The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (60 page)

He paused for dramatic effect. ‘My lord Sun Wukong,' he called. ‘May it please you to honour us with your presence on this stage.'

As the simian creature loped towards the table, Ren Ren made a quick movement, catching and twisting Sister Elena's two hands behind her back. As the possessed Boxer jumped onto the board, balancing on one leg, cocking his head in a perfect imitation of the Sun Wukong they all knew from the opera, Ren Ren pulled out a knife. Sister Elena was so surprised that, despite the pain, she did not cry out, but Pastor John, watching from below, gave an angry shout. He was immediately grabbed by two of Ren Ren's men, and prevented from coming to her aid, his mouth gagged. ‘Now let us see whose magic is the stronger,' shouted Ren Ren, and he slit the front of the nun's jacket and vest open from collar to waist, cutting the string of her pajama trousers at the same time so that they fell to her knees. Elena's sex and belly were fully exposed to view; a little crucifix dangled between her heavy breasts. There was a gasp from the crowd, no doubt partly caused by shock at this sudden nudity in someone they had been used to venerate, but there was even more surprise at the dramatic effect on the Monkey God. He emitted a high-pitched screech, and growling and muttering, seemed to shrink from his heroic posture, collapsing to the boards of the table where he shook and shuddered, his back arching as if in pain. With a final groan the body slumped into a swoon, feet drumming the table, and lay still. This was but momentary, however, for at the next instant the young Boxer, looking tired but with no hint now of possession, was sitting up scratching his head, clearly wondering how he had got there and startled by the sight of a naked foreign lady beside him.

‘Surprised?' asked Ren Ren, rhetorically. ‘You shouldn't be. That's what happens when one piece of magic overcomes another. And in this case the pollutant effect of the witch was so foul that it drove the Monkey God back to heaven. He couldn't bear the sight of her disgusting parts, you see. The lewdness of a witch and whore, who fucks with Christian devils…' Ren Ren ran his hand under Sister Elena's loins, then theatrically smelt his fingers. ‘Ugh! What a pong! The stench of corruption and evil.

‘But don't be disheartened, good people. We've other magic just as powerful. I only wanted to show you how dangerous a foe we face, and how evil these Christians among you really are. We've proved she's a devil. How many others are there down there like her?'

No longer interested in Sister Elena, he pushed her off the table. She fell winded to the ground where, in her shame, she clutched what remained of her clothing and curled, foetuslike, sobbing. None of the Christians dared approach her. Their scared eyes were fixed on Ren Ren.

‘Never mind the witch. She's a spent force now we're here. She'll be despatched, of course, as soon as I get her back to the Harmonious Fists headquarters. What concerns me more is what we're to do with all the other Devil-worshipping Christians you have here. Your own people.

‘They won't get away, if that's what anybody was thinking. We have this square sealed tight, and my men are already scouring the houses for anyone hiding there. It won't take us long to sort out who's who. You all know who they are anyway, don't you? And, if I'm not mistaken, we'll probably all be able to smell who they are before long. If they're not shitting in their pants already they soon will be.'

He stalked round the table.

‘Can you smell their fear of us? I can. And their malevolence? I can. Let's take this pastor, this schoolteacher, the one who wants to see my credentials. You there. Headman. Why don't you advise me? What shall we do with him? He's already confessed to being head of the Christians here. And you told me that the Christians have been making magical attacks on your family. If he's their leader, he's got to be some sort of wizard too, hasn't he?'

Ren Ren cocked his ear comically, in part parody of the now departed Monkey God. ‘Speak up,' he said. ‘Can't hear you. Whisper whisper. Moan moan. You're more bashful than a bride on her wedding night. Come on, what shall we do with him?'

‘Kill him!' a loud female voice called from the crowd.

‘Fact. It's always the women who are the most bloodthirsty,' said Ren Ren. ‘Well? Is that what you want too? You're the headman here. Is that what we should do? Kill him? Shall we?'

One or two more voices repeated the call. Soon there was a hesitant chorus of scared villagers demanding Pastor John's death. Headman Yang, his eyes wide with fear, eventually nodded. ‘Yes. Kill him,' he said. ‘Please. Kill him for us.'

‘Bring him up here then, ‘Ren Ren ordered, and the bound and gagged Pastor John was pushed up on to the table. ‘And you come up too,' he added. Headman Yang nervously climbed up beside him.

‘Now, how are you going to do it?' asked Ren Ren. ‘Knife? Axe? Pitchfork? I know you peasants can be very imaginative … Oh, you wanted me to do it for you, did you? No, no, no. That's your responsibility, Headman. Your village, after all.'

Ren Ren played with him for some time, then lost patience. He pulled out his own knife and thrust it into Yang's hand. ‘That's his heart,' he said. ‘Just shove it in. Pretend you're killing a sheep.'

Yang, his mouth twitching, turned to the gagged Pastor John. ‘Forgive me,' he muttered. ‘Old Wang, I'm sorry. He's forcing me…'

Pastor John's eyes flashed their contempt.

‘Just get on with it,' said Ren Ren.

Yang squeezed his eyes shut and, with both hands clutching the knife's handle, stabbed downward into Pastor John's chest, groaning as he did so. Ren Ren, his face leaning close to that of Pastor John's, smiled when he saw the old man's eyes widen with pain, and heard the choking behind the gag. ‘Satisfied with my authority now, are you?' he whispered. ‘No more questions about my commission?' and he spat on the body as it dropped to the ground in its death agony.

The crowd watched Pastor John's execution in silence, but there were three piercing screams. Two young girls and an old woman ran forward, reaching vainly through the cordon of Boxers for the body of their father and husband. Idly, Ren Ren noticed that one of the girls, the pink-faced one, was very pretty. She might do as a gift for his mother, he thought. The old lady was always looking for new stock. She seemed the right age too. Later, he thought. He would think about that later.

‘Now who's next?' he asked the panting and bloody Headman Yang, who was staring at the stained knife he was holding in his hand. ‘Let's be a bit more methodical about this next time, shall we?'

*   *   *

It took little encouragement for the villagers to identify and denounce the Christians, and it was quite an easy task for the Boxers to herd them into the small hall on the side of the square, which Pastor John had used as his church. There was no resistance. They had all been cowed by the presence of the Boxers, Ren Ren's intimidating theatricals, Sister Elena's humiliation and the murder of Pastor John. Even Miller Zhang and his two sons gave up their knives without a struggle and meekly followed the others into the church, awaiting their fate.

It was not long coming. The Zhang family was the first to be called to face the tribunal that Ren Ren had set up in the square. The same elders who had debated with the Christians earlier in the morning were now seated again at the table as judges of their fellow villagers. Ren Ren paced behind smugly, an impresario admiring his own production.

Miller Zhang and his sons stumbled blinking into the sunlight and had to pass through a cordon of villagers to get to the table. Many had gone back home to get their pitchforks and hoes, and such was the hatred of this family in the village that a few blows were struck even before they reached the tribunal.

The trial was perfunctory. Headman Yang had recovered his composure. In fact, he was looking pleased with himself, having convinced himself that in stabbing Pastor John he had committed a noble, even heroic act. The land issue was not mentioned. Miller Zhang was too proud to disclaim his family's Christianity. In fact, he had flaunted it so much in the past that he could hardly deny it now. He also knew that Yang would never allow him to recant. He had decided while waiting in the dark church that he would die bravely. Whether he ultimately did or not was difficult to determine. On Yang's signal he and his sons were surrounded by villagers with hoes and hacked to pieces.

There was a longer debate over the next victim, a cobbler, whose harmlessness—unlike the Zhangs—had never aroused any animosity in the village. He knelt and wept, confessed freely to his error and promised to give up his Christianity. Ren Ren in the end had to intervene, pointing out the obvious truth that all Christians were liars so his retraction could hardly be genuine. The cobbler died under the hoes.

The next trial was shorter. Ren Ren congratulated the tribunal. ‘You're getting into the rhythm,' he said. ‘That's good.'

Sister Elena was still lying, ignored and traumatised, on the ground. She was aware of what was going on, but it seemed distant and unreal, as if she was watching a play. Part of her knew that she was displaying cowardice. It was her duty to do something to protect these people, friends of hers, who were being murdered before her eyes—but at the same time she felt powerless, unable to move. Calling on the saints for strength was no use—something had died in her when she saw her beloved Pastor John fall to his death. She could not reach that quiet part of herself, full of love and warmth, which had always given her strength when she was troubled. She felt abandoned and defiled. She wore her nakedness like an accusation, clutching the rags around her body as if she was trying to hide a crime. And every few moments she would hear the ugly, triumphant yells, and the hideous thud of the hoes that were extinguishing her parishioners' lives. She closed her eyes on her own darkness of the soul, and wept self-pitying tears.

She felt rather than saw the kindly presence kneeling beside her. She opened her eyes and focused on the wrinkled face of the village
bonze,
who was smiling at her out of the sunshine as he offered her his own saffron cloak. ‘I do not understand your religion,' he said, ‘but I have never thought it was evil. Come, wrap yourself up. There are people who need you now, whom you can help before their long journey.'

She did meekly as she was told, tying the neck fastening of the long cloak with fumbling fingers. The priest gave her his own girdle, which, tightened, closed the cloak and ensured her modesty. She followed the bent figure across the square. A Boxer guard stood threateningly in front of them. The
bonze
waved him gently aside. ‘I am taking her to the hall where the others are,' he told him. ‘I will be responsible for her.'

The guards at the door of the church were there to prevent people coming out not going in. ‘I must leave you here,' said the
bonze
. ‘You have been hurt and confused, but you will know what to do when you get inside. And I will be lighting incense this evening and praying for a happy reincarnation for you and Mr Wang. You know, he was always my friend. We will perhaps meet again, beyond this sea of sorrow.'

Sister Elena nodded, and in her Buddhist cloak entered the church. It took some moments for her to adjust to the darkness, and for a moment she felt panicked by the wall of wailing that assailed her ears. She did not feel strong enough to cope. She was more conscious of her inadequacy than ever before. Then she began to distinguish figures in the dim light. She saw Mother Wang sitting on the bare stone floor, her eyes running with tears, her mouth opened and her face frozen in a mask of abandoned lament. Mary had buried her head in her lap, and her body was shaking with sobs. Little Martha was kneeling beside her, a desperate expression on her thin face, wanting to console her mother but not knowing how. Elena looked down the nave and saw other women she knew slumped in similar attitudes of grief and fear. There were a few men left in the church—mainly the elders, the young had been taken first—waiting their turn to be summoned. Some were kneeling on the ground in prayer. Others were slouched against the wall, gazing at their feet in blank despair. She heard another triumphant yell from the crowd outside and shortly afterwards two Boxers came in and, after looking round, selected one of the praying figures to drag away. A chorus of screams greeted his departure, fading again into the anonymous wail when the heavy doors banged shut again.

She felt a little hand grasp hers and saw Martha's quizzical face looking up at her. ‘Oh, Auntie, what kept you away? We so missed you here.'

Elena reached for her and hugged her, tears welling in her own eyes as she buried her face in the child's shoulder. For a while the two rocked together, sobbing silently.

‘They came to the house,' said Martha, ‘and forced us to go with them to the square, and we saw Father … we saw
Baba
…'

‘I know, I know,' whispered Elena, rocking her. ‘Don't think of it. Not now.'

‘But they lied to us. They told us we were going to go away. That we were to leave the village, and we were to get our valuables and belongings. And then they just stole them and there was nothing we could do.'

‘I know,' said Elena. ‘Don't think of it, little one.'

‘But don't you see? Don't you see? What that awful man said about us Christians being witches. It's got nothing to do with it. They're just robbers, Auntie. They're killing us only because they want to steal from us…'

Elena reached for the hot little face and kissed it. ‘Hush, my darling,' she said. She felt another arm around her waist, and the lithe body of Mary was in her arms. She looked up, and saw other figures around her, expectant faces looking at her. The wailing had subsided a little as, one by one, the Christians in the church noticed that Sister Elena had returned.