Mo Yan - Sandalwood Death

Just as Zhu Ba was getting started, a shout from outside cut him off in midsentence. Hou Xiaoqi’s monkey startled us when it skittered in through the front entrance, with Hou himself hard on its heels. His face was lit up, as if coated with moonbeams. He ran straight to Zhu Ba.

“Eighth Master,” he said, “wonderful news! My vigil by the ditch behind the yamen has paid off. Fourth Master passed on the news that we are to climb over the rear wall late at night, when the sentries are sleepy. We can pull the switch, make the exchange, right under their noses. I scouted the terrain and discovered a crooked-necked old elm tree ready-made for scaling the wall.”

“Monkey,” an obviously pleased Zhu Ba said excitedly, “damned if you don’t have a couple of tricks up your sleeve! All of you, sleep if you can, but lie there and conserve your energy if sleep won’t come. The time to act has arrived. Pulling this off will be like ramming it up von Ketteler’s ass, and none of those bastards will know what hit them.” Zhu Ba then turned his attention to the corner, where the good fellow who would take my dieh’s place was fast asleep. “Xiao Shanzi,” he said, “that’s enough sleep. Time to get up. I’ve got a jug of fine spirits here, that and an off-the-bone roast chicken. You can share that with me as my going-away gift. If you’re having second thoughts, I can find someone else, though this promises to be not only a sensation, but one in which the name of the central figure will go down in history. I know what a fine singer you are, a disciple of Sun Bing. Your voice is an exact replica of his, and there is hardly any difference in appearance between you two. Look closely, Sun Meiniang, and tell me if this fellow isn’t the spitting image of your dieh.”

The fellow got lazily to his feet, yawned grandly, and wiped off the slobber that had crept out of his mouth while he slept. Then, rousing himself out of his lethargy, he turned to show me his coarse, long face. His eyes and brows certainly did resemble my dieh’s, and he had the same high nose. But he had a slightly different mouth. My dieh had full lips, while this fellow’s were thin, but that was all that kept him from being my dieh’s double. Add the right clothes, and he could fool anyone.

“Oh, I forgot one thing, Eighth Master,” Hou Xiaoqi said sheepishly. “Fourth Master wanted me to be sure to tell you that when Sun Bing was being interrogated, he angered von Ketteler with such foul curses that the German hit him with the butt of his pistol and knocked out two front teeth…”

Every eye in the room was immediately focused on Xiao Shanzi’s mouth. His lips parted to reveal two perfect rows of teeth. Most beggars have good teeth, since they survive on hard, crunchy food most of the time. Zhu Ba studied Xiao Shanzi’s mouth.

“You heard what he said. Yes or no, it’s up to you. I won’t hold it against you if you say no.”

Xiao Shanzi spread his lips wide, as if to show off his perfectly aligned, albeit yellow, teeth. Then he smiled.

“Shifu,” he said, “if I’m willing to give up my life, why would I want to hold on to a couple of teeth?”

“Good for you, Shanzi,” Zhu Ba said emotionally as he turned the sack of fireflies over and over in his hand. “That’s what I’d expect a true disciple to say.” The light from the agitated insects rose like a mist and lit up the few scraggly white hairs on Zhu Ba’s chin.

“Shifu,” Shanzi said, tapping his front teeth with a fingernail. “They’re starting to itch, so bring on the food and drink.”

Beggars swarmed the area behind Zhu Ba to be the first to bring out a jug and the cooked chicken, wrapped in clean lotus leaves. I could smell the chicken even before the leaves were peeled away, and the aged spirits before the stopper was removed. The two aromas were totally different, but came together as a potent reminder of the Mid-Autumn Festival, which was only days away, and the ambience surrounding it. A moonbeam filtered in through a crack in the temple door: a hand peeled away the oily lotus leaves in the light of the moonbeam; a golden-red cooked chicken glimmered in the light of the moonbeam; a black hand laid two shallow black glazed bowls next to the chicken in the light of the moonbeam; Zhu Ba put the sack with the fireflies into a pouch at his waist and clapped his green hands. I noticed how long, slender, and nimble his fingers were, looking like little people with something to say. He hopped forward a couple of spots, still seated on the mat, until he was right in front of Xiao Shanzi, the man who was going to take my dieh’s place in his cell and die in his stead. Zhu Ba held one of the bowls out for Xiao Shanzi, who accepted it but said with what looked to be much embarrassment:

“I can’t let you serve me like this, Shifu.”

Zhu Ba picked up the second bowl and clinked it against Xiao Shanzi’s, loud enough for all of us to hear it and hard enough to splash out some of the contents. Their eyes met, and to us sparks seemed to fly, like steel striking a flint. Their lips were quaking, and they both seemed about to speak—but they didn’t. Instead, they tipped back their heads and, with audible glugs, emptied the bowls. Zhu Ba laid down his bowl and tore off a drumstick with the skin attached. He handed it to Xiao Shanzi, who took it and seemed about to say something. But still nothing. A moment later, his mouth was stuffed to capacity with roast chicken, which rotated twice before it slipped down his throat like a greased rat. I’d have loved to run home to cook a dog’s leg for him, but there was no time for that, since a dog’s leg had to cook all day and all night. Now that he’d eaten the meat, he gnawed on the bone to pick it clean, almost as if to show us what his teeth could do. The image was of a squirrel chewing on an acorn. Though they were undeniably yellow, they were solid teeth. As soon as the tendons were picked clean, he started in on the bone itself, which produced the most noise. Not a single thing emerged from that mouth, not even bone chips. You poor man. If I’d known earlier that you were willing to die in my dieh’s stead, I’d have invited you to a sumptuous feast, making sure you got a taste of the best food anywhere. Too bad life does not allow for predictions or do-overs. As soon as Xiao Shanzi finished off one drumstick, Zhu Ba tore off the other one and held it out for him. But this time, Xiao Shanzi cupped his hands respectfully in front of him and said devotedly:

“I thank Shifu for giving me this opportunity!”

Then he reached behind him, picked up a broken brick, and smacked himself in the mouth, producing a dull thud. A front tooth fell to the ground, and blood spurted from his mouth.

Everyone froze, staring and speechless. Their gazes bounced back and forth between Xiao Shanzi’s bloody mouth and the gloomy face of Zhu Ba, who moved the tooth around on the floor with his index finger, then looked up at Hou Xiaoqi.

“How many teeth did Sun Bing lose?”

“Two, according to Fourth Master.”

“Are you sure that’s what he said?”

“I’m sure, Eighth Master.”

“After what you’ve done,” Zhu Ba said to Xiao Shanzi, his awkwardness showing, “I don’t have the heart to ask you to do it again.”

“There’s no reason to feel bad, Shifu. Once, twice, what’s the difference?” Xiao Shanzi said, blood bubbling from his mouth. He picked the brick up again.

“Wait—” Zhu Ba cried out.

But too late—Xiao Shanzi smacked himself in the mouth a second time.

He tossed the brick away and lowered his head. Two teeth fell to the ground.

The sight of the gaping hole in Xiao Shanzi’s mouth drove Zhu Ba into a frenzy.

“You dumb bastard,” he cursed, “I told you to wait. Now you’ve knocked out too many teeth, damn it! With too few we could have figured something out, but what are we going to do now?”