Brothers

by Yu Hua

  No one knows where this itinerant charlatan went that night, carrying those two large cardboard boxes, wearing his suit and dress shoes in the heat, and suffering from hunger, thirst, and overall fatigue. But one thing was certain: He must have been in excellent health, since he was able to continue walking around until eleven o'clock that night without collapsing from heatstroke. It seemed that this charlatan must have succeeded in tricking even his own body. He did a giant loop about town and noticed that the streets were full of sleeping men. From their discussions, he gathered that all of the towns hotels and guesthouses were completely booked and that even the private residences were packed full of virgin beauties.

  Wandering Zhou finally stopped in front of Poet Zhao's straw mat. Zhao had not yet fallen asleep but was lying on his mat swatting at mosquitoes. Wandering Zhou nodded, but Zhao ignored him, wondering what this young man was doing here. Wandering Zhou's eyes wandered over to Mama Sus snack shop across the street, and he suddenly felt as famished as if his chest were plastered to his back. He realized that if he didn't eat something soon, he wouldn't be a charlatan as much as a starving ghost. Still carrying his two boxes, he crossed the street and, though he was still sporting his suit and dress shoes, his gait was now more like that of a refugee. He shuffled into the snack shop, where the air-conditioning instantly refreshed him, and sat down at a table near the door.

  Because it was so late, there were just a couple of customers left. Mama Su had gone home and her daughter, Missy Su, was minding the cashier's counter, chatting with two waitresses. Missy Su was in her thirties but no one had any idea who her boyfriend was or if she had one at all—just as they never found out anything about who her father had been.

  Missy Su saw the dashing Wandering Zhou walk in and sit down. The only things less than elegant about him were his two large boxes. On his part, Zhou immediately discerned that this eminently average-looking, and perhaps even a bit homely, Missy Su must be the proprietress. Therefore, with a handsome smile on his handsome face, he started gazing at her as if he were admiring a painting. Never having had a man admire her the way the charlatan Wandering Zhou was admiring her now, Missy Su felt her pulse start to race. Wandering Zhou continued gazing at her until one of the waitresses handed him a menu, whereupon he finally tore his eyes away from her face and directed his attention to the menu. Seeing that a steamerful of mini-meat buns was five yuan, he ordered one. The waitress then brought over the drink menu and asked him what he wanted to drink. Wandering Zhou shook his head and said, "I have diabetes, so I'll just have a glass of water."

  The waitress replied that they didn't have any tap water, only bottled mineral water. Wandering Zhou shook his head and repeated, "I don't drink mineral water. Mineral water is a swindle, since it doesn't actually contain any minerals. It is actually tap water which has the highest mineral content."

  After saying this, Wandering Zhou continued admiring Missy Su, making her pulse race with excitement. He knew that she would surely bring him a glass of water. He then reached his hand into his pocket, and instantly his toy cell phone rang, whereupon he pulled it out and pretended to take a call. From his side of the conversation it appeared as if he was talking to his secretary. He complained that she had not reserved a room for him and now there were no rooms to be found. Unlike earlier with those pedicab drivers, this time in front of Missy Su he didn't make a show of losing his temper but, rather, complained very politely and concluded his call by uttering a few words of reassurance to the person on the other end of the line. When he finished and put his cell phone away, he turned back around and found Missy Su standing there with a glass of water. He knew that this was mineral water. By then he was as thirsty as if he had just come in from the desert, but he politely stood up to accept the water and politely thanked her for it. Then he sat back down and sipped it while nibbling on his steamed buns and began chatting with her.

  He started talking about the buns, remarking how tasty they were, and then complimented Missy Su on how neat and clean her shop was. Missy Su, who had turned away, suddenly paused. Sensing an opening, Zhou then suggested that she should introduce the latest new thing in buns, whereupon she sat down across from him. Zhou continued, suggesting that she should introduce a kind of steamed meat bun that came with its own little straw. He described how in the top snack shops of Shanghai and Beijing all the mini-buns were served with tiny straws sticking out. Those buns had much lighter, thinner skins than regular mini-buns and therefore contained that much more meat juice. Customers first delicately sipped the flavorful juices through the straw, and only then did they eat the bun itself. Zhou said that these were currently considered the best buns; and moreover, they had become veritable symbols of our countrymen's new sophisticated lifestyles. Eating buns was no longer merely about eating meat filling wrapped in dough; rather, it was about savoring the juice. He said, "In fact, there are some customers who just sip the juice and don't even bother with the rest."

  Missy Sus eyes started to gleam as she listened to Wandering Zhou's descriptions, and she promised she would immediately start developing this new kind of bun the very next day. Wandering Zhou took this opportunity to suggest that perhaps he could come by to assess her work. He said that he would gladly share his valuable experiences of sipping mini-bun juice if it could be of any help to her. He promised to help her make these straw-embedded mini-buns a runaway hit, one that would not only attract customers from one hundred li around but people from as far away as Beijing would fly down just to enjoy her specialty buns. Missy Su laughed delightedly at this and asked shyly, "Are you really willing to help me?"

  "Of course," replied Wandering Zhou with a gracious wave.

  Now that this charlatan had spent his final five yuan, his offer to be the official sampler of the straw-embedded buns turned out to be the perfect way to nab himself several days’ worth of food. After he left the snack shop with his two cardboard boxes, his gait was much livelier than it had been when he had been so famished. Now he just needed to find a free place to sleep. He again walked up to Poet Zhao and came up with a plan to claim Zhao's straw mat.

  Poet Zhao would have already been asleep by that point if it hadn't been for the mosquitoes. They had bitten him all over his body, driving him to distraction. When Wandering Zhou walked by, Zhao was slapping madly at the buzzing mosquitoes, his hands dotted with blood. As Wandering Zhou set down his piled-up boxes next to Poet Zhao's mat, Zhao peered down at his mosquito-blood dotted palms under the light of the streetlamps and showed Wandering Zhou, saying, "This is all my blood."

  Wandering Zhou nodded politely, and then his toy cell phone rang. He took out his phone and said, Hello, followed by a string of foreign words Poet Zhao couldn't understand. Zhao looked at him curiously, waiting for him to finish, then asked cautiously, "Were you speaking American just now?"

  "Yes." Wandering Zhou nodded. "I was discussing business with the manager of my American subsidiary."

  Having guessed correctly that Wandering Zhou was speaking American, Poet Zhao said proudly, "I can also understand a little American."

  Wandering Zhou looked at Poet Zhao, who was standing there impressed by his own brilliance, and realized that the telephone call had not sufficiently cowed him. Therefore, his toy cell naturally rang again, and he said, "Buon giorno," followed by a string of foreign words that Poet Zhao couldn't understand. Zhao waited until Wandering Zhou was finished and had put his cell phone back in his pocket, then again cautiously asked, "This time you weren't speaking American, were you?"

  "It was Italian," Zhou replied. "I was discussing business with the manager of my Italian subsidiary."

  Poet Zhao said proudly, "I knew it couldn't be American."

  Since neither of these calls had been able to conquer this self-satisfied country bumpkin, Zhou's cell phone promptly rang a third time. He answered, "Yeobo-seyo."

  This time Wandering Zhou finally succeeded in conquering Poet Zhao. Zhao didn't dare continue showing off but, rather, aske
d humbly, "What language were you speaking this time?"

  Wandering Zhou smiled and said, "Korean. I was discussing business with the manager of my Korean subsidiary."

  A look of respectful awe came over Poet Zhao's face, and he asked Wandering Zhou, "How many countries’ languages do you know?"

  Wandering Zhou held up three fingers and said, "Thirty."

  Poet Zhao exclaimed in surprise, "That many!"

  Wandering Zhou laughed modestly and said, "That includes Chinese, of course."

  Poet Zhao was awestruck and said, "But that still leaves twenty-nine."

  "Your math is very good," replied Wandering Zhou, then shook his head. "My businesses stretch worldwide, from the North to the South Pole, from Africa to Latin America, leaving me with no choice but to learn so many foreign languages."

  Poet Zhao was completely taken in. He gazed at Zhou reverently and in a far more respectful tone of voice, asked, "May I inquire as to what line of business you might be in?"

  Wandering Zhou replied, "Health products."

  Wandering Zhou took off his jacket and set it down on the cardboard box. He then removed his tie and stuffed it into the jacket pocket. While he was undoing his shirt button, Poet Zhao asked cautiously, "What do you have in your boxes?"

  Wandering Zhou answered, "Hymens."

  With a look of astonishment, Poet Zhao watched as Wandering Zhou took off his shirt and placed it on top of the box, leaving him bare-chested like Poet Zhao. Seeing Zhao's astonished expression, Zhou said, "Haven't you ever heard of hymens?"

  "Of course I've heard of hymens," Poet Zhao replied, still looking completely confused. "But hymens are located in women's bodies. How is it that you have them stored in boxes?"

  Wandering Zhou laughed and said, "These are artificial hymens."

  "Is there such a thing as an artificial hymen?" Poet Zhao was astonished.

  "Of course."

  Wandering Zhou sat on Poet Zhao's mat and removed his shoes and socks. He then removed his pants and placed them on the box. Now he was as undressed as Poet Zhao, who was also completely naked except for his underwear. Zhou told Poet Zhao, "There are artificial hearts, so why shouldn't there be artificial hymens? One uses these artificial hymens the same way one would a real one. There will certainly be real pain, and the first night they will bleed real blood."

  As he was saying this Wandering Zhou lay down on Poet Zhao's mat, as if he were lying down in his own bed. He even nudged Poet Zhao over a little with his foot, but Zhao didn't budge, thinking to himself that this was his bed, and what right did this fellow have to kick him off? Poet Zhao began to get annoyed. Kicking Wandering Zhou back, he said, "Hey, this is my bed. What do you think you are doing, lying here?"

  Lying on the mat, Wandering Zhou tapped his finger and asked disdainfully, "You call this a bed?"

  Poet Zhao replied, "This straw mat is my bed. All that falls within the borders of this straw mat is my bed."

  Wandering Zhou lay there comfortably with his eyes closed and yawned. "Okay, let's call it a bed. Isn't it appropriate to share one's bed with friends?"

  Poet Zhao sat up on his mat, determined to push this fellow away before he fell asleep. "What do you mean, friends? We just met and exchanged a few words."

  With his eyes closed, Wandering Zhou replied, "Some people become friends the instant they meet, while others may know each other for an entire lifetime without becoming friends."

  Poet Zhao stood up and lifted his foot to kick Wandering Zhou, saying, "Get the fuck out of here. Who's friends with you?"

  Poet Zhao kicked Wandering Zhou in the groin. Wandering Zhou immediately sat up, howling in pain. Holding his groin, he shouted at Poet Zhao, "You kicked me in the balls!"

  Poet Zhao continued kicking him, saying, "Yes, I meant to kick you in the balls. If hymens can be replaced with artificial ones, then I want you to have to replace your balls with artificial balls."

  Wandering Zhou jumped up and shouted at Poet Zhao, "I, Boss Zhou, always stay in the presidential suites of five-star hotels."

  It was only then that Poet Zhao learned that Wandering Zhou's surname was Zhou. Paying no attention to what Wandering Zhou was saying, Poet Zhao said, "I don't care if you are a premier named Zhou, I wouldn't let you use my bed even if you were a chairman named Mao. Why don't you go stay in your presidential suite?"

  Wandering Zhou stood next to Poet Zhao's mat and began to argue with him: "Here in your town they don't even have any ordinary rooms in ordinary hotels available, much less a presidential suite. Otherwise, why would I be lying down on your straw mat?"

  Poet Zhao decided that Wandering Zhou had a point. It was true that all the hotels in Liu were booked solid. Otherwise, why would there be two virgin beauties sleeping in his own house? Zhao considered for a moment, then agreed to permit Wandering Zhou to sleep on his mat, but on the condition that he pay rent. "The lowest price I will charge for this bed is twenty yuan a night. Given that you are not from here, and furthermore can speak twenty-nine foreign languages in addition to Chinese, I won't overcharge you. The bed is twenty yuan a night, but since I, the owner, will be sleeping on half of it, I will only charge you, the customer, ten yuan."

  "Okay, it's a deal," Wandering Zhou said quickly. "I'll pay you twenty yuan a day, and you can consider your half of the bed to be my treat."

  Poet Zhao looked up with a smile and thought to himself that this fellow was truly a boss—no haggling over nickels and dimes. Reverting to his former polite tone of voice, he extended his hand and said, "If you could be so kind as to settle your account now…"

  Wandering Zhou had not expected Poet Zhao to pull this move, so he responded irritably, "When one stays at a hotel, its customary to settle the bill upon checking out."

  Wandering Zhou picked up his suit jacket from the box, and when he reached into his pocket, Poet Zhao thought that he was reaching for his money. At that moment Zhou's phone rang, and what he pulled out of his pocket, therefore, was not money but, rather, his cell. He yelled angrily into the receiver, lambasting the person on the other end of the line for not having reserved him a room, thereby making him sleep in the street. Hamming it up, he roared into the phone, "What? Go talk to their provincial governor? Its too late now. What? Tell their provincial governor to call up the county governor? What time do you think it is? Its past one o'clock in the morning! How the fuck do you want me to call him at this hour?"

  When Poet Zhao heard this, his eyes grew wide with astonishment. After glancing over at Poet Zhao, Wandering Zhou changed his tone and, still speaking into the receiver, said, "Okay, let's leave aside the question of the room. But what about my salesmen? Why haven't they arrived? What? They had a car accident? They fucking totaled my Mercedes? … In any event, I can't be the one out on the streets selling my own products. Forget it, don't waste time apologizing. Just hurry to the hospital to look after the salesmen. I'll take care of things here on my own."

  After Wandering Zhou closed his phone and put it back in his pocket, he looked at Poet Zhao and said, "My salesmen had a car accident and therefore won't be able to make it. Would you like to work for me?"

  Poet Zhao had no way of knowing that Wandering Zhou didn't have a cent to his name. After Zhou put his phone back in his pocket and didn't take any money out, Poet Zhao assumed he had simply forgotten. When Zhou asked Poet Zhao if he wanted to work for him, Zhao himself also promptly forgot about the twenty-yuan bed fee and asked curiously, "What kind of work?"

  Wandering Zhou pointed to the two boxes and replied, "Sales."

  "You mean selling hymens?" Poet Zhao asked.

  Wandering Zhou nodded. "I'll give you a salary of one hundred yuan a day, with additional bonuses based on performance."

  A salary of one hundred yuan a day? Poet Zhao was delighted but cautiously asked Wandering Zhou, "When will you pay me my salary?"

  Wandering Zhou replied, "After you have sold all the goods, of course."

  Looking as though he couldn't care less wheth
er Poet Zhao worked for him or not, Wandering Zhou had intimidated Poet Zhao so thoroughly Zhao didn't dare to ask about the salary again. Poet Zhao asked Zhou for his cell number, saying that an employee should know his boss's number. The number that Wandering Zhou then gave Poet Zhao left him dumbfounded, one starting with 000, followed by 88, and ending with a 123. This number was neither that of a Chinese cell phone nor that of a Chinese landline. Poet Zhao asked Wandering Zhou, "What kind of number is this?"

  Wandering Zhou said, "It is a number from the British Virgin Islands."

  Poet Zhao had never even heard of such a place, and in his astonishment he completely forgot about the twenty-yuan bed fee. Poet Zhao quickly squeezed his body over to the side, making every effort to give his temporary boss a little more room. He said, "Boss Zhou, please try to get some sleep."

  Wandering Zhou was very satisfied with Poet Zhao's suggestion. He nodded, then lay down and immediately started snoring. At this point Poet Zhao suddenly remembered that Wandering Zhou had never paid his twenty-yuan bed fee, but he didn't dare kick him again.

  The next morning, when Poet Zhao opened his eyes, his temporary boss had already put on his suit and tie. When Wandering Zhou saw that Poet Zhao had woken up, he feigned uncertainty and asked, "Did I hire you last night?"