by Liu Zhenyun
Ma Wenbin’s censure of Zheng Zhong was severe, though Ma wore a smile the whole time. That was a personal trait of a man who stood barely five-feet-two. Sometimes when scheduled to give a speech he had to stand in the wings until the previous speaker had finished, then walked to the podium, where workers had speedily lowered the microphone for him. Short, skinny, and never without his gold-rimmed glasses, he looked like a meek scholar. He spoke softly and always began and ended comments with a slight laugh. But being in the right is not reliant upon elevated speech; if others could explain one level of reasoning on any given matter, he could manage three. He appreciated good work, but met shoddy labor with bruising condemnation. Soft-spoken most of the time, when it came time to examining the work of cadres, he raised the volume substantially. His stand was always clear-cut regarding who to promote and who to sack. Few people dared question his promotion decisions, and those who did never had a chance in the debate. He always had the final word, as he was able to present three levels of reasoning. Municipal and county cadres were in awe of him. Ma’s censure of Zheng Zhong did not deviate from a fixed routine, in that the comments were interrupted by slight smiles, until Zheng’s skin was wet with cold sweat, not out of fear of Ma’s criticism, but because he knew that in every respect Ma was more talented than he. The difference between the two men? That was it. Ma was mayor, Zheng was county chief, and that was attributable to Ma’s higher level of achievement and ability.
Once Ma had wrapped up what needed to be said, Zheng responded with heartfelt gratitude:
“You are absolutely right, Mayor Ma. I underestimated the complexity of the problem and underestimated its severity. I didn’t see the big picture or the political ramifications. I lost sight of the times. I’ll go and write a self-criticism.”
With a smile, Ma Wenbin waved him off.
“That won’t be necessary. Your knowing what you did is enough for me.”
He moved on.
“Sometimes I find myself contemplating classical idioms, many of which are worth pondering, since they are so profound. Take ‘a tiny ant hole can ruin a dike,’ for instance. Or ‘attend to the small to ward off the big.’ Then there’s ‘save a little and lose a lot.’ Notice that they all deal with the idea of something ‘small.’ Many people stumble not over the ‘big,’ but over the ‘small.’ They can’t grasp its profound significance.”
Zheng Zhong nodded in agreement.
“I’m one of those who tried to save a little and lost a lot. The small was my undoing.”
“There’s another idiom,” Ma said, “that goes, ‘the loss of a horse may not be a bad thing.’ Stumble once, and the next time you’ll think twice. Draw inferences from one instance. I believe you’ve learned your lesson.”
“When I’m back home,” Zheng Zhong said, “I’ll do things differently, starting with having a talk with the woman.”
Ma Wenbin smiled, pointed a finger at Zheng.
“You pushed her to the point of no return, and bringing her back won’t be easy.”
He rapped the sofa arm.
“The Congress will convene in nine days, so you’d better leave that to me. Go back and extend a dinner invitation to the woman on my behalf.”
Knowing that the mayor’s invitation stemmed from his own inability to resolve the matter made Zheng Zhong uneasy.
“My failed attempt has made trouble for you, Mayor Ma.”
“Meeting the people is part of my job,” Ma said with a wave of his hand.
He smiled and added:
“I’ve been in this job for three years and haven’t had the pleasure of meeting the ‘Little Cabbage.’ Oh, that’s right, I haven’t met this ‘Pan Jinlian,’ or the one you just called ‘Doue,’ this supernatural demon-queen. I should have. I’ve been guilty of bureaucratic behavior.”
Taking advantage of a lightening of the mood, Zheng smiled unctuously.
“The female characters in all three works are lovely young women. Ours is a gray-haired middle-aged one.”
Before Mayor Ma fulfilled his promise to treat Li to a meal, he had reason to be critical again, this time of his secretary and—back for seconds—Zheng Zhong, over the location. Ma hosted dinners at his three favorite spots. For provincial-level officials or municipal colleagues, he reserved tables at the Municipal Government Guesthouse; for foreign investors, it was at the upscale Regal Hotel; and for old classmates and friends, he had food catered from the Guesthouse to his home. His secretary, assuming that an invitation to a countrywoman made it work related, reserved a table at the Municipal Guesthouse and arranged for a car to pick her up. When he reported to the mayor, Ma frowned.
“I’m not unhappy with you, but one meal can make your attitude toward the masses crystal clear. Are you having a commoner call on you or are you calling on her?”
The secretary realized his mistake at once.
“Yes, of course, we should go to her.”
He left the mayor’s office and placed a call to County Chief Zheng Zhong, who reserved a table at Peach Blossom Heaven, the finest restaurant in the county. Though located in an inland province, the restaurant took pride in its seafood offerings from all over the world. In the past, whenever Ma Wenbin went down to the county on an inspection tour, if he stayed for dinner, he ate at Peach Blossom Heaven. Zheng Zhong informed the secretary, who made his report to Mayor Ma. Another frown.
“Didn’t I caution you to draw inferences from one instance? That should not be hard to get your head around. If you take a guest from the masses to Peach Blossom Heaven, with its fancy décor, bright lights, and seafood menu, you’ll intimidate her before she even sits down to eat. She’ll assume that this is how you dine every day, which will only upset her more and make your job harder than ever. So, since I’m inviting her to dinner, do you think you could find a place where she’d be comfortable and relaxed? A place like a lamb stew diner in her township, where we could each enjoy some flatbreads and a bowl of steaming hot, sweat-inducing lamb stew, and quickly find common ground.”
Once again, his secretary realized his mistake.
“Yes, of course,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll go to her township and all have a bowl of lamb stew.”
“But,” he added with a worried look, “how sanitary could a little diner like that be?”
“I grew up in a peasant household,” Ma Wenbin replied. “I’ll eat what she eats. If you don’t feel comfortable doing that, don’t go.”
More enthusiastic nodding.
“No, I’m fine with that. I’ll go.”
He scooted back to his office and phoned Zheng Zhong, who also realized his error and immediately made arrangements for the mayor and his guest at a local lamb stew diner. His admiration for Ma Wenbin rose even higher. No matter was too small for him to grasp its full significance. Zheng knew he had yet to thoroughly comprehend the importance of the word “small.” If you’re looking for a gap in talent, that’s where you’ll find it.
The following night, Mayor Ma Wenbin treated Li Xuelian to a meal of lamb stew at the Lao Bai Lamb Stew Diner on the western end of Round the Bend Township. Most of the time, Lao Bai was a filthy eating place, inside and out. But not tonight. A hovel that morning, it was spotless by that afternoon. The floor had been swept, the tables scrubbed with hot water, sheets of newspaper had patched holes in the overhead canopy, and caked-on grease in kitchen nooks and crannies had been scraped clean with a spatula. Lao Bai Lamb Stew Diner looked brighter after the extensive cleaning job. A roadside stall to the left of the diner that sold sheep’s entrails was open for business that morning and had been cleared away by the township head, Lai Xiaomao, by that afternoon. The owner of the stall to the right of the café, Lao Yu, pulled teeth and sold odds and ends; he too was sent away by the township head. Now swept clean, the entrance to the Lao Bai Lamb Stew Diner presented a more expansive façade. The mayor would be accompanied to the diner by his secretary, the county chief Zheng Zhong, and Chief Justice Wang Gongdao; a table
for five awaited them. The remainder of the Mayor’s entourage—employees of the municipal and county governments and the county courthouse—were to be taken to the Round the Bend government canteen for a meal hosted by the township head. That too was out of a fear that too many people would scare Li Xuelian away. Zheng Zhong dithered when it came time to send someone to collect her. He and Wang Gongdao had both recently sparred with her, pushing her nearly to the point of no return, and didn’t dare chance setting her off again, so Zheng shifted the responsibility onto the shoulders of Township Head Lai, a short, fat man in his forties who couldn’t say three words without cursing, and wasn’t above getting into a fight when he’d had too much to drink. He owned a VW Santana 3000, and when he was drunk, he sat behind his driver and turned into a volatile back-seat driver. If his man drove too fast, he’d wave his arms excitedly, smack the back of the man’s head, and curse:
“Where’s the fucking funeral? Your old man will wait for you!”
If the driver was going too slow, he’d go through the same routine:
“Who’s driving this fucking thing? Your dad? And when did it turn into an oxcart?”
The current driver was his sixth. None of the dozens of local cadres had escaped being cursed at one time or another, and none of the heads of the township’s twenty villages had missed being kicked. But during his five years as township head, he had treated Li Xuelian, who lived in one of his villages, with respect, though he kept his distance, since she’d staged a protest every one of those years. And because of those protests, Round the Bend Township was publicly censured at every year-end county meeting over a lack of stability, which kept it from being labeled a progressive township. But every year, Lai returned from the meeting to tell his subordinates that it was better to forego the progressive township label than to try to stop Li Xuelian from staging a protest. They were staged for higher authorities, and if he did not try to stop them, she’d cause no trouble for the township. If he did, turning her protests into local events, the hornets’ nest would fall on his head.
“We work in Round the Bend Township,” Lai would say, “so we have to round a mental bend every so often.”
Normally a slapdash individual, Lai sometimes surprised people by being calculating. As the person chosen by Zheng for the unpleasant job of inviting Li Xuelian to the diner, he was powerless to refuse. So, profane, violent Lai Xiaomao was all smiles when he met Li, befuddling her when he called her “Aunt.”
My protests are bringing relatives out of the woodwork, she mused.
“Township Head,” she said, “I can, with some difficulty, tolerate Chief Justice Wang Gongdao calling me ‘Cousin,’ but you put yourself a generation behind me, and calling me that makes me break out in hives.”
Lai glared at her.
“Justice Wang may call you cousin, but he has no family claim to back it up. I, however, am perfectly justified in calling you Aunt. Hear me out. My mother’s hometown is Yan Family Village. Her brother is my uncle, and he married the niece of Old Chai from Chai Family Village …”
He began counting on his pudgy fingers.
“Township Head,” Xuelian interrupted his account, “can we not beat around the bush? What is it you want? If you’re here about my protests, we stop right here.”
“This has nothing to do with that,” he said. “I’ve worked in the township for five years, Aunt, and in all that time have I ever mentioned those protests to you?”
After a thoughtful pause, she said, “No, you haven’t.”
“You see,” Lai said as he clapped his hands. “Settling scores and redressing injustices has been a guiding principle since the Three Kingdoms period. I’m not one to interfere with protests. I’m here today to invite you to dinner. Actually, I’m not the host, that would be our Mayor Ma. He is giving you much face, Aunt.”
Li said, with an angry look, “I don’t care who invites me to dinner, the mayor or the county chief, it can’t be good news. They might even be hatching a plot against me.”
She paused, then continued:
“He’s never invited me to dinner before. Why now all of a sudden? It couldn’t have anything to do with the upcoming People’s Congress, could it?”
She turned and started walking out of her yard. Lai Xiaomao ran ahead of her and held his arms out.
“I completely agree, Aunt,” he said. “Nobody that important extends a dinner invitation without a reason, especially not at such a special time. But even if it’s a trap, you have to go.”
“What does that mean?” Li Xuelian said with a gulp. “Are you going to tie me up and drag me there?”
“I wouldn’t dare. I’ve come to beg you, not for them, for me.”
He added:
“None of this had anything to do with me, not flesh and not blood, at first. But I should have known to expect the unexpected, and the job of getting you to dinner has fallen to me.”
He wasn’t finished:
“I know the mayor wants to ask you not to stage a protest. You think he’s wrong to ask, so do I. What you think is your business, but whether or not you accept his invitation is my business. Just so long as you go, you can raise a mighty stink for all I care.”
There was still more:
“This is big, Aunt, real big, too big for a minor functionary like me. All along you’ve been dealing with high-ranking people, so please don’t get me in trouble over a dinner invitation. A little pissant township head with a future like dewdrops. If you don’t take pity on me, I’ll just evaporate.”
And finally:
“I have family responsibilities, too, old and young. My eighty-year-old father, an elder cousin of yours, is confined to bed after a stroke that left his face all twisted. He might only have days to live. If you won’t take pity on me, Aunt, then take pity on my father.”
He filled up the doorway and shifted his body to bow with his hands clasped in front. That made Li Xuelian laugh. She rapped him on the head.
“You’re more scalawag than township head,” she said. “It’s only one meal. I’ll go even if there’s a mountain of knives waiting for me.”
Lai Xiaomao was the one who hit people, not the other way around. To hit him would have taken the courage of a leopard. But there he stood, rubbing his head and smiling.
“That’s the ticket, dear Aunt. Like everyone says, lay down the butcher knife and take the path to Buddha.”
He gleefully drove Li Xuelian into town in his VW.
Xuelian was the model of decorum when she was introduced to Mayor Ma, not because he was mayor, but because he wore gold-rimmed glasses, like a gentleman, and because he spoke politely, preceding and ending each utterance with a little laugh that made her feel welcomed. In such a cordial atmosphere, causing a scene seemed inappropriate. But more than cordial, he impressed her as being a sensible man. Others might approach a matter from one side, and still get it wrong; he could approach it from three sides, and be right in every respect. He spoke only of common, everyday things, not of protests, and he never talked down to her. He asked personal questions, like how big her family was and what everyone did, private matters she found it hard to answer and hard not to. Then he began talking about himself, pointing to the diner décor and telling her that he was born in a peasant village, to a family so poor he could only dream of eating lamb stew. After school each day he’d run up to a lamb stew diner in his hometown, lean against the door, and gaze inside. One day he saw a big man order three bowlfuls of stew, one after the other. He left a bit in the bottom of the third bowl and signaled for Ma Wenbin to come inside. Ma edged in slowly.