Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

“Are you hurt, sir?” Zhao asked.

Without replying, the man took a few steps, supporting himself with his hand on Zhao Jia’s shoulder, his face twisted in pain.

“It looks to me, sir, that you are badly hurt.”

“Who are you?” the man asked with obvious suspicion.

“I work in the Board of Punishments, sir.”

“The Board of Punishments?” the man said. “If that’s true, how come I don’t know you?”

“You don’t know me, sir, but I know who you are,” Zhao said. “Tell me what you would like me to do.”

The man took a few more tentative steps, but his body gave out and he plopped down on the snowy ground. “My legs won’t carry me,” he said. “Find some transportation to take me home.”

Zhao Jia flagged down a donkey-drawn coal cart and accompanied the injured official to a broken-down little temple outside Xizhi Gate, where a tall, lanky young man was practicing kungfu in the yard. Despite the cold, he was wearing only a thin singlet; his pale face was beaded with sweat. As soon as Zhao Jia helped the official into the yard, the young man ran up. “Father,” he shouted, and burst into tears. Icy winds whistled through the flimsy paper covering the windows in the unheated temple, where cracks in the walls were stuffed with cotton wadding. A woman sitting on the chilled kang was shivering as she spooled thread. She looked like an old granny, with a sickly pallor and gray hair. Zhao Jia and the young man helped the official over to the kang, where, after a respectful bow, he turned to leave.

“My name is Liu Guangdi,” the man said. “I passed the Imperial Examination in 1883, the twenty-second year of the Guangxu reign, and have been the director of a Board of Punishments Bureau for several years,” the man said in a genial tone. “This is my wife, and he is my son. I must ask Grandma to excuse the humble place we call home.”

“You know who I am,” Zhao said, embarrassment showing on his face.

“Truth is,” Liu Guangdi said, “our jobs are essentially the same. We both work for the nation and serve the Emperor. But you are more important than I.” He sighed. “Dismissing several Bureau directors would have no effect on the Board of Punishments. But without Grandma Zhao, it would no longer be the Board of Punishments. Among all the thousands of national laws and statutes, none is more important than those upheld by your knife.”

Zhao fell to his knees and, with moist eyes, said:

“Excellency Liu, your words have moved me deeply. In the eyes of most observers, people in my line of work are lower than pigs, worse than dogs, while you, Excellency, esteem our work.”

“Get up, Old Zhao, please get up,” Liu said. “I won’t keep you any longer. One of these days we’ll sit down over something strong to drink.” He turned to his son, the gaunt young man. “Pu’er, see Grandma Zhao out.”

“I cannot let your honorable son…” Zhao was clearly flustered.

The young man smiled and made a polite gesture with his hands. Zhao Jia would not easily forget his fine manners and humility.

On the first day of the New Year, 1897, Liu Guangdi strode into the eastern side room of the executioners’ quarters, dressed in official attire and carrying an oilpaper bundle. The men were drinking and playing finger-guessing games to welcome in the New Year, and the sight of a senior official walking in unannounced threw them into a panic. Zhao Jia jumped down off the kang barefoot and knelt on the floor.

“Best wishes for the New Year, Excellency!”

The other executioners followed his lead:

“Best wishes for the New Year, Excellency!” they cried out from their knees.

“Get up,” Liu said, “all of you, get up. The floor is cold. Get back up on the kang.”

The men stood up but, hands at their sides, did not dare to move.

“I am on duty, so I figured I’d spend the day with you men.” He opened his bundle, which was filled with cured meat, then took out a bottle of spirits from under his robe. “My wife prepared this meat herself; the spirits were a gift from a friend. See what you think.”

“We would not dare to think of sharing a meal with Your Excellency,” Zhao said.

“It’s New Year’s, so we can dispense with the formalities,” Liu replied.

“We truly dare not,” Zhao insisted.

“What has gotten into you, Old Zhao?” Liu said as he took off his hat and official robe. “We all work in the same yamen, so let’s act like it.”

The other men looked at Zhao Jia.

“Since Your Excellency does us this honor, it is better to accept humbly than to courteously decline,” Zhao said. “After you, sir.”

Liu Guangdi removed his shoes and sat on the communal kang with his legs folded. “You’ve got this nice and hot,” he said.

The men received the compliment with a foolish grin. “You don’t expect me to lift each one of you up here, do you?” he said.

“Go on, get up,” Zhao said. “We mustn’t offend Excellency Liu.”

So the execution team climbed back onto the kang, where they made themselves as small as possible. Zhao Jia picked up a glass, filled it from the bottle, then knelt on the kang and held it out with both hands.

“On behalf of my fellows, Your Excellency, I wish you wealth and promotions.”

Liu Guangdi accepted the glass and drained it.

“Fine stuff,” he said as he licked his lips. “Now join me, all of you.”

Zhao Jia drank a glass and felt his heart bubble over with warmth.

Liu Guangdi raised his glass.

“Old Zhao,” he said, “I am in your debt for helping me get home that time. Come on, men, fill your glasses and accept my toast!”

They drained their glasses with great emotion. With tears in his eyes, Zhao Jia said:

“Excellency, not since Pangu split heaven and earth and the ancient emperors ruled the earth has a senior official actually joined a group of executioners to celebrate New Year’s with a bottle. Let us raise our glasses to His Excellency, everyone!”

The executioners knelt in place, raised their glasses, and toasted Liu, who clinked glasses with each of them and, as his eyes brightened, said:

“I can see that you are all men of indomitable spirit. It takes courage to engage in your profession. And nothing celebrates courage like fine spirits. So drink up!”

The men grew increasingly spirited as the level of the alcohol in the bottle dropped. No longer so tense or concerned about where they placed their arms and legs, they took turns toasting Liu, their constraints disappearing as fast as the spirits and the meat. Liu Guangdi, who had abandoned his official airs, picked up a pig’s foot and attacked it with such vigor that his cheeks shone from the grease.

By the time the meat and spirits were gone, they were all fairly drunk. Zhao Jia was beaming; Liu Guangdi had tears in his eyes. First Aunt was sputtering nonsense; Second Aunt was snoring with his eyes open. Third Aunt’s tongue was so thick that no one could understand a word he said.

Liu got down off the kang. “Wonderful,” he said, “this was just wonderful!”

Zhao helped Liu into his boots, and the young nephews helped him back into his official robe and hat. With the executioners in tow, Liu stumbled his way into the room where the tools of the trade were kept. His eyes fell on the sword whose handle proclaimed it “Generalissimo.”

“Grandma Zhao,” he blurted out, “how many red-capped heads has this sword separated from their bodies?”

“I never counted.”

Liu tested the rusty blade with his finger.

“It’s not very sharp,” he said.