Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

The fifteenth day of the eighth month, the moon is bright~~wildwood breezes sweep past the platform at night~~

Sun Bing opened with a sorrowful Maoqiang aria. He had hurled abuse for so long that his voice was hoarse and scratchy, but the combination of that hoarseness and the bloody mess his body had become merged to invest his tune with a chilling aura of solemnity and to confer upon it the power to stir hearts. I must admit that Sun Bing, a product of Gaomi, a small, out-of-the way county, was a true genius, a heroic figure equal to those who appeared in the biographies of Sima Qian’s Records of the Historian . His name will be spoken down through the ages, praised by the masses and memorialized in Maoqiang opera. My subordinates reported to me that in the immediate wake of his apprehension, a Maoqiang troupe formed spontaneously in Northeast Gaomi Township, and that its performances were tied to burial and funeral activities conducted during chaotic events involving the deaths of so many. Every performance began and ended with howls of grief and was tied to the tragedy of Sun Bing’s resistance against the Germans.

By cruel torture my body torn~~this ancient land I tearfully mourn~~

The sobs of the people at Sun Bing’s feet filling the air contained bleak strains of meow, a sign that even in their agonizing sorrow, they had not forgotten to provide the singer with a chorus.

I gaze at distant blazing fires in this ancient land~~ah, my wife, my children~~

At that moment, the people seemed to know what was expected of them. As if by prior agreement, they intoned every form of meow known to them, and into that chorus was thrust a climactic cry of desolation, like a whirling pillar of white smoke funneling into the cloudy sky:

“Dieh-dieh~~my beloved Dieh-dieh~~”

It was a cry of heartbreaking dolefulness, yet one that highlighted the sorrowful Maoqiang aria and, in concert with the hoarse, scratchy singing from the platform and the chorus of meows by the onlookers, produced a climactic moment. Pile-driving pains thudded into my heart, as if from a human fist. My lover was here, the woman who had stolen my heart, Sun Bing’s daughter, Sun Meiniang. Despite the fact that I had been in the grip of terror for days, like a yellowed leaf fluttering precariously from a branch in the elements, this woman had been on my mind the whole time, and not just because she was carrying my child. I watched as she moved forward, parting the crowd like a black eel emerging from the school against the current. The people slipped away, to her left and her right, opening up a path to the Ascension Platform. Her hair was in disarray, her clothing in complete disorder, and her face grimy, looking like a demon incarnate; she had shed all signs of the flirtatious, singular woman she had been, no longer sleek nor young, but undeniably still Meiniang. Who but Meiniang would dare to come running up at a time like this? What a discomfiting moment! What was I to do now, allow her up onto the platform or not?

“I, I, I have brought forth Heavenly Warriors and Generals, an invincible force~~”

A violent coughing fit cut Sun Bing’s aria short and produced a rooster-like wheeze from deep in his chest. Only a scarlet haze in the west remained from the ebbing sun, while chilled moonbeams cast their light onto his bloated face, turning it the color of polished bronze. His head rocked clumsily from side to side and made the pine crossbar creak and groan. Dark, oily blood spurted from his mouth and quickly overspread the platform with a foul odor. His head slumped weakly onto his chest.

Panic set in, as an inauspicious thought crowded everything else out of my mind. Is he dead, just like that? If he was, it was hard to imagine the reaction I could expect from Excellency Yuan, not to mention von Ketteler, who would erupt in anger. The riches promised to Zhao Jia and his son would disappear like a burst bubble, and my prospects for advancement would fade into nothing. I could only sigh. But then the thought occurred to me that his dying might not be such a bad thing, that maybe in the end it was best, since that would bankrupt von Ketteler’s evil plans and cast a pall of gloom over his public celebration for the completion of the rail line. Sun Bing, you died a timely death, quick and meaningful, keeping your heroic stature and your moral character intact. You are an example for all of your fellow villagers. I cannot begin to imagine the extent of your suffering if you had lived on for four more days. Qian Ding, in this historic moment, when the nation’s destruction looms, when the Imperial Court has been hounded out of the capital, when the people have been thrown into abject misery and rivers of blood run in the street, your personal advancement is uppermost in your despicable, benighted mind. Sun Bing, it is time for you to die. You must not live on. Soar up into the Kingdom of Heaven, where you can be elevated to nobility…

Zhao Jia and his son emerged from their shed. The first one out held a paper-covered lantern—that was Zhao Jia; behind him, carrying a black bowl in both hands, came Xiaojia. They walked in step, easy and smooth, onto the plank leading to the platform, where they passed Meiniang shoulder to shoulder.” Oh, Dieh-dieh, what have they done to you?”… In full lament, she fell in behind them and threw herself down on the platform floor. When I moved to one side to let them pass, my yayi turned to look at me; but I was scarcely aware of their glances, for my eyes were riveted on Zhao Jia, Xiaojia, and Meiniang. Three members of one family, all gathered around Sun Bing as he suffered the cruelest of punishments, and it seemed somehow fitting and proper. Even if Excellency Yuan had been present at that moment, he would not likely have had reason to interfere.

Zhao Jia raised the lantern overhead, throwing its golden light onto the mass of hair spread across Sun Bing’s skull. With his left hand under the chin, he lifted the head up for my benefit. I’d thought that he had died, but no. His chest continued to thrust in and out, and labored breaths still emerged from his mouth and nose, all signs that his vitality remained strong. I was disappointed, but relieved. A picture began to form in my mind, hazy and unreal: Sun Bing was not a criminal suffering from a cruel punishment, but a desperately ill man, beyond all hope, and yet the people were equally desperate to prolong his life, wanting him to live on… I wavered between wanting Sun Bing to die or to go on living.

“Give him some ginseng tonic!” Zhao Jia ordered his son.

That command awakened me to the acrid yet sweet smell of fine ginseng wafting up out of the black bowl Xiaojia was holding. Deep down I had to admire Zhao Jia for his attention to detail. In the wake of the infliction of the punishment, when all around us was a scene of chaos, he was calmly preparing a ginseng concoction. Maybe it had already been steeping over a fire in a corner of the shed even before he began, one of many preparations for what he knew would be required.

Xiaojia stepped forward, with the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, scooped up a spoonful, and held it up to Sun Bing’s mouth. When the spoon touched Sun’s lips, his mouth opened greedily, like a newborn puppy that has found its mother’s teat. Xiaojia’s hand shook slightly, spilling most of the liquid onto Sun Bing’s chin, where a fine beard had once grown.

“Be careful!” Zhao Jia snapped unhappily.

Obviously, Xiaojia, a man who butchered pigs and dogs, was not cut out for a job that required finesse. Most of the second spoonful ended up dripping onto Sun Bing’s chest.

“What are you trying to do?” The loss of the ginseng pained Zhao Jia, who held the lantern out to his son and said, “Hold this. I’ll feed him!”