their faces light up and it’s all smiles, but as soon as it’s their turn to lose they all cry like they’re in mourning. I was ecstatic until I felt someone tugging on my clothes. I looked down and saw my wife. Seeing Jiazhen kneeling there made me mad. I thought, my son hasn’t even been born yet, and here she is kneeling. This really was too much. I said to Jiazhen, “Get up! Get up! Stand the fuck up!”

  Jiazhen really listened—she stood right up. I said, “What the hell did you come here for? Hurry up and go home.”

  When I finished with what I had to say, I just ignored her and watched Long Er raise the dice above his head, shaking them a few times as if he were praying to the Buddha. As soon as he threw them down, his face lost all color.

  “Rubbing too many women’s asses must bring bad luck,” he said.

  As soon as I realized I had won again, I said, “Long Er, you’d better go wash your hands.”

  Long Er laughed as he said, “After you wipe your mouth clean, we’ll see.”

  Jiazhen tugged on my clothes. As soon as I looked I realized she was kneeling again. She quietly pleaded, “Come home with me.”

  Go home with a woman? If Jiazhen wasn’t intentionally trying to make a fool out of me, I didn’t know what she was doing. All at once my temper flared. I looked at Long Er and the others— they were all laughing at me. I screamed at Jiazhen, “Take your ass home!”

  But Jiazhen persisted. “You come with me.”

  I slapped her twice, and her head swayed back and forth like a toy rattle. After having been hit, she still kneeled there, saying, “I won’t get up until you agree to come home with me.”

  It hurts to think about it now. When I was young I was a real asshole. A great woman like that, and I hit and kicked her. But no matter how hard I hit her, she just kneeled there and wouldn’t get up. In the end I would grow tired of hitting her. Her hair was a mess, and tears were running down her face. I took a handful of the money I had just won and gave it to two of the guys who were standing there watching. I had them carry Jiazhen away. As they left I told them, “The farther the better!”

  As Jiazhen was carried out, her hands firmly clasped her protruding belly, which held my son. She didn’t scream or yell. She was carried out to the main street, where the two men left her. Leaning against the wall to support herself, she struggled to get to her feet. By then it was completely dark out. She slowly made her way home. Years later, when I looked back on that incident, I asked Jiazhen whether she hated me back then. She shook her head, “No.”

  Wiping the tears from her face, my wife passed the entrance to her father’s rice shop. She stood there a long time watching the silhouette of her father’s face reflected on the wall by the kerosene lamp. She knew that he was checking the accounts. After standing there for a while, lost in her tears, she left.

  That night Jiazhen walked over ten li 2 in the dark to get home. All alone, and more than seven months pregnant with Youqing, she walked that wet, bumpy road home, with dogs barking after her the whole way.

  A few years before, Jiazhen had been a student. At the time there was a night school in town. Jiazhen, carrying a kerosene lamp and wearing a moon white cheongsam, was going to class with a few of her girlfriends. I saw her while I was turning a corner; she walked over with a swing in her step. The sound of her high-heeled shoes tapping the stone pavement was like the sound of falling rain. Jiazhen was really beautiful back then, and my eyes froze on her. Her hair was neatly combed behind her ears, and when she walked her cheongsam would crease at the waist. I thought to myself, I
want her to be my wife.

  After Jiazhen and her friends passed by giggling, I asked a cobbler sitting on the ground nearby, “Whose daughter is that?”

  “That’s the rice dealer Chen Ji’s daughter,” the cobbler said.

  As soon as I got home I told my mom, “Quick, find a match-maker. I want to marry the daughter of the rice shop owner, Mr. Chen.”

  The night after Jiazhen was carried off, my luck started to go sour. I lost a whole bunch of games in a row. Before my eyes, the pile of money I had accumulated disappeared like the water you wash your feet in. Long Er couldn’t stop giggling—his face was almost disfigured from his excessive laughing. My losing streak lasted until sunrise. I gambled until my head was dizzy, my vision blurry and I burped up smelly gas from my stomach. Finally I bet the biggest stakes I had ever risked in my life. I wet my hands with my saliva thinking that the fruits of a thousand springs were resting on this throw. Just as I was about to throw the dice, Long Er stretched out his hand to stop me. “Slow down.”

  Long Er waved to one of the waiters, saying, “Give Master Xu a hot towel.”

  It was then that the people watching went back to sleep. Aside from Long Er’s two right-hand men, the only people paying attention were the people at the gambling table. Later I learned that Long Er had bought off that waiter. The waiter handed me a hot towel, and, as I wiped my face, Long Er secretly switched the dice to a pair he had tampered with. I didn’t notice a thing. After wiping my face I threw the towel down on the tray. Then I picked up the dice and shook them with all my might. After throwing them I thought, not bad, a pretty big number.

  When it was Long Er’s turn, he let everything ride on number seven. He cupped his hands, then tightly clasped them together, yelling, “Seven.”

  One of the dice had a hole dug out of it and was filled with mercury. When Long Er’s hands met and the dice came together, the mercury in the fixed die fell to the bottom. He tossed the die and, after rolling over a few times, it stopped on seven.