Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

“Dog-Meat Xishi, the best in Gaomi!”

“Look look look at that peach-blossom face and willow waist. The graceful neck of a mantis and the shapely legs of a white crane!”

“The top part is to die for; the bottom part will petrify you! Only Eminence Qian, with his strange obsession, can appreciate the big feet of a living fairy!”

Watch your tongues, boys. What you say by the roadside is heard in the grass. If someone reports you, you’ll be whisked inside the yamen to have your backsides turned to mush by forty swats of the paddle.

Go on, little monkeys, say what you want. I’m in no mood today to take offense. Who cares what you imps think as long as His Eminence likes what he sees? I’m here for the swings, not to listen to your silly talk. I know you’d just love to lap up my pee.

At the moment no one was using the swings, their thick, wet ropes swaying in the drizzle, waiting for me. I tossed away my umbrella, which was caught by a little monkey that ran up as I jumped forward, like a carp leaping out of the water. I grabbed the ropes, jumped a second time, and landed on the swing seat with both feet. Now you children will see the advantage of having big feet. “Hey, boys and girls,” I shouted, “open your eyes and take a lesson on the art of swinging. Coal looks clean compared to the face of the fat, clumsy girl who sat on the swing before me. A millstone is tiny compared to her backside, and water chestnuts are bigger than her feet. What was someone like that doing on a swing set? How mortifying! She looked like a lizard. What is a swing set, after all? It’s a moving stage for an actor to display her skills and show off her face; she’s a sampan riding the waves, she’s the wind of desire, the surge of seduction, the rage of passion, the epitome of lust. This is a chance for a woman to act the siren. Why do you think my gandieh chose this spot to build a swing set? Because of his devotion to the people? Hah! You think too highly of yourselves. I’ll tell you why. He built it for me, as my Qingming gift. Go ask him if you don’t believe me. I took dog meat to him last night, and after our frolic in bed, he put his arms around me and said, ‘Tomorrow is Qingming, my pet, my precious, and I have built you a swing set on the Southern Academy parade ground. I know you once played the sword-and-horse role, so go out there and put your feet to work. You might not make a splash for all of Shandong, but for my sake make one for all of Gaomi County. Let those commoners know that Qian’s little pet is special, another Hua Mulan! Let them know that big feet are better than bound ones, and that Qian will change prevailing customs by prohibiting the practice of binding women’s feet.’

“I said, ‘Gandieh, you have been so sad about what happened to my dieh. You are taking a risk by protecting him. And when you are unhappy, I am in no mood for entertainments.’ Well, he kissed my foot and said with an emotional sigh:

“’Meiniang, my dearest, I want to use Qingming to sweep all gloomy, inauspicious signs out of the county. The dead cannot be brought back to life, but the living have a right to a little gaiety. No one sympathizes with a grumbler, who winds up being the butt of jokes. But if you square your shoulders and get tough, tougher than everyone else, ready to take them on, you’ll have them where you want them. Writers will put you in their books; playwrights will write plays about you. So climb onto those swings and show them what you’re made of. Ten years from now, the repertoire of that Maoqiang opera of yours might well include a play called Sun Meiniang Raises Eyebrows on a Swing !’

“’I may not be able to do much, Gandieh,’ I said as I lifted his beard with my feet, ‘but I will not cause you embarrassment when I am on the swing.’”

Holding the ropes with both hands, I squatted down, bent my legs, and stood on the balls of my feet; then, sticking my rear end out and leaning forward, I threw out my chest, raised my head, and, with my midriff as a fulcrum, began to swing. I pulled the ropes back toward me and, feet on the seat, again threw out my chest and raised my head, pushing with my legs, bent at the knees. The metal rings cried out with urgency as my swing gained momentum, higher, faster, steeper, harder, deeper; the taut ropes sang like the wind; the rings made a fearful noise. I was transported to a fairyland; I felt like a bird soaring aloft, my arms transformed into wings, feathers sprouting on my chest. At the summit, the swing and my body hung in the air together, while tides of ocean waves surged through my heart—swelling high, then falling low, one wave hard upon another, foam gathering in the air. Big fish chasing little fish, little fish chasing shrimp. Waa waa waa waa… higher higher higher, not yet high enough, just a little higher, a little more… my body laid out horizontally, my face bumped into the soft yellow belly of a curious swallow; I felt as if I were lying on a cushiony pad woven of wind and rain, and when I reached the highest possible point, I bit a flower off the tip of the highest branch of the oldest and tallest apricot tree around. Shouts erupted on the ground below. I was carefree, I was relaxed and at ease, I had achieved the Tao, I was an immortal… and then, a breach in the dam, the waters retreated, waves returning to sea, taking foam with them; big fish tugged on little fish, little fish dragged shrimps, la la la la, all in retreat. I reached bottom, and then flew up again. My head pitched back between the twin ropes as they grew taut again and trembled in my hands, and I was nearly parallel to the ground. I could see fresh soil where purple sprouts of new grass were beginning to poke through. The apricot blossom was still between my teeth, its subtle fragrance filling my nostrils.

All the while I was having a frisky good time on the swing, my earthbound audience, especially all those sons and grandsons, those little hooligans, were as frenzied as I was. They ooh-ed on my way up and aah-ed on my way back down. “Ooh, there she goes! Aah, here she comes!” My clothes fluttered in the wind, carrying fine drops of rain—damp and cloyingly sweet, like wet cowhide—which filled my heart to overflowing. Sure, my dieh had gotten into a terrible fix, but a married daughter is like water splashed on the ground—it cannot be taken back. You will have to look out for yourself, Dieh, and I will do the same from here on out. I have a kind and simple husband at home, a man who can keep out the wind and the rain for me, and a powerful, affectionate, and entertaining lover outside the home. There is strong drink when I feel like it, meat when I want it, and no one can stop me from crying or laughing or flirting or causing a scene. That is the definition of happiness. It is the happiness that my devout, sutra-chanting, long-suffering niang made possible for me; it is the happiness that fate had in store for me. I thank the heavens for that. I thank the Emperor and Empress for that. I thank His Eminence Magistrate Qian for that. I thank my dull and peculiar husband, Xiaojia, for that. And I thank Magistrate Qian’s supernatural “club” for that. It is a rare treasure seldom found in heaven or on earth; it is the medicine that cures my ills.

A popular adage has it that “When the moon is full, the decline begins; when the river is high, water flows away. When someone is too happy, bad things happen; and when dogs feel good, they fight over shit.” While I was the center of attention on the swing, a mob from Northeast Gaomi Township, armed with shovels, pickaxes, pitchforks, carrying poles, wooden spears, and rakes, and led by my dieh, Sun Bing, was surrounding a railroad shed that housed German rail workers, killing many of the invaders’ lackeys, and taking three German soldiers hostage. After stripping the soldiers naked and tying them to scholar trees, they sprayed their faces with urine. Then they burned the wooden construction signs, dug up the tracks and dumped them into the river, and carried the railroad ties home to build pigsties. They also burned the shed to the ground.