Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“Dragon shit, boy! Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Of course,” said Cí. “They pinch like devils!”

Over time, he’d learned to hide his unusual gift. When he was a young boy, the fact he didn’t feel pain had won him attention—neighbors lined up to marvel at how he could withstand pinches on the skin and even moxibustion burns. Once he was in school, though, things changed. The teachers were astonished at the beatings he could tolerate without the slightest cry; his schoolmates envied him at first but then began to see him as aloof. So they tried to prove that if they hurt him enough, surely he’d cry at some point. Previously playful kicks and slaps turned cruel and increasingly violent. And that was when Cí began to learn that, to protect himself, he’d have to perfect the art of pretending he felt pain.

He looked Ze in the eye. “Ready?”

Ze nodded grimly. Cí took an ant between his finger and thumb and, with the other hand, pressed Ze’s wound shut. He laid the ant against the wound’s edge, and it clamped its mandible shut. Cí then tore off the ant’s torso, leaving only the head. He repeated the operation, with great care, along the length of the wound.

“That’s it,” Cí said. “In two weeks you can take the heads off—it isn’t difficult. And after that a scar will form…”

“Him?” said Wang. “How’s he going to do it with those huge mitts?”

“Well, I mean, you could use a knife…”

“In your dreams. You’re not leaving him like this.”

“But you said you were going to throw us off.”

“If I did say that, you can forget it. You’re taking Ze’s place. There’s plenty of rowing to be done between here and Lin’an, and Ze’s in no fit state.”

Cí was so grateful that he found himself speechless.

“And if you even think about trying to get a wage out of me, I’ll throw you in the river before you can say Confucius.”

The captain might not be the friendliest, thought Cí as Wang walked away, but he had saved their lives.

For the next week Cí kept a close eye on Third. She developed a fever, and while her medicine helped some, he was worried it was going to run out. The first thing he would have to do when they got to Lin’an was stock up.

When he wasn’t looking after Third, Cí worked hard—cleaning the deck, moving and refastening the cargo. Sometimes Wang would have Cí check the river depth or push aside branches, but the current did most of the work of propelling the barge. One afternoon he was cleaning the deck when Wang called out to him.

“Ahoy! Hide the girl and keep your mouth shut!”

Wang’s warning worried Cí. Looking up, he saw a barge coming toward them; there were two men aboard along with an enormous hound. Wang whispered to him to leave the cleaning and grab a pole.

“My name is Kao. I’m a sheriff,” called one of the men, holding out the badge that identified his office. “You wouldn’t happen to have anyone aboard by the name of Cí Song?” The man had a pockmarked face.

“Cí?” Wang laughed. “What kind of stupid name is that?”

“Just answer the question. Otherwise you’ll feel my baton! Who are the other people aboard?”

“Apologies. My name is Wang, native of Zhunang. The cripple over there is Ze, my crewman. We’re on our way to Lin’an with a cargo and—”

“I couldn’t care less where you’re going. We’re looking for a young man who boarded a boat at Jianyang. We believe he’s with a girl who is unwell.”

“A fugitive?” asked Wang, sounding intrigued.

“He stole some money. And who’s this?” he said, gesturing at Cí.

Wang hesitated. Cí gripped the pole and got ready to defend himself.

“My son. Why?”

The sheriff looked him up and down disdainfully.

“Out of the way. I’m coming aboard.”

Cí bit his lip. They wouldn’t have to look very hard to find Third, and if he tried to impede them, they’d take him in for sure.

Think fast or you’re done for.

Suddenly, he screwed up his face in pain and collapsed forward as if his spine had snapped. Wang reached a hand out in surprise, but Cí began to cough violently. His eyes bulged, and he began beating his chest as if he were dying; then, he stood partway up and coughed again, letting out a spray of blood. He straightened up with some difficulty and reached a hand toward the sheriff, who looked with horror at the boy’s blood-spattered mouth.

“The water…” Cí croaked, advancing on the sheriff. “Please, help me…”

The sheriff backed away, terrified. Cí staggered forward another step before falling flat on his face, knocking over a sack of rice.

“The water sickness!” cried Wang.

“The water sickness,” repeated the sheriff, turning pale and leaping back onto his own barge.

“Row, damn it!” he howled at the other man.

The barge pulled away and was soon far downriver.

Cí stood up, completely recovered, as if by magic.

“But…how did you manage that?” stuttered Wang.

“What, that?” He spat a little more blood. “I mean, it hurt a bit biting my cheeks, but the look on that guy’s face was worth it!”

“You rascal!”

They both fell down laughing.

Wang glanced downriver at the sheriff’s barge as it disappeared into the distance, and turned back to Cí, his expression serious.

“No doubt they are heading to Lin’an. I don’t know what you’ve done to attract his attention, and I honestly don’t care, but bear this in mind: When you get off there, be very careful. That sheriff had the look of a prison dog. He won’t stop until he’s got you in his teeth.”

PART THREE

11

Cí had yearned for months to be back in Lin’an, and now that the capital was in sight, silhouetted against the surrounding hills, his stomach churned. Life was waiting for him in Lin’an.

The barge moved slowly through the mist toward the enormous Zhe estuary, where the river met the filthy western lake, announcing, with an unbearable stink, the richness and misery of the queen of cities: Lin’an, the great prefecture’s capital, old Hangzhou, the center of the universe.

Weak sunlight softly illuminated hundreds of vessels—imposing merchant ships, half-sunk barges like Wang’s, and smaller, worm-eaten wooden skiffs clinging desperately to rotten foundations. The boats tried to maneuver past each other and through the swarm of sampans and reeds for a clear course toward port.

After the calm along the river, now all was frenzied shouts and gasps, warnings, insults, threats, and collisions, and as Wang steered through the churning river traffic, he quickly lost patience. Cí tried to follow Wang’s orders, but the captain was so worked up it wasn’t easy.

“Damn you! Where did you learn to row?” he roared at a passing sailor. “And you, what are you laughing at?” he added, rebuking Ze. “I don’t care how bad your leg is—stop thinking about your whores and lend a hand. We’ll dock farther up, away from the warehouses.”

Ze complied, grumbling, but Cí kept quiet; he had enough to deal with just keeping hold of the barge pole and pushing along.

When the crush of boats had cleared somewhat, Cí looked up. He had never seen Lin’an from the river, and its grandeur struck him all the more. But as they came closer to the docks, the familiarity of the scene also gave him the feeling of a distant family welcoming him home.