Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

“Nice shooting!” His Excellency said approvingly, a genuine smile on his face for the first time during the audience. “Now, what would you like?”

“I’d like to own these,” he replied unflinchingly.

Taken by surprise, Yuan Shikai stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter.

“Go ahead,” he said. “You can be their husband!”

As he recalled those moments, he reached down and stroked the handles of the two pistols on his belt. They had been chilled by gusts of cold wind. “Don’t be frightened, my friends,” he said encouragingly as he warmed them with his hand. Then he pleaded: “Help me, my friends. When I have done what I came to do, I will be shot dead, but the tale of the gold-handled pistols will live on for generations.” They were, he could feel, beginning to warm up. “Yes,” he said to his pistols, “we must be patient as we await the man’s return. A year from today will be the first anniversary.” The mounted contingent behind him was getting increasingly restless—they were freezing cold and hungry, horses and riders. With cool detachment, he surveyed the two ranks of senior officers. They presented an amazingly ugly sight, all seemingly on the verge of falling off their horses, which nervously nipped at one another. There was no calming the mounts behind him, with one agitated wave coming hard upon the other. Heaven is on my side, he was thinking. Weariness has claimed everyone here, dulling their senses. I could not ask for a better time to act.

At last he, and only he, heard the faint toot of a steamship upriver. Instinctively, as his nerves grew taut, he tightened his grip on the handles of his pistols, but only for a brief moment. “Excellency Yuan has returned!” he called out in feigned excitement to the troops behind him and the ranking officers lined up on either side. Bestirred by the shout, the officers blew their noses or dried their weepy eyes or cleared their throats, each man eager to greet Excellency Yuan in a manner befitting his station.

The undersized glossy black steamship appeared around the bend in the river, puffing black clouds from its smokestack, each accompanying breath louder than the one before, until they were thudding against people’s eardrums. The ship’s bow cleaved through the water, arcing whitecaps to each side, while a wake sent ripples from the stern all the way to the riverbank. “Mounted troops,” he commanded, “double file!” With trained precision, the soldiers spurred their mounts into two files, spaced at roughly ten paces, all facing the river. The soldiers sat perfectly straight in their saddles, rifles off their shoulders and held at present arms, muzzles pointing skyward.

The military band struck up a tune of welcome.

The ship slowed down and edged sideways up to the wharf.

With his hands on the grips, he felt the pistols quake, like trapped fledglings—no, like a pair of women. Don’t be afraid, my friends, you mustn’t be afraid.

When the ship nestled up to the pier, it released a long whistle as sailors at the bow and the stern tossed over mooring lines, which were secured to bollards. At that moment, the ship’s engine shut down, and a party of subordinates emerged from the cabin to form lines on both sides of the hatch, from which Excellency Yuan’s nicely rounded head peeked out.

Again the pistols began to quake in his hands.

A couple of weeks earlier, when news of the execution of the Six Gentlemen in Peking had reached the small camp, he was in his barracks room oiling the gold-handled pistols. His orderly rushed in and reported:

“Sir, Excellency Yuan is on his way to see you!”

He hastened to put his weapons away, but Yuan Shikai walked in before he could manage. He jumped to his feet, holding out his oily hands. His heart raced as he saw the four hulking guards walk in behind His Excellency, their hands resting on the grips of their side arms. The ferocious looks in their eyes were a sign that they would not hesitate to use them. Despite his status as Commander of the Mounted Guard Detachment, he had no authority over Yuan’s four personal bodyguards, who were all from the commander’s hometown. He snapped to attention.

“Your humble servant did not know Your Excellency was coming,” he reported. “I beg forgiveness for my unpardonable slight!”

Yuan Shikai glanced at the weapons parts scattered on the table and said in a jocular tone:

“What are you’re doing, Detachment Commander Qian?”

“Your humble servant is cleaning his weapons.”

“I think not,” Yuan Shikai said with a barely concealed snicker. “You should have said that you are bathing your women.”

Reminded of his comment regarding weapons and women, he smiled awkwardly.

“What can you tell me about your association with Tan Sitong?”

“Your humble servant met him once at Kang Youwei’s home.”

“Only once?”

“Your humble servant would not dare lie to Your Excellency.”

“What is your opinion of the man?”

“Your Excellency, your humble servant believes,” he said with conviction, “that Tan Sitong is a courageous and upright man. If he were your friend, he’d tell you when you were wrong, but he could also be your mortal enemy.”

“Just what does that mean?”

“Tan Sitong is a dragon among men. He would unhesitatingly die for a friend, and would not be a secret enemy. To kill him would ensure an envious reputation; to die at his hands would be a worthy death.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Yuan Shikai said with a sigh. “Too bad Tan Sitong was not someone I could use. Are you aware that he was beheaded in the capital’s marketplace?”

“Your humble servant knows that.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“It breaks my heart.”

“Bring them in.” With a wave of his hand, two of Yuan’s attendants carried in a large black lacquer food hamper with gold-inlaid borders. “I’ve had them prepare two separate meals for you,” Yuan said. “The choice is yours.”

The attendants opened the large hamper, in which were two smaller ones. They laid them out on the table.

“Go ahead,” Yuan said with a grin.

He opened the first box, which held a red floral porcelain bowl filled with six large braised meatballs.

He opened the second box, which held only a single bone with a tiny bit of meat.

He looked up at Yuan, who was smiling at him.

He looked down and thought for a moment before reaching in and picking up the bone.

Yuan Shikai nodded appreciatively as he walked up and patted him on the shoulder.

“Smart, very smart. The Empress Dowager Herself presented this bone to me. There is little meat left on it, but what there is has a wonderful flavor. Try it.”

With fires of rage blazing in his heart, he gripped the pistols with trembling hands and watched as Yuan Shikai negotiated the shaky gangplank with the help of his bodyguards. Strains of the welcome melody floated in the air as the senior officers fell to their knees to greet the great man. He, on the other hand, remained seated on his horse. Yuan Shikai acknowledged the greeting with a mere wave of his hand. An easy, magnanimous smile adorned his ample face as he swept the prostrated welcoming delegation with his eyes, resting in the end on the sole mounted figure. At that moment it was abundantly clear that Yuan Shikai knew, and that was part of his plan. He wanted Yuan Shikai to know who it was who killed him. He nudged his horse forward and drew one of his pistols; it took only a second for the horse’s muzzle to bump up against Yuan’s chest.