The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan

returned to the room. She picked up the gourd and scooped hot water into the basin.
    â€˜Aren’t you going to add cool water?’ the man asked.
    She tested the water with her hand. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s just right. Go get him.’
    The man went into the next room, bent down, and lifted up the boy, who was still snoring. When he started crying, Jin Yuanbao patted him on the bottom and made cooing sounds.
    â€˜Treasure, Little Treasure, don’t cry. Daddy’s going to give you a bath.’
    The woman took the child from him. Little Treasure crooked his neck and nestled against her bosom, groping with his hands.
    â€˜Want Mama … milk…’
    She had no choice but to sit in the doorway and open her blouse. Little Treasure took a nipple into his mouth and immediately began gurgling contentedly. The woman was hunched over, as if the child were weighing her down.
    The man stirred the water in the basin with his hand.
    â€˜He’s had enough,’ he said to hurry her along. ‘The water’s getting cold.’
    The woman patted Little Treasure’s bottom.
    â€˜Treasure,’ she said, ‘my Treasure, stop sucking. You’ve already sucked me dry. Time for a bath. When you’re all clean, we’ll take you to town for an outing.’
    She pushed the child away, but Treasure refused to give up the nipple, stretching it as far as it would go, like a worn-out piece of rubber.
    The man reached out and jerked the child away. The woman moaned, Treasure shrieked tearfully. Jin Yuanbao patted his bottom, harder this time, and said angrily:
    â€˜What are you screeching about?’
    â€˜Not so hard,’ the woman complained. ‘Bruises will lower the grade.’
    After stripping Treasure’s clothes off and tossing them aside, the man tested the water again. ‘It’s pretty hot,’ he mumbled, ‘but that’ll put a little color in him.’ He laid the naked boy down in the basin, drawing yelps of pain louder than the screeches of a moment earlier. As if elevated from a rolling hill to a towering mountain peak. The boy’s legs curled inward as he fought to climb out of the basin. But Jin Yuanbao kept pushing him back. Beads of hot water splashed the woman. Quickly covering her face with her hands, she complained softly:
    â€˜Treasure’s daddy, the water’s too hot. Burning his skin will lower the grade.’
    â€˜This little family wrecker, his water’s got to be just right, not too cold, not too hot. All right, add half a gourdful of cool water.’
    The woman scrambled to her feet without covering her droopy breasts; the hem of her blouse hung limply between her legs, like a soggy old flag. After scooping out half a gourdful of water, she dumped it into the basin and stirred it rapidly with her hand.
    â€˜It isn’t hot,’ she said, ‘it really isn’t. Stop crying, Treasure, stop crying.’
    Little Treasure’s crying died down a bit, but he continued to struggle. A bath was the last thing he wanted, and Jin Yuanbao had to keep forcing him down into the basin. The woman stood to the side, gourd in hand, as if in a trance. ‘Are you dead, or what?’ Jin Yuanbao barked. ‘Give me a hand here!’
    As if waking from a dream, she put down the gourd and knelt beside the basin, where she began washing the boy’s back and his bottom. Their eldest daughter - a girl of seven or eight clad only in baggy red knee-length shorts, her shoulders hunched, hair a mess, barefoot - walked into the room rubbing her eyes.
    â€˜Die [father], Niang [mother], how come you’re washing him? You going to cook him and feed him to us?’
    â€˜Get back to bed, damn it!’ Jin Yuanbao snapped viciously.
    At the sight of his elder sister, Little Treasure cried out to her. But the girl, not daring to say another word, turned and slinked back into the other room, stopping in the doorway to