She’d stayed close to the can salesman for some time, though. Canned goods were scarce in Peking these days, especially canned goods produced by the foreign devils. To show such a stock, the fellow who was selling them had to have connections with the little scaly devils. Maybe they would come around to his stall-and if they did, she would eavesdrop. Nieh Ho-T’ing had told her he’d used Bobby Fiore the same way in Shanghai; people who could make sense of the scaly devils’ language were few and far between.
But the can seller, though he might have been what Nieh called a running dog, was no fool. “You, woman!” he shouted at Liu Han. “Do you want to buy something, or are you spying on me?”
“I am just resting here for a moment, sir,” Liu Han answered in a small voice. “I cannot afford your excellent canned goods, I fear.” That was true; he asked exorbitant prices. For good measure, she added, “I wish I could,” which was a crashing lie.
She did not mollify the can seller. “Go rest somewhere else,” he said, shaking his fist. “I think you are telling lies. If I see you again, I will set the police on you.” He was a running dog, then; the Peking police, like police in any Chinese city, were the tools of those in power.
Liu Han retreated across the little market square to the edge of a
She couldn’t reckon it a victory, though, because he’d driven her away before any scaly devils showed up at his stall. She bought some
Sure enough, when she came out on the
But the scaly devils bought no silks and sought no restaurants. Instead, they gathered several deep around a mountebank whose show might have enlivened a child’s birthday party. “See how fat my mules are, and how warm my carriages!” the fellow cried.
Because the little devils were so short, Liu Han was able to see over them to the folding table the fellow had set up. His carriages were about six inches long, made of cast-off bits of cardboard, and used thin sticks for axles. The little scaly devils hissed with excitement as he pulled out a tin can from the box that held his paraphernalia. Out of the can he took one large, black dung beetle after another. He deftly fastened them to the carriages with reins of thread. They pulled those carriages-some of which resembled old-fashioned mule carts, others Peking water wagons-around and around the tabletop; every so often, he had to use a forefinger to keep his steeds from falling off the edge.
Even in the village where Liu Han had grown up, a beetle-cart show was nothing out of the ordinary. By the way the scaly devils reacted, though, they’d never seen anything like it in their lives. Some of them let their mouths hang open in mirth, while others nudged each other and exclaimed over the spectacle. “They make even pests into beasts of burden,” one of the little devils said.
“See, that one has upset the cart. Look at its little legs wave as it lies on its back,” another replied. He tossed a dollar Mex, and then another, to the mountebank. His comrades also showered the fellow with silver.
The little devils paid Liu Han no attention. The only way they would have noticed her was if she’d got in their way while they were watching the antics of the beetles. But those antics had so fascinated them, they weren’t talking about anything else. After a while, Liu Han decided she wouldn’t hear anything worthwhile here. The
When she got up to them, she discovered they were all staring at a monkey circus going through its paces. Like most of its kind, the circus also included a Pekinese dog and a trained sheep. Both men who ran it clanged brass gongs to draw a bigger crowd.
Growing impatient, one of the little scaly devils said, “You show us these creatures, what they do,
The two men bowed nervously and obeyed. The monkey, dressed in a red satin jacket, capered about. It put on masks, one after another, cued by more taps on the gong.