Hunger Days

By Zhang Jiawei

When I was in high school I had a really big appetite. I’d bet that I could eat an entire family bucket from KFC and ifi could finish it they would have to pay for it. I won, every time. But my dad said that I wasn’t as good as my uncle. In the following years, I heard five or six guys telling seven or eight different versions of my uncle’s eating story. Some of the details are different, but the main story is the same.

The story goes that when my dad and my uncle were still young, they would often be starving. Deep fried the steamed bun slices golden yellow, dipped in a bit of sugar and you’d get yourself a feast. If the steamed buns could be baked a little crispier and dipped in a bit of sesame paste, once you got a bite into them whilst they were still sizzling away, it was like Spring Festival’s dinner. In those days during holiday, young men looking for fun would wager over eating food. Whoever lost would need to crawl under the table, call somebody “grandpa,” and do other sorts of things like that. There exists a kind of tricky logic: it doesn’t matter who wins and who loses, as long as you could satisfy your hunger, who cares?

One year at the dinner on the eve of the Lunar New Year, my uncle got into it with a distant relative of ours. In Southern China it was customary to make sure that everyone ate well and had enough to eat on this day, no matter how poor they usually were. Generally they’d start with a cold starter, then move on to a hot stir-fry and some vegetables. There would be snacks like white steamed buns with soup. Lastly, there would be a big plate of soy braised pork leg, as tasty and crunchy as you can imagine. That day, my uncle started a wager with someone who we also call “uncle” who came visiting from Changzhou. Two young guys with big appetites, who were often left very hungry, decided to bet who could eat the white steamed buns most. After all, wagering to see who could eat the most meat would leave them self-conscious and their relatives unhappy.

My uncle was intelligent. He knew that although steamed buns were fragrant and fluffy, they were also very dry, if you had too many, your throat would start to get blocked up. He specially got some pickled vegetables and some fermented bean curd. He peeled the steamed bun apart, put some of the sauerkraut in the middle and spread some of the tofu on top. After eating a steamed bun, he would have a sip of radish soup. He knew that he couldn’t drink too much soup otherwise the buns would start to swell in his stomach. That other uncle, though, was unfettered. He chewed, dryly, on the white steamed buns and drank water along with it.

After their first round, both of them started standing up and strolling around, while loosening their belts. After they had been eating again for a while, the other guy started rubbing his belly, later according to him it was, “to adjust the location of the buns in his stomach and make room for the next lot to slide in.” My uncle started drinking more of the soup while doing his best to swallow down his saliva and straighten out his neck.

They ate another round and everyone put down their chopsticks to watch both of them. My uncle started shaking, unable to grasp the pickled vegetables firmly with his chopsticks, feeling nauseous at the sight of the steamed buns. Looking at his rival, stripping apart the buns, continuously consuming the bread little by little, unperturbed and steady, but he was scared in his heart. They ate again for another while. My uncle felt like his saliva had all been used up and that his body was chockablock with white steamed buns. To use what he said to describe it, “There’s a lot of cotton stuffed down my throat.” The decisive moment had come.

He sat there for a long time, biting away. Seeing that they were presently tied, he seized a bun, dipped it in the radish soup and ate half of it. He couldn’t eat any more.

The other uncle, still calm, grabbed a steamed bun. He didn’t break it apart, though, this time. He wasn’t eating it, either. He just stayed there holding it for a long time, as if he didn’t recognize what it was. In the end he opened his mouth and his teeth came together like he was going to bite into it, but he only bit at the air. His eyes, suddenly, went blank, his body jerked and his face went green.

My dad said, everyone was really frightened then. Seeing that his eyes went blank, his breathing stopped and his stomach swelled, they thought he’d eaten himself to death.

Everyone came to help, giving out suggestions without even thinking. Grandma pushed everyone out of the way, complaining how children were really such trouble, while patting him on the back of his neck and massaging his belly. All the time while commanding others not to bring water for him to drink, “otherwise, if the food swells up he’ll choke to death.”

After tapping a few times, small clumps of dough balls started coming out of his mouth, like squeezing out toothpaste, and fell to the floor. After which he struggled out a long rolling belch, “burrrrp.” Grandma, only at this, let out a sigh. Everything was okay. Everyone let out a sigh of relief and sat back down. Some people stayed standing and asked, “Does your stomach hurt? Are you okay?”

In the next scene of other people’s version of the story, there is nothing. It is only my uncle’s version that is true to life. My uncle believes that anyone who had experienced hunger during those times would believe that this story is true.

Everyone came back to their senses and calmed down. They started talking about how dangerous everything was while making jokes out of it. The final dish was served. My auntie was in the kitchen controlling the flame while eating a bowl of rice, having no idea what had happened outside. Seeing the soy braised pork leg was highly successful, she cheerfully carried it out of the kitchen, with the smell of meat permeating the whole place.

The uncle who had just come back from the grips of death, choking while strolling on the streets of the necropolis, only to be saved by the pats of Grandma, was reclining in his chair, taking big long breaths while two kids were, still, rubbing his stomach for him. He suddenly opened his eyes, sniffing, and pursing up his lips.

My uncle swears that before this, this guy must have been like him, unable to produce any saliva. But now, unexpectedly, swallowing down his spit, he weakly said, “Oh, pork leg, you guys can have the meat, I’ll eat the skin.”

(From Wishing You Happiness, July 2013. Translation: Sam Bowden)

吃饅頭比賽

文/張佳瑋

上高中時我很能吃，跟人打賭“我能吃個肯德基全家桶，吃得完你付賬”，次次都贏。但我爸說，我還是不及我叔叔。后來幾年，這個段子我聽五六個人說了七八個版本，細節有出入，但大意相同。

說我叔叔、爸爸都還是青壯年時，經常餓肚子。饅頭片炸到金黃，蘸點糖就是打牙祭；要能蘸點芝麻醬再烤酥一點，嗞啦一口咬下去，那就是過年了。那時逢年過節，年輕人無聊，就打賭吃東西，賭輸了鉆桌子、叫干爺之類。這里有種狡猾的邏輯：無論輸贏，至少能落個飽肚，誰不愿意呢？

說那年年夜飯，我叔叔就和一個遠房親戚扛上了。江南年夜飯常例，平時日子再怎么窮，年夜飯要吃好，而且要管夠。先冷盤，后熱炒，再蔬菜，然后點心是白饅頭就湯，最后來一大盤香酥入骨的紅燒蹄髈。那天，叔叔和從常州來串門的我們叫伯伯的人就賭上了。兩個都是年輕好胃口，又常餓，就賭吃白饅頭。賭吃肉畢竟有點不好意思，親戚們看著也不高興。

我叔叔長心眼，知道白饅頭雖然噴香蓬松，但是干，吃多了堵嗓子眼，特意要了點咸菜，要了點腐乳。白饅頭掰開里面塞咸菜，表面抹腐乳，吃完一個饅頭，就喝一小口蘿卜湯，不能喝多，不然饅頭發漲。那位伯伯就很豪邁，干嚼白饅頭，就白水。

兩人吃完頭一圈，都開始站起來溜達，皮帶也解開了。又吃了一會兒，伯伯開始揉肚子，據他后來說，是“把胃里的饅頭位置調調，騰出地方來，好落下去”；我叔叔的蘿卜湯開始加量，用力咽唾沫直脖子。

再吃一巡，大家都停筷子看他倆。我叔叔當時有些抖，咸菜都夾不穩，看著饅頭犯惡心，看看伯伯，他撕著饅頭皮，一縷縷塞嘴里，慢條斯理，手還是很穩，心里就有點怯。又吃了一會兒，我叔叔覺得自己唾液都沒了，白饅頭塞滿身體，用他跟我說的話，“喉嚨里塞了好多棉花”，就知道生死之際到了。

又坐了好一會兒，他咬咬牙，看見眼下還是打平，他強自拿過一個饅頭，蘸點兒蘿卜湯，又吃了半個，真不行了。

再看伯伯，還是很平靜地拿起饅頭，但這回沒撕，也沒吃，把饅頭端詳了好一會兒，就跟不認識似的。最后，他張了張嘴，然后牙齒一合，好像要咬下去，但只是咬了口空氣，人忽然眼睛就直了，坐椅子上的身體忽然一抽緊，臉就青起來。

我爸爸說，當時大家真嚇怕了，看那伯伯兩眼發直，氣不往外冒，肚子高高隆起，真以為他就這么撐死了。

大家過來救護，七手八腳瞎出主意。奶奶排開眾人，一邊抱怨小孩子家真胡鬧，一邊拍那伯伯的后脖子，一邊給他按摩肚子，還喝令別遞水過來給他喝，“不然漲起來，噎死”。

拍了幾下，那伯伯嘴里擠牙膏一樣擠出幾小團面疙瘩來，面疙瘩落了地，接著就艱難地蹦出一個悠然漫長、連綿起伏、格里咕嚕的嗝。我奶奶這才嘆口氣說，好了。大家有的松了口氣就坐了下來，有些還站著，都問，胃疼不疼？有沒有事？

接下來的一幕，為其他人講的版本里都沒有，只有我叔叔說得繪聲繪色。我叔叔認為，那年紀餓過的人聽了這個，都會相信這是真事的。

大家緩過來，情緒恢復，一邊說太危險了太危險了，一邊開始拿這事說笑話。最后一道菜上來了。我大姑那時一邊在廚房里看火候，一邊自己吃泡飯，不知道外頭發生了什么。這時見紅燒蹄髈大功告成，高高興興地端出來，肉香四溢。

我那位剛才還在鬼門關被一個嗝撐住、在豐都城遛大街、才被我奶奶拍回來的伯伯，這時人斜靠著椅子，喘著很長的氣，正被兩個小伙子繼續揉肚子呢，忽然睜了眼睛，吸了吸鼻子，嘴抿了一下（我叔叔發誓說，之前這伯伯肯定跟他一樣，都分泌不出唾沫了，這時居然咽了口唾沫），虛弱地說了聲：“蹄髈啊，你們吃腿心肉吧，我要肉皮。”