Excerpt from pgs. 72-73: I was eventuall led to the pagoda by a High Court judge. He was a cheerful fellow with his shirt knotted above his bare tummy and his trousers rolled up to his knees. He was on this way to try a difficult case which he described in English as "very grave, very murderous." Strapped to the back of his bicycle was the head of a freshly butchered cow. As he led me through the maze of alleys it left a trail of blood in our wake which I later used to find my way back to the main street. Its tongue lolled hideously between wet lips. The eyes followed me like the eyes of a portrait.

"You are from England?" the judge asked. "Yes," I said, dropping slightly astern in the hope of shaking off the sorry gaze of the cow. "The Old Boiling," the judge said. "Very famous. Number One court. Tell me. Do the judges in the Old Boiling Number One court still wear the women's hair?" "Wigs. Yes, I am afraid so," I said.

The judge roared with laughter. "And women's dresses?" "Absolutely. The judges are very fond of women's clothing." He could hardly contain himself. In his hilarity he slapped the cow's forehead and the stiffening jaws closed slowly on the tongue. The judge grew suddenly serious. "What about execution? Do you execute?" He made a chopping motion with his hand. It was, given the cow, a tasteless gesture.

"No," I said. "We gave it up. It didn't work." "Didn't work?" he snorted. "What could be simpler? What method are you using? Shooting, hanging, electric, gas ovens?" "No. I mean it doesn't stop crime." "In China it is one hundred percent effective," he declared merrily. "The executed never commit another crime.

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