Sandalwood Death (43 page)

The taller person took a whip out from under his black clothes, kicked Meiniang to the ground, and, before she could utter another curse, laid the whip across her buttocks. She shrieked in pain just before the second lash connected with her buttocks; she looked up in time to see the other figure, the Magistrate’s stinking wife, turn and wobble off. The third lash landed as hard as the first two, but the next one did not hurt as much, and those that followed got lighter and lighter, until the person was hitting the wall, not her. Meiniang knew that her assailant was a decent person at heart, although her exaggerated screams continued for their dramatic effect, to their mutual benefit. When he was done, the man dragged her over to the side gate of the Western Parlor, opened it, and shoved her outside, where she lay in a heap on the cobblestone lane east of the yamen.

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7

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Sun Meiniang lay on the kang, gnashing her teeth one minute and heartbroken the next. She gnashed her teeth out of hatred toward that savage, cold-hearted woman, while she was heartbroken that the Magistrate was confined to a sickbed, and cursed herself for a lack of willpower; even when she bit her own arm till it bled, she could not drive the image of the wonderful Qian Ding out of her mind. Chunsheng came to see her when her torment had reached a fever pitch, just the familiar face she needed to see. She grabbed him by the arms and said tearfully:

“Chunsheng, dear Chunsheng, tell me, how is Laoye?”

Her anxiety moved him deeply. After glancing into the yard, where Xiaojia was skinning a dog, he said softly, “He’s improving physically, but mentally he is in bad shape; he gets agitated easily. He’s wasting away, and if he doesn’t start eating soon, I’m afraid he’ll starve to death.”

“My dear Magistrate!” Sun Meiniang cried out mournfully, accompanied by a cascade of tears.

“The First Lady has sent me to ask you to take some millet spirits and dog meat to the yamen, both to make Laoye feel better and,” he said with a little laugh, “to get his appetite back.”

“The First Lady? Don’t mention her to me,” she said with a gnashing of her teeth. “Your First Lady is worse than a sadistic scorpion spirit.”

“Mistress Sun, our First Lady is kind and honest, and always reasonable. How can you curse her like that?”

“What do you know?” Meiniang replied angrily. “Kind and honest, you say? Well, I say that her heart must have steeped in a vat of black dye for twenty years, and that one drop of her blood would be enough to kill a horse!”

“What did the First Lady ever do to you?” Chunsheng said with a little laugh. “This is like a mugger getting angry instead of his victim, or a lack of tears from a child that has lost its mother but wails from one whose mother is still alive.”

“Get out of my sight!” Meiniang demanded. “I’ll have nothing more to do with anyone in that yamen.”

“Mistress Sun, does this mean that your concern for Laoye no longer exists?” Chunsheng said with a supercilious grin. “If you no longer care about Laoye, does that mean you no longer care about his queue? And if you no longer care about his queue, does that mean you no longer care about his beard? And if you no longer care about his beard, does that really mean you no longer care about Laoye himself?”

“I said get out of my sight! Laoye, Shaoye, what difference does it make? What could his death possibly mean to a commoner?” Despite her tone of voice, tears continued to flow.

“Mistress Sun,” Chunsheng said, “you might fool others, but not me. You and the Magistrate are so close you might as well be one person. Break the bone, and there’s still meat attached; tug on the ear, and the cheek twitches. But enough of that. Don’t pull back on the reins now. Get ready and come with me.”

“I will not step foot in that place as long as your First Lady is there.”

“But, Mistress Sun, she has ordered me to come for you.”

“Chunsheng, don’t treat me like a circus monkey. How could I face someone who did what she did to me?”

“Apparently, Mistress Sun, someone has done something terrible.”

“Do you really not know, or are you just pretending?” Meiniang asked in anger. “They used a whip on me in that yamen of yours!”

“What are you saying, Mistress Sun?” Chunsheng was clearly shocked. “Who would dare use a whip on you in the yamen? We who work there see you as the Second Lady. We try our best to get on your good side. Who in his right mind would dare to even threaten you with a whip, let alone use it?”

“That First Lady of yours, that’s who. She had someone give me fifty lashes!”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for proof,” Chunsheng said as he moved to look under her clothes.

Sun Meiniang knocked his hand away. “Don’t get fresh with me,” she said. “Aren’t you worried the Magistrate would chop off your grubby paw?”

“You see what I mean, Mistress Sun, you do have feelings for him. All I did was stick out my hand, and you stopped me by bringing up his name. The truth is, the Magistrate is seriously ill this time, and the First Lady has no choice but to invite you, our Living Bodhisattva, to work your magic. Think for a minute—would she be doing this if there were any other path open to her? Even if she did order someone to use a whip on you, why is this so surprising? Sending me for you is an admission of defeat. This hill is the excuse you need to ride the donkey, so what are you waiting for? If your ministrations speed up the Magistrate’s recovery and set him on the road to health, even the First Lady will praise you for having performed a great service. What was once hidden will be out in the open; the private will be made public. That, Mistress Sun, will usher in good times for you. But it is your decision. Are you coming or aren’t you?”

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8

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Dog meat basket in hand, Sun Meiniang pushed open the door to the Western Parlor and spotted a slightly pock-scarred woman with dark skin and a downturned mouth seated in an armchair. Meiniang’s heated body abruptly turned icy cold, and the elation with which she had arrived was suddenly coated with frost. Dimly she sensed that she had fallen into another trap, one also engineered by the Magistrate’s wife. She was, however, the daughter of an actor, well acquainted with all sorts of poses; and she was, after all, the wife of a butcher, equally well acquainted with the glint of a knife and the sight of blood; and she was, in the end, the Magistrate’s lover, and thus familiar with the ways of officials. All that made it possible for her to bring her tangled emotions under control, brace herself, and match stratagems with the Magistrate’s wife. Two women, two pairs of eyes meeting, neither about to back down. As their gazes fought for supremacy, their hearts carried on a resounding dialogue.

Magistrate’s wife: Are you aware that I come from an old and distinguished family?

Sun Meiniang: It is clear to anyone with eyes that I am a great beauty.

Magistrate’s wife: I am his legal and formal wife.

Sun Meiniang: I am his most intimate soul mate.

Magistrate’s wife: You are nothing but a remedy for my sick husband, no different than a canine gallstone or bezoars of ox.

Sun Meiniang: You are, in fact, the Magistrate’s backroom ornament, a marionette, a clay sculpture.

Magistrate’s wife: All your bewitching talents and seductive airs can have little effect on my position here.

Sun Meiniang: What good is being the revered First Lady if you are denied the Magistrate’s love? He has told me that he fulfills his conjugal duties with you only once a month, but with me . . .

Thoughts of lovemaking with the Magistrate sent shivers through Meiniang’s heart, and as vivid scenes of romance flooded her mind, radiant lights, moist and bright, glowed in her eyes. The somber First Lady had become a blurred outline.

The Magistrate’s wife noticed that the face of the woman across from her, fresh and tender as a freshly picked honey peach, had flushed, that she was breathing fast, and that her eyes were suddenly unfocused, all signs that her emotions were heating up. She had, she felt, achieved a moral victory, and her face, taut and unyielding up till then, softened slowly as her ivory white teeth poked out between purplish-red lips. Tossing a jade bodhisattva on a red cord at Meiniang’s feet, she said arrogantly:

“I had worn that since childhood, until some dog stole it and covered it with ugly canine smells. Since dogs are butchered at your house every day, you should not find it objectionable. You may have it.”

Sun Meiniang blushed. The sight of the jade bodhisattva sent stabbing pains into her backside and brought back the memory of what had happened that night. Rage boiled inside her, and she’d have rushed up and scratched the woman’s pock-scarred face if her legs would have done her bidding. For the Magistrate, all for the Magistrate, you may have your little victory. She knew that more than just a piece of jewelry, the First Lady had tossed over her status, her position, her challenge, and her grievance. Meiniang wavered. Bending down to pick it up would feed the First Lady’s vanity; by refusing the offer, Meiniang could retain her dignity. Picking it up would satisfy the First Lady; not picking it up would outrage her. Satisfying the First Lady would establish a covenant for the love between Meiniang and the Magistrate; outraging the First Lady would erect a barrier between them. She had detected in the Magistrate’s comments about his old-fashioned wife that he revered her. Her illustrious family may well have been a factor in that. For despite its recent decline, the Zeng family retained some of its influence. If the Magistrate could kneel before his wife, why should simply bending over bother Meiniang? And so she bent down and picked up the jade bodhisattva, all for the love of Magistrate Qian. And she did not stop there. One does not build a wall without digging up mud, so it was time to let the curtain fall on this drama. She went down on one knee, as if to show her gratitude for an unexpected favor.

“This common woman thanks the First Lady for her grace.”

The First Lady exhaled loudly.

“Go,” she said. “The Magistrate is in the document room.”

Meiniang got to her feet, picked up the basket of dog meat and millet spirits she’d brought with her, and started to walk off. But the First Lady called her to a halt. With her dark eyes focused on the window, not on Meiniang, she said:

“He’s getting on in years, while you are young . . .”

The First Lady’s hint was not lost on Sun Meiniang. Her face was burning, and she did not know what to say to that. The First Lady walked out of the Western Parlor and headed to the rear of the compound. A welter of emotions fought for primacy in her mind—loathing, love, the pride of winning, and the humiliation of losing.

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9

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The Magistrate’s appetite gradually returned under Meiniang’s ministrations, and he grew stronger each day. Clouds of melancholy creased his brow as he read the documents that had piled up during his illness.

“Meiniang,” he said as he stroked her nicely rounded backside, “dear Meiniang, if I refuse to arrest your dieh, Excellency Yuan will arrest me.”

Meiniang rolled over and sat up.

“Magistrate, my dieh had good reason to attack the German. Yet they responded by killing my stepmother and siblings, and what’s more, they slaughtered twenty-four innocent civilians. Isn’t that enough? Why do they want my dieh arrested? Is this what people call justice?”

With a bitter smile, the Magistrate said:

“What does a woman know about such things?”

Meiniang grabbed his beard and said coquettishly:

“I may not know much about such things, but I know that my dieh is guilty of nothing.”

The Magistrate sighed.

“I never said he was. But I cannot disobey an order from my superior.”

“Be a good man and let him off the hook,” Meiniang said as she moved seductively on his lap. “Is a County Magistrate powerless to protect an innocent member of the community?”

“How can I make you understand, my precious?”

Meiniang wrapped her arms around his neck and began rubbing her silken body against him enticingly.

“Even by taking care of you the way I do, can I still not save my dieh?”

“Enough,” the Magistrate said, “that is enough. A carriage cannot reach the mountain without a road, but a boat can sail even against the wind. Qingming is nearly here, Meiniang, and, as in the past, I am going to have a set of swings put up in the parade ground for your enjoyment. I will also plant peach trees as a gift to the people. I am doing these things this year, Meiniang, because I cannot say where I will be next year.”

“By this time next year, you will have been promoted to Prefect, no, even higher!”

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10

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When he learned that Sun Bing had led an attack on the railroad shed on Qingming, the County Magistrate suffered a momentary lapse in his ability to function. He threw down the tool he was using to plant a peach tree and, without a word to anyone, crawled into his palanquin. He did not need to be told that his official career was about to end.

Back at the yamen, he summoned his clerks and secretaries.

“You must all know that today has signaled the end of this Magistrate’s official career,” he told them. “You are welcome to continue in your present positions and await the appointment of my replacement. If, however, you prefer to leave, I advise you to do so without delay.”

They exchanged looks, but said nothing.

With a bitter laugh, the Magistrate turned and went into his document room, slamming the door behind him.

The loud noise stunned them all. Deflated, they were at a loss for what to do. The revenue clerk went up to the window and said, “There is a popular adage, Laoye, that goes, ‘Confront soldiers with generals, and dam water with earth.’ What that means in essence is that heaven never seals off all the exits. We urge you to take a broad view.” His plea was met with silence from inside.

So he whispered to Chunsheng:

“Hurry out to the rear compound and tell the First Lady what has happened. Be quick, before something terrible happens.”