Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

“They’re shooting people, trying to kill me—”

The Germans had no intention of shooting the post-sitter, at least I didn’t think so; his executioner’s attire probably saved him. He’d been an object of fascination for many people over the past several days. After the first volley, the soldiers in back stepped up to the front row and raised their rifles in perfect formation. Their movements were rapid and skillful; they had no sooner taken aim than they pulled the triggers, creating a second volley of explosions that rang in my ears, and before the sound died out, their bullets had hit their marks.

Not a single living soul was now left on the opera stage, abruptly stained by rivulets of multihued blood, while beneath the stage members of the audience were emerging from their Maoqiang trance. My poor subjects scrambled madly to get away, bumping and shoving, wailing and roaring, a chaotic mass of humanity. I saw the Germans up there lower their weapons, glum smiles on their long faces, like a red thread of sunlight poking out from behind dark clouds on a bitter cold day. The shooting had stopped, and once again I experienced mixed feelings of grief and joy. Grief over the destruction of Northeast Gaomi Township’s last Maoqiang opera troupe, joy over the Germans’ lack of interest in turning their guns on the fleeing commoners. Did I say joy? Gaomi County Magistrate, was there really joy in your heart? Yes, there was, great joy!

Puddles of actors’ blood merged and flowed to the sides of the stage, where it streamed into wooden gutters that were intended for rainwater runoff, but now served to channel blood off the stage and onto the ground. After the initial cascades, the flow slowed to a drip, one large drop of heavy, treasured blood on top of another——drip, drip, drip, heavy, treasured… the Heavenly Dragon’s tears, that’s what they were.

The common folk made their escape, leaving behind a field littered with shoes and cat clothing crushed beyond recognition; among the litter were bodies trampled in the stampede. My eyes were riveted on the two gutter openings, which continued to send drops of blood to the ground—one drop splashing on top of another. No longer blood, but the Heavenly Dragon’s tears, that’s what they were.

As I was returning to the Academy grounds from the yamen, a half moon on the nineteenth day of the eighth month sent cold beams earthward. I stepped through the gate and spat out a mouthful of blood; a brackish, saccharine taste filled my mouth, as if I’d overindulged in honeyed sweets. Liu Pu and Chunsheng were worried.

“Laoye, are you all right?”

Brought to my senses by the sound of voices, I looked at them and asked:

“Why are you two still with me? Get lost, go away, stop following me.”

“Laoye…”

“You heard me, I said leave me alone; get lost, the farther the better. I don’t want to lay eyes on you again. If I so much as see you, I’ll break you in two!”

“Laoye… Laoye… have you lost your mind?” Chunsheng could hardly get the words out through his sobs.

I unsheathed the sword at Li Pu’s waist and pointed it at them, the glint of steel as cold as my tone of voice:

“Father’s dead, Mother’s remarried, now it’s every man for himself. If you two retain any good feelings from the years we have been together, you will get out of my sight. Come back sometime after the twentieth to collect my body.” I flung the sword to the ground, where it clanged loudly and sent waves of sound into the night sky. Chunsheng took a couple of steps back, then turned and ran, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until he was out of sight. Liu Pu just stood there, head down, frozen in place.

“Why aren’t you leaving?” I asked him. “Go in and pack some things to take back home to Sichuan. When you get there, don’t tell anyone your real name. Tend to your parents’ graves and stay away from all local officials.”

“Uncle…”

That gut-wrenching word brought on a torrent of tears.

“Go on,” I said with a wave of my hand. “You have to look out for yourself; now go. There’s nothing for you here.”

“Uncle,” Liu Pu repeated, “your unworthy nephew has been thinking about many things in recent days, and I cannot help but feel deeply ashamed. Everything that has happened to you, Uncle, is my fault.” He was tormented. “I dressed up to look like you so I could yank out Sun Bing’s beard, which was why he left the troupe, married Little Peach, and had two children. If he hadn’t married and become a father, he would never have clubbed the German engineer to death, and none of this would ever have happened…”

“You foolish, worthy nephew,” I cut him off. “Everything proceeded according to fate’s plan, not because of anything you did. I’ve always known it was you who plucked Sun Bing’s beard, and I know you did that on behalf of the First Lady. It was her attempt to plant the seeds of hatred toward me in Sun Meiniang and to put an end to any romantic liaison between us. I also know it was the two of you who smeared dog droppings on the wall, because you were afraid that an illicit relationship with one of my subjects could ruin my official career. What neither of you knew was that Sun Meiniang and I were fated to meet in this place because of what happened in our past three lives. I bear no grudge toward you or toward her. I bear no grudge toward anyone, for we were all acting in accordance with our fates.”

“Uncle…” Li Pu fell to his knees and, his voice breaking with sobs, said, “please accept your unworthy nephew’s obeisance!”

I went up to him and raised him off his knees.

“Now this is where we say good-bye, worthy nephew.”

I turned and headed to the Tongde Academy parade ground.

Liu Pu fell in behind me.

“Uncle,” he said softly.

I looked back.

“Uncle!”

I walked back to him.

“Is there something else you want to say?”

“I, your unworthy nephew, want to avenge my father; I want to avenge the Six Gentlemen and my Uncle Xiongfei. By doing this, I would also extirpate the hidden evil that imperils the Great Qing Dynasty!”

“Do you plan to assassinate him?” I stopped to think for a moment. “Is this a deed to which you are irrevocably committed?”

He nodded decisively.

“Then I can only hope that you have better luck than your Uncle Xiongfei, worthy nephew.”

I turned and once again headed to the parade ground. This time I did not look back. The moon cast its light into my eyes, and I suddenly had the feeling that my heart was like a garden in which countless flowers were ready to bloom. Each of those blooming flowers was a rousing Maoqiang aria. Long and lingering, the arias swirled rhythmically in my head so that all my movements were musically cadenced:

Gaomi Magistrate leaves the yamen, heart full of sorrow~~meow meow~~autumn winds and cold moonbeams and loud drumbeats herald the morrow~~

The moon cast its light on my body, and on my heart. You moonbeams, how bright you are, brighter than I’ve ever seen before, and brighter than I’ll ever see again! I followed the path of moonbeams with my eyes, and what I saw was my wife lying in bed, her face as white as paper. She had dressed in ceremonial attire—phoenix headdress and tasseled cape—and laid a last note on the bed beside her. “The Imperial Capital has fallen,” she had written, “the nation is lost. A foreign power has invaded the country and partitioned the land. I have been graced by Imperial favor in all its majesty. I cannot live an ignoble life, on a par with the animals. A loyal minister dies for his country; a chaste wife dies for her husband. These virtues have been praised down through the ages. Your faithful wife has gone on ahead and is waiting for her mate to join her. Alas and alack, my sorrow is endless.”