When I was young. I ate, drank, whored and gambled – I took part in every disreputable thing there was. The House of Qing was the whorehouse I used to go to. There was a fat prostitute there who really won my affection. When she walked, her fat butt was just like the two lanterns that hung outside, shaking from side to side. When she lay in bed she would wobble around. When I was pressed on top of her it felt like being asleep on a boat, rocking back and forth as I floated down a river. I would often have her carry me piggyback to go shopping – riding on her back was just like riding on the back of a horse.
Mr. Chen, my father-in-law, who was the owner of the rice store, always stood behind the counter wearing a black silk shirt. Whenever we we're passing by his shop, I would pull that prostitute's hair to tell her to stop. Then I would take off my hat and pay my respects to my father-in-law. "How have you been feeling lately?"
As I asked, my father-in-law's face would look like a preserved egg. Me, I'd just giggle and continue on my way. Later my dad told me that on a few occasions my father-in-law was so angry with me it made him physically sick.
"Give me a break, " I told my dad. "You're my father, and my behaviors never even made you sick. Just because he's got health problems, what right does he have to blame me?"
Mr. Chen was afraid of me, and I knew it. When I passed his shop riding on that whore's back, my father-in-law would be startled into retreat – like a rat scurrying back into his little hole. He didn't want to see me, but as a son-in-law passing a father-in-law's store, you should always have some manners. So I would call out, wishing my father-in-law well as he scurried away.