Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

—If I’d owned a tiger’s whisker, think how wonderful that would have been! But I didn’t.

Uncle He was having a drink in the tavern that rainy afternoon—he was an ugly man with a pointed mouth, an ape-like chin, and shifty eyes, a damned gorilla if I ever saw one—when I told him about the tiger’s whisker. “You’re a man of the world, Uncle He,” I said, “so this is something you must know about. And you must know where to get one.” “Xiaojia,” he said with a chuckle, “you idiot. What’s your wife up to while you’re here selling meat?” “My wife is delivering dog meat to Eminence Qian, her gandieh.” “I’d say she’s delivering the human kind,” Uncle He said. “She’s a nice morsel, tender and tasty.” “Stop trying to be funny, Uncle; we sell pork and dog meat, that’s all. Who ever heard of selling the human kind? Besides, Eminence Qian isn’t a tiger, so why would he want to feast on my wife’s flesh? If he did, he’d have finished her off by now. But she’s still here, in the flesh.” With a strange laugh, Uncle He said, “Eminence Qian is not a White Tiger, he’s a Green Dragon, the Taoist guardian. It’s your wife who’s the White Tiger.” “Now you’re really not making sense, Uncle He. Without one of those tiger’s whiskers, how could you see the true form of Eminence Qian or my wife?” “Pour me another drink, idiot,” Uncle He said, “and I’ll tell you where you can get a tiger’s whisker.” I filled his glass to the brim.

“You know,” he said, “that they’re real treasures, worth a great quantity of silver.” “I’m not interested in selling them,” I said. “I want one for myself. Just think, I could walk down the street with my tiger’s whisker and meet up with all kinds of animals wearing clothes and talking just like you and me. Wouldn’t that be terrific?” “Are you serious about getting a tiger’s whisker?” Uncle He asked. “Yes,” I said, “very serious. I dream about it.” “Well, then, give me a plate of chopped dog meat, and I’ll tell you.” “If you’ll tell me where to get a tiger’s whisker, Uncle He, you can have the whole dog, and I won’t charge you anything.” I cut off a dog’s leg and handed it to him. Then I stood there, gaping expectantly. He leisurely sipped what was in his glass and sampled the dog meat. “Idiot,” he said with slow deliberation, “do you really want a tiger’s whisker?” “Uncle He, I’ve given you spirits to drink and dog to eat, so if you won’t tell me now, you’ve been playing tricks on me, and I’ll go home and tell my wife what you’ve done. You can fool me easily enough, but she’s a different story. All she has to do is curl her lip, and you’ll find yourself in the county yamen getting your ass whipped.” Now that I’d brought my wife into the discussion, he said, with a note of urgency, “Xiaojia, my good little nephew, if I tell you, you must promise never to tell anybody who you heard it from, especially your wife. If you do, any tiger’s whisker you get your hands on will lose its power.” “All right, I promise, I won’t tell a soul, and that includes my wife. If I do, I hope her belly starts to hurt.” “I’ll be damned, Xiaojia, what the hell kind of oath is that? What does a pain in your wife’s belly have to do with anything?” “Are you joking? Any time her belly starts to hurt, my heart aches and I end up bawling like a baby.” “All right, then,” Uncle He said, “I’ll tell you.” He took a look out on the street to make sure that no one was listening. Rain was sheeting off of eaves, a curtain of white. I pressed him to tell me. “We must be very careful,” he said. “If somebody hears us, you’ll never get your treasure.” He leaned over and put his burning lips up to my ear. “Your wife goes to see His Eminence every day,” he whispered. “His bed is covered by a tiger skin, and what are the chances of not finding a tiger’s whisker on a complete pelt? Now, pay attention. Have your wife pluck a curly golden whisker for you. Those, my friend, are the real treasures. None of the others are any good.”

When my wife returned home from delivering the dog meat, the night sky was inky black. “Why are you so late?” With a smile, she said, “Use your head, you poor fool. I had to wait till His Eminence ate every bite. And don’t forget, it’s raining, so it gets dark early. Why haven’t you lit the lamp?” “I’m not doing needlework, and I’m not reading, so why waste the oil?” “My dear Xiaojia, you’re all about getting by, aren’t you? A little bit of oil won’t make the difference between rich and poor. And we’re certainly not poor. My gandieh told me that from this year on, we’re exempt from paying taxes. Go ahead, light the lamp.” So I lit the bean-oil lamp, and she adjusted the wick with one of her hairpins, flooding the room with bright, holiday-like light. I saw that her face was red and her eyes were moist, the way she looked when she was drinking. “Have you been drinking?” “Greedy cats have pointy noses,” she said. “My gandieh was afraid I’d be cold on the way home, so he gave me what little was left in his flask. It was pouring out there, as if the River of Heaven had been diverted to earth. Now turn around; I’m going to change into dry clothes.” “Why? What you need is to climb into a nice warm bed.” “Now, that’s a good idea,” she said with a giggle. “Who’d dare call our Xiaojia a fool? No, he’s brilliant!” With that she began undressing, throwing one item of clothing after another into a wooden tub, until she stood there, milky white, like a luscious eel just out of the water. She arched her back and hopped up onto the heated bed, then arched it again and slipped under the covers. I stripped and climbed in beside her. But she rolled herself up in the bedding. “Don’t bother me, my young fool; I’ve been running around so much today I can barely keep my bones attached to my body.” “I won’t bother you,” I said, “but you have to promise something. I want you to get me a tiger’s whisker.” Again she giggled. “Where, my little fool, am I going to find you a tiger’s whisker?” “Somebody said you could get one. I want a curly one with a golden-yellow tip.” Her face turned bright red. “What son of a bitch told you that? I’ll flay his dog hide right off him! Give me the name of the bastard who put you up to this!” “You’ll have to kill me first. I’ve sworn on your belly not to tell. If I say who it was, your belly is going to hurt.” She just shook her head. “You poor fool, your niang was teasing you. Use your head. Things like that don’t happen in this world.” “Other people can tease me, but not my niang. I want a tiger’s whisker; I’ve wanted one all my life, so help me get one, I beg you.” “Where am I going to do that?” She was getting angry. “And a curly one, at that. You’re not a fool, you’re a big fool!” “The person told me that Eminence Qian uses a tiger pelt as a bedspread, and where there’s a tiger pelt, there must be tiger’s whiskers.” “Xiaojia,” she said with a heavy sigh, “Xiaojia, what do you expect me to say to that?” “Help me get one. I’m begging you. If you won’t do it, then I won’t let you deliver any more dog meat. Someone said you really deliver the human kind.” “Who said that?” she demanded, gnashing her teeth. “All you need to know is that somebody said it.” “All right, Xiaojia, if I get you what you want, will you leave me alone?” I just grinned.

My wife was as good as her word—she brought me a tiger’s whisker the next night. It had a golden-yellow tip. “Don’t let it fly away,” she said as she handed it to me. Then she doubled over laughing. My heart beat wildly as I clutched my whisker. A treasure I’d longed for most of my life, how could it have come so easily? Well, I examined it closely. It was just as Uncle He had described, curly with a golden-yellow tip. I held it between my fingers till my wrist tingled. It felt heavy in my hand. I looked up and said to my wife, “Let’s see what you really are.” She curled her lip. “Sure,” she said with a smile, “take a good look and tell me if I’m a phoenix or a peacock.” “Uncle He says you’re a white tiger.” Her face colored. “So it was that lousy maggot who told you,” she cursed. “I’m going to have my gandieh drag him over to the yamen tomorrow and see that he gets two hundred whacks with the paddle. He’ll know what it feels like to have his ass turned into fried bamboo shoots and meat!”