Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

“My young protégé, you are as capable of singing Chang Mao Weeps for a Departed Spirit as I am.”

“No, Shifu, but if I could be on the stage with you, I’d like to be the cat boy.”

I took a long, emotional look at this fine Northeast Township youngster. “My boy, you and I are right now acting out the second signature Maoqiang opera, which we can call Sandalwood Death .”

Tradition dictated that we be brought out to the Main Hall, where a tray with four plates of food, a pot of strong spirits, some flatbreads, and a bunch of leeks were laid out. There was braised pig’s head, a plate of stewed chicken, a fish, and some spicy beef. The flatbreads were bigger than the lid of a wok, the leeks fresh and moist, the spirits steamy hot. Xiao Shanzi and I sat across from each other and smiled. Two Sun Bings, one real and one fake, clinked glasses and then emptied them noisily. Tears spurted from our eyes as the heated spirits worked their way down; we were like members of a loyal brotherhood, impassioned. On Wangxiang tai, the terrace in Hell from which we can see our homes, we will walk hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, and fly up to the ninth heaven on a rainbow. So we feasted, swallowing the food nearly whole, since we were missing so many teeth. As we looked death calmly in the face, fearless and exuberant, a grand and solemn opera had begun. The prison van turned onto the main street, lined by jostling crowds. What actors want most is an audience bristling with feverish anticipation, and there is no more solemn, stirring moment in life than being taken to the execution ground. I, Sun Bing, had acted on the stage for thirty years, but this was going to be my finest day ever.

I saw light glinting off the tips of bayonets up front and shiny red- and blue-tasseled caps behind. My fellow townspeople’s eyes flashed on both sides of the street. Many of the country squires’ beards quivered, and many women’s eyes were wet with tears; many children stood with their mouths agape, slobber running down their chins. Suddenly, hidden there among all those women was my daughter, Meiniang, and I experienced a sadness that nearly made me weep. A true man can spill blood but not tears; he must not sacrifice his manly virtues for the love of family.

As the van’s wooden wheels rumbled down the cobblestone street, the harsh sunlight made my scalp itch. The clang of a gong leading the way was carried on an early fall breeze, and as I looked up into the azure sky, I experienced a sense of desolation. The blue sky and white clouds turned my thoughts to the puffy white clouds reflected in the crystal-clear waters of the Masang River. I had carried water from that river for customers who arrived from all corners. I thought of Little Peach, my wonderful wife, and of my two delightful children. My loathing for the Germans, whose railroad had destroyed the feng shui of our Northeast Gaomi Township, knew no bounds. Grievous thoughts made my throat itch, and I raised my voice in tribute to my fellow villagers and townspeople:

I travel amid shouting crowds, unafraid~~I wear a python-and-dragon robe, my hat of gold threads made. I swagger, my waist cinched by a belt of jade~~look at those pigs and dogs, who dares step on my heel in this parade~~

I had only managed those few lines before the teeming crowds along the street roared their delight—“Bravo!” Xiao Shanzi, my good protégé, did not miss a beat, chiming in with cat cries, each slightly different ~~Meow meow meow~~ adding a veneer of luster to my singing.

Look up at swirling winds of gold, then farther down lush trees behold~~a martyr’s spirit, I raise the flag of rebellion, as commanded on high, to preserve China’s rivers and mountains, and not allow a foreign railroad our land to enfold~~I have eaten the dragon’s liver and the phoenix’s brain, fiery spirits and ambrosia drink have made me bold~~

Meow meow meow~~

My fine young protégé filled in the gaps with his cries…

There were tears in my fellow villagers’ eyes, but then, starting with the children, they echoed Xiao Shanzi’s cat cries. It must have sounded as if all the cats in the world had come together at this place.

As my song and my fellow villagers’ cries swirled in the air together, I saw that the color had left Yuan Shikai and von Ketteler’s faces, and that the frightened soldiers, foreign devils included, were ashen-faced, as if confronted by mortal enemies. Sun Bing could now die with no regrets, in the wake of this spectacular operatic moment!

Good, wonderful, bravo, fellow townsmen do not fret——fret fret fret, all you traitors, be on your guard——watch watch watch, our people rise in rebellion——go go go, go tear up those tracks——die die die, die a good death——fire fire fire, flames reach into the sky——finish finish finish, finished not yet——demand demand demand, a cry for justice be met——

Meow meow meow meow~~

Mew~~

Brilliant reds greeted me when I opened my eyes—Hey! Where’s the fire? Heh-heh, there’s no fire. The sun had come out. The bed of wheat straw was alive with insects that bit me all over. Half-cooked oil fritters lay heavily in my stomach all night long, and I could not stop breaking wind. I could see that Dieh was no longer a panther, just my dieh, a mystical dieh who sat primly in the sandalwood Dragon Chair given to him by His Majesty the Emperor, fingering his string of sandalwood prayer beads. There were times when I wanted to sit in that chair just to see how it felt, but Dieh said no. “Not just anyone can sit in this chair,” he said. “If you don’t have a dragon bunghole, you’ll get up with hemorrhoids.” Liar! If Dieh had a dragon bunghole, how could his son not have one? If he did and his son didn’t, then the dieh wouldn’t be the dieh and the son wouldn’t be the son. So there! I was used to hearing people say “A dragon begets a dragon, a phoenix begets a phoenix, and when a rat is born, it digs a hole.” So Dieh was sitting in his chair, half his face red, the other half white, eyes barely open, lips seeming to quiver, all sort of dreamlike.