Shifu, You'll Do Anything For a Laugh Read Online Free PDF

chance to silently unload half a lifetime of discontent toward her. Because she was infertile, in his eyes she was simply inferior. But she shrewdly turned around, taking the brunt of his rage on her back. She was wearing a black synthetic blouse with yellow flowers, something she'd picked up somewhere or other and which was utterly inappropriate for a woman her age. A sunflower the size of a basin cast an aging ray onto her slightly hunched back. Raising his fist, with the idea of pounding the hell out of the wallet on the table, he stopped in midair, sighed despondently, and sat down, defeated. Any man who can't make a living and take care of his family has no right to lash out at his wife. That's the way it's always been, in China and in other places.
    One sunny morning, he put away his cane and walked out the door. With the sun's blinding rays stinging his eyes, he felt a bit like a mole that's come out into the light after years in a dark hole. A rainbow array of automobiles passed slowly in front of him, with motorcycles shuttling in and out among them, like defiant jackrabbits. He wanted to cross the street, but didn't have the nerve to weave his way through the stream of cars. A vague memory of an overpass somewhere nearby surfaced, so he started walking down the sidewalk, with its newly laid, colorful cement tiles. He may have lived in the city for many years, but he discovered that he wasn't even as brave as a common villager he spotted riding an unwieldy bicycle down the street. The man was carrying a gas can with sweet potatoes baking inside; with steam pouring off the back of his bike, even fancy sedans gave way to him. A pair of villagers with saws and axes over their shoulders strolled down the street, whistling; the shorter of the two, wearing a corduroy jacket, carefree as can be, swung his ax at the trunk of an Oriental plane tree. Old Ding shuddered, almost as if he had been the target of the chopping blow. Peddlers’ stands filled the tree-lined street, one every few paces, and nearly every one of them hailed him as he passed by. They displayed a motley array of wares, as large as electric appliances and as small as buttons, and everything in between. One of them, a dark-skinned man with slanted eyes, was squatting beneath a tree, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a pair of fat little piglets on tethers.
    “Old uncle, how about a nice piglet?” the peddler asked fervently. “They're real Yorkshires, the finest breed you can find. They make great pets, clean and neat, much better than dogs or cats. In the West they're more popular than dogs and cats. A United Nations study has proved that the only animals smarter than pigs are people. Pigs can recognize words, they can paint pictures, and if you've got the patience, you can even teach them to sing and dance.” He took a crumpled newspaper clipping out of his pocket, stuck the tethers under his foot to free both hands, and pointed to the clipping. “Old uncle,” he said, “you don't have to believe me, it's right here in black and white. See here — an elderly Irish woman raised a pig, and it was the same as hiring a nanny. Every morning, after bringing in the paper, it went out and bought her some milk and bread. Then it scrubbed the floor and boiled water, but most amazing of all, one day the old woman had a heart attack, and that smart little pig went straight to the local clinic for an ambulance. It saved that old woman's life… .”
    Thanks to the peddler's honeyed words, the sort of good mood he hadn't enjoyed for a very long time settled upon Ding. He cast a warm, tender gaze down at the piglets, which were tethered by their rear legs and huddled closely together, like a pair of inseparable twins. Their bristles glistened like silver threads, their bellies sported black spots. Their snouts were pink, their little eyes like shiny black marbles. A pudgy little girl with pigtails that stuck straight up waddled up and squatted in front of