Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

The city gate swung open as the sun rose red above the horizon, and the drawbridge made a creaky descent. After reporting their purpose in entering the city, they crossed the moat, the shod hooves of their mounts clattering on cobblestone streets that were deserted except for a few early-rising residents who were fetching water at a well, as mist rose off the frosted wooden frame. The red rays of the sun fell on the travelers’ skin, creating a painful itch, which was partially eased by the comforting sound of metal bucket handles scraping against the hooks of carrying poles. People shouldering those poles watched the passage of the visitors with surprise.

A cook pot had been set up outside a small diner specializing in tripe on a narrow street fronting the prefectural yamen. A fair-skinned woman was stirring something with a long-handled ladle. Steam rose from the boiling liquid, suffusing the air around it with the fragrance of viscera and coriander. When the three travelers dismounted, the Magistrate’s legs could barely support him; Chunsheng and Liu Pu also had trouble standing, although they managed to help the Magistrate over to a bench beside the pot. Unhappily, his broad backside was too much for the narrow seat, and he wound up on the ground, his arms and legs pointing skyward. His official hat, which seemed unwilling to stay put, rolled off into a muddy ditch. Chunsheng and Liu Pu rushed to his aid, looking sheepish over failing to properly attend to their superior, whose back and queue showed the effects of landing on dirty ground. Taking a fall early in the morning and losing his official hat in the process were bad omens. Frustrated and angry, he felt like lashing out at his attendants, but a glance at the downcast looks on their faces sent the words back down his throat.

Chunsheng and Liu helped the Magistrate up, steadying themselves on legs that were still bowed from the long ride. The woman hurriedly laid down her ladle and ran over to retrieve the Magistrate’s miserable-looking hat, cleaning it off as best she could with the lapel of her jacket before handing it to him.

“My apologies, Laoye,” she said as she handed over the hat.

She had a clear voice, filled with such fervor that the Magistrate felt warm all over. As he took the hat from her and put it on, he spotted a pea-sized mole at the corner of her mouth. Meanwhile, Liu Pu did his best to clean the Magistrate’s queue, which was as filthy as a cow’s excrement-coated tail, with the wrapping cloth from his bundle. With fire in his eyes, Chunsheng railed at the woman:

“Are you blind?” he said. You should have had a chair ready for Laoye as soon as you saw him ride up!”

The Magistrate immediately silenced his rude companion and instead thanked the woman, who blushed as she ran inside to fetch a greasy chair and set it down behind the Magistrate.

The minute he sat down, every muscle in his body ached, and the appendage suspended between his legs was as cold and hard as ice. The skin on his groin felt like it was on fire. But deep down, he was moved by his own selfless behavior of riding through the night, buffeted by the wind and dampened by frost, all in the name of justice for the common people. A nobility of purpose swept over him like the aroma of the tripe cooking in the pot and spread out on the early morning air. His body was like an enormous frozen turnip that is suddenly exposed to the warmth of the sun, and as the outer covering begins to thaw, it releases foul liquids from within. All in all, it was an agonizing yet at the same time joyous process. Viscous tears oozing from the corners of his eyes blurred his vision and created the illusion of vast numbers of Northeast Gaomi Township citizens kneeling in front of him, their upturned faces imbued with affecting expressions of gratitude. From their mouths emerged simple yet moving mutterings: Our great and upright Laoye… Our great and upright Laoye…

The woman placed three large black bowls in front of them, each with a black spoon. Then she dumped pieces of flatbread into each bowl, followed by shreds of coriander and some spiced salt. Her movements quick and deft, she did not bother to ask what they would like, as if they were regular customers and she knew exactly what they wanted. As he looked into her fair, round face, a reservoir of warm feelings opened up deep down inside the Magistrate, who was struck by what seemed like an intimate connection between this woman and the one who sold dog meat back in Gaomi County. Having finished with the preparations, she stuck her ladle into the pot and stirred the bovine hearts livers intestines stomachs lungs in the bubbling mixture, beguiling the Magistrate with the mouth-watering aroma. Then she fished out a ladleful of the stew, dumped it into the Magistrate’s bowl, and filled it up with soup, topping it off with half a spoonful of ground pepper. “The pepper takes the bite out of the cold,” she said softly. He nodded, touched by her concern, and stirred the contents of his bowl with the spoon. Then he bent over until his mouth nearly touched the rim of the bowl and, with a loud slurp, sucked in a mouthful. It was so hot, it felt as if a burning mouse had been let loose in his mouth; spitting it out would have been undignified, to say the least, and holding it in his mouth would likely burn his tongue, so he swallowed it whole, and as the mixture burned its way down, a welter of feelings rose up and drove the mucus from his nose and the tears from his eyes.

After several mouthfuls of bovine stew had found their way into the men’s stomachs, beads of sweat squeezed out through their pores like itchy little insects. The woman’s ladle never stopped its motion in the pot, except to add increasingly rich soup to their bowls, which remained full to the brim. When they sped up, so did she; when they slowed down, she followed. Eventually the Magistrate brought his hands together in front of his chest to thank her. “Enough,” he said. “You can stop now, madam.”

“I’m sure you can eat more than that, Laoye,” she said with a smile.

Although he was energized by the bovine stew he had just finished, the pain in his legs had not gone away; but at least he could stand unaided. He noticed a crowd of rubberneckers watching from the wall behind them. What he could not tell was whether they were just watching to see what would happen next or if they were potential customers who dared not come forward while the man in the official hat was on the scene. He told Chunsheng to pay for the meal, which the woman refused to accept. “It was a great honor to have Laoye partake of my simple fare, for which I could not possibly accept payment,” she said. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he reached down and removed a jade pendant from the pouch at his waist. “Madam,” he said, “I cannot adequately compensate you for your extravagant hospitality, so please take this trifle as a keepsake for your husband.” As her ears reddened from embarrassment, she made as if to refuse the gift, but the Magistrate had already handed it to Chunsheng, who stuffed it into her hand. “Our Laoye wants you to have this, and courtesy demands that you accept it,” he said. The woman stood there, pendant in her hand, speechless, as the Magistrate tidied up his appearance, turned, and headed off to the prefectural yamen, fully aware that many eyes observed his progress. He was aware, too, that in years to come, people might tell the story of the Gaomi County Magistrate who stopped here and had a meal of bovine stew at this outdoor stand, embellished with each telling, maybe even introduced into the repertoire of an opera, his adventure narrated in song by a Maoqiang actor for generations. If only he had paper and a brush, he mused, he would happily give a name to this little diner whose proprietor had treated him so warmly. Or he might write a poem in the finest calligraphic style to be displayed as an attraction for future customers. He raised his head and threw out his chest as he walked along the main prefectural street, exuding the prestige and dignity of an official representative of the Imperial Court. As he walked, he entertained visions of the lovely Sun Meiniang and of the fair-skinned, fine-figured woman who sold bovine stew; he did, of course, also think about his wife. Three women: one was ice, another was fire, and the third was a warm bed.