Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

“Sun Bing!” Li Wu bellowed. “What is that supposed to mean? Aren’t you an actor who plays emperors and kings, ministers and princes, scholars and beauties, praising the virtues of loyalty, piety, benevolence, and righteousness resounding across the heavens, day in and day out? Then how can you be ignorant of what it means to live in civilized society? You have taken for your sole enjoyment the only meat dish on the table, to which the grease on your lips bears testimony. And yet you have the audacity to slander others, you filthy maggot!”

“Now that you have grown tired of your sea cucumber, bird’s nest, camel’s hoof, and bear’s paw,” Sun Bing said with a laugh, “how can you drool over a plate of pork?”

“You are trying to measure the stature of a great man with the yardstick of a petty one! I object not for myself, but for my fellow guests.”

Again Sun Bing laughed. “They have filled their bellies by licking your hot ass, so what need do they have for meat?”

Stung by Sun’s comment, the guests cursed him all at the same time. Unaffected by their anger, he finished what was left of the meat on the plate, then picked up a steamed bun and used it to sop up the gravy. That done, he belched, lit his pipe, and enjoyed a relaxing smoke.

Li Wu shook his head and sighed. “Born of parents, but raised without them, you should be sent into the city by Magistrate Qian to be given fifty lashes!”

“I say we let it go, brother Li Wu,” Collegian Ma Da chimed in. “The ancients have taught us that idle talk is our drink and free chats our meat. Tell us more about Magistrate Qian and the goings-on in the yamen. That will be a sumptuous feast.”

“I’ve lost interest,” Li Wu replied. “What I can say is, the people of Gaomi County are blessed to have Eminence Qian as their wise and caring Magistrate. Given the depth of his talents, how can we residents of such a trifling little county expect to keep him with us? The day will come when our illustrious official will move up and away from us, if for no other reason than the supernatural beard that adorns his chin. He will attain no less an appointment than Provincial Governor, and when the opportunity presents itself, he, like his esteemed father-in-law, Lord Wenzheng, will become a renowned official for whom the sky is the limit, a pillar of the nation a real possibility.”

“When Eminence Qian rises to fame, Li Wu will move up along with him,” Collegian Ma remarked. “That is what is meant by ‘When the moon is bright, a bald man shines, and when the water rises, the ferryboat floats highest.’ Brother Li Wu, a toast from your humble servant. What worries me is that once your career is in ascent, I can imagine how difficult it will be to see you!”

After draining his glass, Li Wu said, “Truth is, for a subordinate, all the fine language in the world can be refined down to a single word: loyalty. If your superior smiles your way, that is no reason to turn up your nose at others, and if he gives you a swift kick, there is no need to bemoan your fate. That does not hold true, however, for men like Magistrate Qian and Lord Wenzheng, who are either heavenly constellations come down to earth or mighty dragons who have returned to the land of mortals, and live in a different universe than us common folk. What, I ask, is Lord Wenzheng? He is a giant python come back to be among us. People have said that he suffered from ringworm, and that when he climbed out of bed each morning, his servants could fill a ladle with the flakes of pale skin on the sheet. But Magistrate Qian took me aside and told me that what they found was snake molt. And what, I ask you, is Magistrate Qian? I’ll tell you, but you must keep it to yourselves. Once, after he and I had talked late into the night, we were so tired we climbed onto the kang in the Western Parlor, curled up, and went to sleep. All of a sudden, I felt something heavy on top of me—I was dreaming that a tiger had its claws in me. I awoke with a fright, and guess what I saw: one of the Magistrate’s legs was draped across my body…”

The men around the table held their breath as their faces paled; their eyes were glued to Li Wu’s mouth, into which he emptied yet another glass. “That is when I grasped the truth that the Magistrate’s beard is so lush that, in reality, it is the beard of a tiger.”

Sun Bing knocked the ashes from his pipe on a table leg, then puffed up his cheeks and blew the tar out of the stem. After tucking his pipe away, he grasped his beard with both hands and, with an exaggerated and strikingly artistic stage gesture, flung it to one side. Assuming the articulated cadence of an operatic old man, he intoned:

“Little Li Wu, go back and tell your master for me that the beard on his chin cannot compare with the hair around my prick!”

Bright and early the next morning, before all the fatty pork he’d eaten had moved beyond his stomach, Sun Bing was yanked out of bed by four yamen bailiffs and thrown naked to the floor. His bed partner, Little Peach, an actress who took leading lady dan roles, curled up in a corner, wearing only a red belly warmer, and shuddered from fear. In the chaos that followed, the attackers smashed a chamber pot with a misplaced kick, filling the air with the pungent smell of urine and raising welts all over Sun’s body.

“Worthy brothers,” he shouted, “let’s talk this out, what do you say?”

Two of the men picked him up off the floor, twisting his arms behind him, while a third lit a lamp in a wall recess. Sun Bing saw Li Wu’s smirking face in the golden light.

“Li Wu,” he said, “there is no bad blood between us, never has been, so why are you doing this to me?”

Li Wu stepped up, slapped Sun, and then spat in his face.

“You stinking actor,” he said contemptuously, “you’re right, there is no bad blood between you and me. But there is great enmity between you and Magistrate Qian. As his subordinate, I have no choice but to take you into custody, for which I ask your forbearance.”

“What enmity is there between Magistrate Qian and me?”

Li Wu smirked. “Dear brother, you really do have a short memory. Last night you said that the beard on his chin cannot compare with the hair around your prick, if I’m not mistaken.”

Sun Bing rolled his eyes. “That is malicious slander, Li Wu. When did I say something like that? I’d have to be crazy or stupid to utter something as idiotic as that, and I am neither.”

“You may not be crazy or stupid, but greasy pork muddled your mind.”

“Dry shit does not stick to one’s body!”

“Any man worthy of the name stands behind his words and deeds!” Li Wu insisted. “Now, do you want to get dressed, or shall we take you along naked? If you dress, make it snappy. We don’t have time to argue with a stinking actor, for Magistrate Qian is waiting at the yamen to get a look at the hair around your prick!”

The bailiffs dragged and pushed Sun Bing into a hall in the county yamen. He was in a bit of a daze, and his body ached and burned from the beatings he’d suffered over the last three days in a jail cell, where he had played host to legions of bedbugs and fleas. During those three days, he had been taken out of his cell and blindfolded six times by guards, who proceeded to beat him with leather whips and clubs until he was banging into walls like a blind donkey. During those three days, he was given one cup of foul water and a single bowl of spoiled rice. Now, at the end of those three days, he was famished and parched, he ached all over, and most of his blood had been sucked dry by the fleas and bedbugs, whose bodies glistened on the walls like buckwheat soaked in oil. He felt that he was on his last legs, that he would not be able to survive three more days. He regretted his impetuous comment, no matter how pleased he’d been with it at the time. He also wished he hadn’t taken the plate of pork all for himself. Now would be a good time to reach up and punish his trouble-making mouth with several vicious slaps. But no sooner had he raised his arm than he saw stars. Sore and stiff, that arm felt like a piece of cold steel. It fell back to his side, a heavy weight, and hung from his shoulder like a yoke.