Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

Invited members of the local gentry were seated on catalpa wood benches arranged in a polygonal circle, looking as if they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. They were joined by the Judicial Secretary, the Revenue Clerk, and scribes from the Six Boards. Arrayed in a circle behind them were yayi whose job it was to keep the gawkers from surging forward. Smack in the middle of the circle stood two large tubs of clear water. The principals had not yet arrived. Sweaty, oily faces gave evidence of growing anxiety. Young children, like slippery loaches, were wreaking havoc in the crowd with their erratic movements, pressing against the phalanx of yayi and throwing them off balance, like cornstalks bent before a raging flood. Most of the time these men were a ferocious, threatening lot, but on this day they seemed well disposed to the local residents. This strange and unique contest would actually create an unprecedented cordial relationship between the people and those who governed them. Then one of the benches was overturned by the crush of people, sending its occupant, a tall member of the gentry, jumping to safety. He stood there, water pipe in hand, staring cross-eyed at the crowd, his head cocked to the side like a puzzled rooster. Then a fat man with a long white beard fell to the ground, where he began crawling like a rooting pig, managing to get back on his feet only with considerable effort. As he brushed mud off of his silk gown, he filled the air with hoarse curses until his face puffed up like a red mass of dough right out of the oven. One of the yayi was shoved down onto a bench so hard that he injured his ribcage. He screamed like a stuck pig until his fellow yayi rescued him from his misery. The individual in charge of the yayi, Liu Pu, a young man with a gaunt face and dark skin, stood on one of the benches and, in a lilting Sichuan accent, made a friendly announcement:

“Please don’t push and shove, fellow townsmen. Lives are at stake.”

Midway through the morning, the stars of the show made their entrance. Magistrate Qian strode grandly down the steps of the Great Hall and entered the yard through the secondary gate. Bright sunlight lit up his face as he greeted the spectators with a wave of his hand. Smiling broadly, he displayed a mouth full of spotless white teeth. The crowd was moved, but not so that anyone would notice. They did not jump for joy, they did not they shed a tear, and they did not cheer. They were simply overwhelmed by the Magistrate’s presence. They had, of course, heard that he was a handsome man, but few of them had actually laid eyes on him. On this day he was dressed casually, not in his official robes. Since he was hatless, his broad forehead was freshly shaved, the shiny green of a crab shell; his scalp was slicked down with oil, leading to a long, thick braid that fell down the rise in his buttocks and was secured at the end by a jade ornament from which hung a tiny silver bell that tinkled crisply with each move. The venerable official wore a loose white silk robe and thick-soled green cloth shoes with ribs down the middle; his ankles were tied off with silk garters. The trousers under his robe were so baggy that his midsection looked like a giant floating jellyfish. The highlight of his appearance, of course, was the beard that fell from his chin. Ah, but that was no ordinary beard; it was, rather, a strip of black satin lying atop the man’s chest. So bright it was, so shiny, so glossy, and so sleek. The bright shiny glossy sleek beard hanging in front of the Magistrate’s snow-white chest had a comforting, cheery effect on all who saw it. A woman in the crowd was so taken by the sight of the venerable Magistrate, elegant and graceful, like a jade tree standing before a breeze, that her heart melted, as she seemed to float above the ground, her eyes filling with tears. On a drizzly night only months before, she had been captivated by the easy manner of Magistrate Qian, but on that occasion he had been dressed in his official attire and was properly stern, altogether different from the casual look he affected now. If one were to say that the Magistrate existed on an unattainable plane in his official robes, then one must admit that in everyday attire, he was quite approachable. The young woman was none other than Sun Meiniang.

Meiniang threaded her way forward, her unblinking eyes glued to His Eminence, whose every gesture and every look intoxicated her heart and possessed her soul. She cared not if she stepped on someone’s foot, was not bothered if she bumped into people’s shoulders; the angry shouts that followed her fell on deaf ears. Some in the crowd recognized her as the daughter of one of the principals in today’s battle of the beards, the actor Sun Bing, and immediately assumed that she had come to fret over her father’s fate. They generously made space for her to squeeze her way up to the front row behind the ringed field of combat. At last her knee bumped into a hard wooden bench, and she peered between the heads of some yayi. Her heart had already taken flight and landed on His Eminence’s breast, like a pet bird, there to make its nest and raise its young in bone-penetrating warmth.

The radiant sunlight filled the Magistrate’s eyes with incandescent passion. With hands clasped in front of his chest, he bowed to the assembled members of the local gentry, then turned and did the same to the ordinary residents. Saying not a word, he caressed the crowd with a bewitching smile. Sun Meiniang sensed his gaze brushing her face and stopped for a moment—she felt numb all over. All the fluids in her body—tears, mucus, sweat, blood, marrow—flowed out like quicksilver. She now felt as weightless as a spotless white feather, floating in the air, like a dream, like a breeze.

At that moment, two yayi emerged from the fearful lockup east of the yard, leading the way for the tall, once-robust Sun Bing, looking stern and resolute. His face seemed puffier than usual, and there were purple bruises on his neck. But none of that detracted from his spirited demeanor, however forced it might have been. Sun immediately earned the crowd’s respect when he walked up and stood shoulder to shoulder with the County Magistrate. In neither his attire nor the apparent state of his health could he hold a candle to the venerable Magistrate, but his beard was in a class by itself. It looked to be fuller than his opponent’s, but somewhat disheveled and not as glossy. That aside, it was a remarkable specimen of facial hair.

“That is a dignified appearance,” a thin member of the local gentry said confidentially to his fat companion. “He looks exultant. There is nothing ordinary about the man.”

“Not so fast,” the fat man said scornfully. “What is he but a Maoqiang actor!”

The Judicial Secretary, who was to preside over the competition, rose from the bench on which he was sitting, cleared his opium-scarred throat, and announced:

“Honored gentry, county elders, today’s competition is being held in response to a defamatory comment uttered by the unruly citizen Sun Bing against the venerable County Magistrate. For his felonious transgression, Sun Bing deserves to be punished to the fullest extent of the law, but since this constitutes his first offense, the Magistrate has chosen to dispose of the case with compassion. In order to disprove once and for all his defamatory comment, the Magistrate has accepted the miscreant’s challenge to hold a battle of the beards. If Sun emerges the victor, the Magistrate agrees to drop all charges. But if the Magistrate wins the competition, Sun Bing must personally pull out every strand of his beard and never grow another. Is this your understanding, Sun Bing?”

“It is,” Sun Bing said, his head held high. “I am grateful for the Magistrate’s magnanimity!”

The Judicial Secretary then turned to the Magistrate for confirmation, which came in the form of a barely noticeable nod.