Sandalwood Death (54 page)

“Had enough?” a smiling Zhu Ba asked after I’d polished off the last roll.

I nodded abashedly.

“Well, then,” he said softly, his hands busy with the dagger and the sack of fireflies, his eyes emitting a green light, “now you can listen to what I have to say. To me, your dieh is a true hero. You probably don’t recall—you were very young—but he and I were quite close at one time. He taught me twenty-four Maoqiang arias, which gave my youngsters here something they could trade for food. Why, it was your dieh who helped me devise this Beggars’ Day idea. You can put aside everything else, and I am ready to rescue your dieh for his bellyful of Maoqiang arias alone. I’ve already come up with a foolproof plan. I’ve bought off the jailer, Old Fourth Master, known to you as Su Lantong, that scar-eyed old reprobate, who will help us with a scheme known as stealing beams and changing pillars—in other words, a switcheroo. I’ve already found someone to take your dieh’s place—that’s him over there.” He drew my attention to a beggar fast asleep in the corner. “He says he’s had a full life, and he looks enough like your dieh to get by. He’ll willingly die in your dieh’s place. Of course, after he’s gone, we’ll set up a memorial tablet and burn incense for him every day.”

I fell to my knees and kowtowed in the man’s direction; tears filled my eyes.

“Old Uncle,” I said, my voice quaking, “righteousness such as yours reaches the clouds, for you are prepared to die for a cause. With high moral character, your name will live for all eternity. Only a hero of gigantic stature would willingly sacrifice his life for my dieh, and that burdens my heart. If his life is saved, I will see that he writes you into a Maoqiang opera, so that your courageous deed will be the stuff of song for the masses . . .”

The man opened his eyes—droopy as a drunken cat—gave me a bleary look, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

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2

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I awoke from a terrible nightmare just before nightfall. In the dream I’d seen a black pig standing like a gentleman on the stage erected on the Tongde Academy parade ground. My gandieh, Qian Ding, was standing behind the pig, but the space in the center was reserved for a red-headed, green-eyed, big-nosed foreigner with an injured ear. If that wasn’t the man who killed my stepmother, slaughtered my stepbrother and sister, butchered all those villagers, and had the blood of our Northeast Township on his hands, Clemens von Ketteler, I don’t know who it was! My eyes blazed when they spotted my mortal enemy, and it was all I could do to keep from charging and sinking my teeth into his neck. But for a defenseless young female, that would have been suicidal. Seated beside him was a red-capped, square-jawed official with a moustache, and I knew at once that he was the celebrated Governor of Shandong, Yuan Shikai, the man who had ordered the execution of the Six Gentlemen of the Hundred Days’ Reform, who had murderously put down the Righteous Harmony Boxer movement in Shandong, and who had brought back my gongdieh, that horrid creature, to put my dieh to death in the cruelest manner imaginable. Stroking his moustache and narrowing his eyes, he sang:

“Sun Meiniang, Queen of Flowers in song, a cute little thing, and a face to go along. No wonder Qian Ding was smitten, for even my heart itches to you to belong.”

I was secretly delighted. That seemed to be the moment for me to kneel down and beg for my dieh’s life. But then Excellency Yuan’s face hardened, like frost settling over a green gourd. A curt signal from him brought my gongdieh, carrying a sandalwood stake saturated with sesame oil, followed by Xiaojia, oil-soaked date-wood mallet in hand—one tall, one short, one fat, one skinny, the yin and the yang, a madman and a moron—up to the black pig. Yuan Shikai eyed Qian Ding and said, his voice dripping with contempt:

“What do you have to say, Eminence Qian?”

Qian Ding prostrated himself at the feet of Yuan Shikai and von Ketteler and said, his voice suffused with reverence:

“To ensure that nothing goes wrong at tomorrow’s execution, your humble servant has invited Zhao Jia and his son to practice on this pig. With your permission, of course.”

Excellency Yuan looked over at von Ketteler, who nodded his approval. Yuan Shikai nodded his, a signal for Qian Ding to get up, quick-step his way over to the black pig, reach out and grab it by the ears, and say to my gongdieh and Xiaojia:

“Commence.”

My gongdieh placed the tip of the sandalwood stake, from which sesame oil still dripped, up against the pig’s anus and said to Xiaojia:

“Commence, son.”

With his legs spread, Xiaojia spat into his hands, made a circle in the air with his oil mallet, and gave a mighty whack to the butt end of the stake, half of which slurped its way up inside the pig. An involuntary arching of the back was followed by an ear-shattering screech. The animal lurched forward, knocking Qian Ding off the stage. The “oof!” when he hit the ground sounded as if he had landed on the head of a drum. The next thing I heard from him was a shrill:

“Heaven help me! I could have been killed!”

Now, although I was unhappy with Qian Ding, we were, after all, lovers, and it pained me to see him hurt. So despite the fact that I was pregnant, I jumped down off the stage and tried to help up the man I held in my heart. His face had a deathly pallor, his eyes were shut, and for all I knew, he could have been dead. So I bit his finger, pinched the groove between his nose and upper lip, and kept at it till I heard him sigh and saw the color return to his face. He clutched my hand and, with tears spiraling in his eyes, said:

“Ah, Meiniang, you are what makes my heart beat, so tell me, am I dead or alive, am I dreaming or am I awake, am I a man or a ghost?”

“Dearest Qian Ding, my love, though I say you are dead, you live on, though I say you are awake, you sleep on, and though I say you are a man, you look like a ghost.”

All hell broke loose up on the stage,
A beaten drum, a clanging gong, a cat fiddle goes li-ge-long
.
A black pig, sandalwood stake up its rear, in circles runs, chased by my gongdieh and his son. The pig bites off Yuan Shikai’s leg, blood everywhere, then takes off half the German commander’s buttocks. How happy I am, two unlucky stars have fallen, but thunder and lightning prove me wrong. Yuan Shikai’s leg returns, von Ketteler’s buttocks are whole again, they sit on the stage looking fit and strong. But the black pig is no more, replaced by Sun Bing, to whom I belong. He suffers cruel torture, as the air fills with mallet sounds~~bong bong bong~~and the stake splits his body, his screams loud and long . . .

My heart pounded in my chest, and cold sweat soaked through my clothes.

“Did you have a nice sleep?” Zhu Ba asked, his eyes smiling.

“Eighth Master,” I said sheepishly, “I’m so embarrassed to have fallen asleep at such a critical moment . . .”

“That is a good sign, for people capable of accomplishing great things at critical moments are normally able to enjoy good food and a restful sleep.” He placed four more rolls in front of me. “Eat these while I tell you what’s happened today. This morning, your gongdieh put the finishing touches on his sandalwood stakes, and the County Magistrate erected an Ascension Platform across from the opera stage on the Tongde Academy parade ground.
By the platform stands a matted shed, a large stove in front, a small one in back, there for your gongdieh and his son. The stakes steep in sesame oil, the fragrance traveling far. Oil in the large pot, beef in the small, for father and son it is an oily treat. But tomorrow at noon, one of those stakes will be driven up your dieh’s back, his life undone
. The yamen entrance is still guarded like a fortress, security is tight, and there have been no sightings of your dear Qian Ding, Yuan Shikai, or von Ketteler. I sent one of my cleverest youngsters disguised as a food delivery boy, hoping he could get in through the gate to check things out. A German bayonet abruptly ended his mission. Going in through the main gate, it seems, is out of the question . . .”

Just as Zhu Ba was getting started, a shout from outside cut him off in midsentence. Hou Xiaoqi’s monkey startled us when it skittered in through the front entrance, with Hou himself hard on its heels. His face was lit up, as if coated with moonbeams. He ran straight to Zhu Ba.

“Eighth Master,” he said, “wonderful news! My vigil by the ditch behind the yamen has paid off. Fourth Master passed on the news that we are to climb over the rear wall late at night, when the sentries are sleepy. We can pull the switch, make the exchange, right under their noses. I scouted the terrain and discovered a crooked-necked old elm tree ready-made for scaling the wall.”

“Monkey,” an obviously pleased Zhu Ba said excitedly, “damned if you don’t have a couple of tricks up your sleeve! All of you, sleep if you can, but lie there and conserve your energy if sleep won’t come. The time to act has arrived. Pulling this off will be like ramming it up von Ketteler’s ass, and none of those bastards will know what hit them.” Zhu Ba then turned his attention to the corner, where the good fellow who would take my dieh’s place was fast asleep. “Xiao Shanzi,” he said, “that’s enough sleep. Time to get up. I’ve got a jug of fine spirits here, that and an off-the-bone roast chicken. You can share that with me as my going-away gift. If you’re having second thoughts, I can find someone else, though this promises to be not only a sensation, but one in which the name of the central figure will go down in history. I know what a fine singer you are, a disciple of Sun Bing. Your voice is an exact replica of his, and there is hardly any difference in appearance between you two. Look closely, Sun Meiniang, and tell me if this fellow isn’t the spitting image of your dieh.”

The fellow got lazily to his feet, yawned grandly, and wiped off the slobber that had crept out of his mouth while he slept. Then, rousing himself out of his lethargy, he turned to show me his coarse, long face. His eyes and brows certainly did resemble my dieh’s, and he had the same high nose. But he had a slightly different mouth. My dieh had full lips, while this fellow’s were thin, but that was all that kept him from being my dieh’s double. Add the right clothes, and he could fool anyone.

“Oh, I forgot one thing, Eighth Master,” Hou Xiaoqi said sheepishly. “Fourth Master wanted me to be sure to tell you that when Sun Bing was being interrogated, he angered von Ketteler with such foul curses that the German hit him with the butt of his pistol and knocked out two front teeth . . .”

Every eye in the room was immediately focused on Xiao Shanzi’s mouth. His lips parted to reveal two perfect rows of teeth. Most beggars have good teeth, since they survive on hard, crunchy food most of the time. Zhu Ba studied Xiao Shanzi’s mouth.

“You heard what he said. Yes or no, it’s up to you. I won’t hold it against you if you say no.”

Xiao Shanzi spread his lips wide, as if to show off his perfectly aligned, albeit yellow, teeth. Then he smiled.

“Shifu,” he said, “if I’m willing to give up my life, why would I want to hold on to a couple of teeth?”

“Good for you, Shanzi,” Zhu Ba said emotionally as he turned the sack of fireflies over and over in his hand. “That’s what I’d expect a true disciple to say.” The light from the agitated insects rose like a mist and lit up the few scraggly white hairs on Zhu Ba’s chin.

“Shifu,” Shanzi said, tapping his front teeth with a fingernail. “They’re starting to itch, so bring on the food and drink.”

Beggars swarmed the area behind Zhu Ba to be the first to bring out a jug and the cooked chicken, wrapped in clean lotus leaves. I could smell the chicken even before the leaves were peeled away, and the aged spirits before the stopper was removed. The two aromas were totally different, but came together as a potent reminder of the Mid-Autumn Festival, which was only days away, and the ambience surrounding it. A moonbeam filtered in through a crack in the temple door: a hand peeled away the oily lotus leaves in the light of the moonbeam; a golden-red cooked chicken glimmered in the light of the moonbeam; a black hand laid two shallow black glazed bowls next to the chicken in the light of the moonbeam; Zhu Ba put the sack with the fireflies into a pouch at his waist and clapped his green hands. I noticed how long, slender, and nimble his fingers were, looking like little people with something to say. He hopped forward a couple of spots, still seated on the mat, until he was right in front of Xiao Shanzi, the man who was going to take my dieh’s place in his cell and die in his stead. Zhu Ba held one of the bowls out for Xiao Shanzi, who accepted it but said with what looked to be much embarrassment:

“I can’t let you serve me like this, Shifu.”

Zhu Ba picked up the second bowl and clinked it against Xiao Shanzi’s, loud enough for all of us to hear it and hard enough to splash out some of the contents. Their eyes met, and to us sparks seemed to fly, like steel striking a flint. Their lips were quaking, and they both seemed about to speak—but they didn’t. Instead, they tipped back their heads and, with audible glugs, emptied the bowls. Zhu Ba laid down his bowl and tore off a drumstick with the skin attached. He handed it to Xiao Shanzi, who took it and seemed about to say something. But still nothing. A moment later, his mouth was stuffed to capacity with roast chicken, which rotated twice before it slipped down his throat like a greased rat. I’d have loved to run home to cook a dog’s leg for him, but there was no time for that, since a dog’s leg had to cook all day and all night. Now that he’d eaten the meat, he gnawed on the bone to pick it clean, almost as if to show us what his teeth could do. The image was of a squirrel chewing on an acorn. Though they were undeniably yellow, they were solid teeth. As soon as the tendons were picked clean, he started in on the bone itself, which produced the most noise. Not a single thing emerged from that mouth, not even bone chips. You poor man. If I’d known earlier that you were willing to die in my dieh’s stead, I’d have invited you to a sumptuous feast, making sure you got a taste of the best food anywhere. Too bad life does not allow for predictions or do-overs. As soon as Xiao Shanzi finished off one drumstick, Zhu Ba tore off the other one and held it out for him. But this time, Xiao Shanzi cupped his hands respectfully in front of him and said devotedly: