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them. Either the fish dies or the net breaks.’ ‘Take it easy,’ Father said, laughing gleefully. ‘I wouldn't touch those skin-and-bones animals for anything.’ I took a long look at the pigs—there really wasn't much meat on either of them, although those four fleshy ears would have made for good snacking. To me, the ears were the best part of a pig's head—no fat, not much grease and tiny little bones that crunch nicely. Best eaten with cucumbers, the thorny ones with flowers, some mashed garlic and sesame oil. ‘We can eat their ears!’ I said. Mother glared at me. ‘I'll cut off your ears and eat them first, you little bastard!’ Steaming, she came at me with her cleaver and I ran fearfully into Father's arms. She grabbed hold of my ear and jerked it hard while Father tried to pull me free—by the neck—and I screamed for all I was worth, afraid my ear would be ripped off. My screams sounded like the squeals of the pigs being slaughtered in the village. Finally, Father managed to yank me free. After examining my bruised ear, he looked up and said: ‘How can you be so mean? People say that even a tiger won't eat its young, so I guess that makes you worse than a tiger!’ Rage turned Mother's face waxen and her lips purple; she stood at the stove, shaking from head to toe. Emboldened by my father's protection, I cursed, spitting out her full name: ‘Yang Yuzhen, you stinking old lady, you're making my life a living hell!’ Stunned by my outburst, she just gaped at me, while Father chuckled as he picked me up and took off at a run. We were already out in the yard by the time we heard Mother's shrill wail: ‘I'm so mad I could die, you little bastard…’ Her two pigs wagged their curly tails and began rooting in the mud at the base of the wall, like convicts trying to burrow under a prison wall to freedom. Father rapped me on the head and said softly: ‘You little imp, how did you know your mother's name?’ I looked into his swarthy, sombre face: ‘I heard you say it!’ ‘When did I ever tell you her name was Yang Yuzhen?’ ‘You told it to Aunty Wild Mule. You said: “Yang Yuzhen, that stinking old lady, is making my life a living hell!”’ Father clamped his hand over my mouth. ‘Shut up, damn you,’ he said under his breath. ‘I've been a pretty good father so far, so don't go and ruin things for me now.’ His supple hand gave off a peppery tobacco smell; it was not the sort of man's hand you usually saw in a farming village. But he'd been a lazy good-for-nothing most of his life and never done any sort of work with his hands. I snorted in dissatisfaction. Mother came out of the house, the cleaver still in her hand, and her hair standing up round her head like the magpie's nest in the village willow tree. ‘Luo Tong,’ she shouted, ‘Luo Xiaotong, you two sons of bitches, you scruffy bastards, I wouldn't care if I died today if I could take the two of you with me. Today will see the end of this family!’ The terrible look on her face was proof that this was no joke, that this time she meant it, that she was ready to kill us both. Ten men are no match for a woman on the warpath, they say. In a situation like this, meeting the charge meant certain death. The best option? Run for your life! My father may have led a dissipated life but he was no fool. The smart man avoids dangers ahead. He swept me up, tucked me under his arm, turned and ran towards the wall, not the gate, which would have been a mistake, since, though we owned nothing of value, Mother had inherited from her family the bad habit of securing the gate with a brass lock at night. Actually, if there was one thing we owned that could bring in enough to buy a pig's head, it was that lock. I'm sure that whenever my father's hunger for meat came upon him, he must have thought of selling it. But Mother loved that lock as much as she loved her own ears, since it was part of her dowry, the one gift that symbolized her parents’