Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“Not afraid to drink with someone who’s cursed?” asked Cí.

“Go on. Have a drink, and let’s get out of this damned hole.”

The deceased and his family arrived. At a signal from a man who appeared to be the family elder, Cí helped Xu lower the coffin into the grave. It was almost in place when Cí lost his footing, and the coffin dropped the last couple of feet, its top coming half-open on impact and dirt falling inside.

Cí couldn’t believe it.

Gods in heaven! What else can possibly go wrong?

Cí jumped down into the grave and tried to get the top back on, but the fortune-teller pushed him away. Xu tried moving the coffin himself, but when it fell he’d sprained his finger and could barely use it.

“Get away from him, you idiots!” cried the widow. “Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

With the help of some of the men from the family, Cí and Xu lifted the coffin out. They all went to the mausoleum to repair the coffin and clean the body again. Seeing how swollen Xu’s finger was, Cí took the jasmine-soaked sponge from him and dabbed at the dead man’s muddy shirt. The family members were happy to let him; the general belief was that the bad luck from touching a dead body only affected the person doing the touching.

Cí had dealt with so many dead bodies that he wasn’t superstitious. But as he continued with the sponge, he noticed some marks at the neck.

He turned to the family elder. “Did someone apply makeup to the body?” Cí asked.

The man shook his head, surprised.

“How did he die?”

“Fell off a horse. Broke his neck.”

Cí checked the dead man’s eyelids.

“Mind telling me what you’re up to?” asked Xu. “Why don’t you stop annoying them so we can finish this job?”

But Cí wasn’t listening. He turned back to the elder and said, “Sir, there is no way this man died that way.”

“What—what do you mean?” stuttered the man. “His brother-in-law saw it all.”

“What you said may have happened, but it’s clear that, perhaps after being thrown from a horse, he was also strangled.”

He showed the elder the purple bruises on either side of the neck.

“These were hidden underneath some makeup. Not the best job, either. In any case, these bruises clearly correspond to a pair of powerful hands. Here and here,” he said, pointing to the bruising.

The elder asked if he was sure. Cí said there could be no doubt about it. The family agreed to postpone the burial and go straight to the local magistrate to report the findings.

Cí made a splint for Xu’s finger. When he was done, Xu asked, “Are you crazy or something?”

“Clearly!” Cí said with a laugh.

“Fine! Let’s talk business.”

Cí raised an eyebrow. A short while ago Xu had told him no one would ever bet against him, but now the fortune-teller grinned like a beggar who’d been gifted a palace. Cí didn’t care—his only concern was to obtain a few coins up front so he could pay the innkeeper and get medicine for Third. Night wasn’t far off, and he was growing more and more worried. He told Xu the story of what had happened at the inn, but the man laughed it off.

“Money worries? We’re going to be rich, kid!”

He handed Cí enough money to cover a whole week at the inn. Still chuckling, he took Cí by the hand.

“Now, swear on your honor that you’ll meet me back here tomorrow, first thing.”

Cí counted the money and said that he would.

“Am I going to be fighting?”

“Something far more dangerous, and far better.”

15

For most people, the idea of never feeling pain would seem like a gift from the gods. But Cí knew it was also the stealthiest of enemies. Going along the canal on a barge, he prodded his ribs, checking for any breaks or serious bruising. Then his legs—first rubbing softly, before digging his fingers deeper. The left leg seemed fine, but there were violet-colored bruises all over the right, around the wound. There was nothing he could do but continue to apply the ointment, so he pulled his pant leg down and looked in his bag at the sweet rice buns he’d bought for Third. Picturing her happy face, he smiled. He’d counted the money from the fortune-teller several times now; he could hardly believe how much there was—enough at least for a week’s stay.

When Cí got back he found the innkeeper outside arguing with a shady-looking youth. The innkeeper gestured that Third was upstairs and went back to his argument; Cí went straight up, taking the stairs two at a time. He found Third sleeping peacefully. He didn’t want to wake her to eat, so he stroked her brow softly; she was still running a fever, but it wasn’t nearly as high as it had been. He lay down next to her, said a prayer for his lost family, and, finally, shut his eyes to rest.

There was bad news when he woke up the next morning. The innkeeper was happy to let them stay but said neither he nor Moon could look after Third. Cí couldn’t understand why not.

“What’s to understand?” spat the man as he prepared his breakfast. “This is no place for a child—that’s as clear as can be.”

Cí thought he was after more money. He started to haggle, but this just made the innkeeper angrier.

“Haven’t you seen the kind of people we get around here? They’re scum. If she stays here, you’ll come back one night and find her gone—either that or you’ll find her with her legs akimbo, bleeding from her sacred little cave. Then you’ll try to kill me, so I’ll have to kill you. And really, I’d just prefer the money…Room, yes. Nursery, no.”

Cí was trying to think of a way to change his mind when a half-naked man left one of the rooms—followed by Moon. That was that. Third would have to come with him.

“What do you think this is, an orphanage?” cried Xu when they arrived at the cemetery.

He grabbed Cí and Third by the arms and angrily led them away from the entrance. He shook his head in agitation and scratched at his beard as if he had lice. Then he knelt down and got them to follow suit.

“It doesn’t matter that she’s your sister. She can’t stay.”

“I never get to stay with you,” Third whimpered at Cí.

“She’s with me,” said Cí. “Why can’t she stay?”

“Because…because…What the hell’s a little kid going to do in a cemetery? Do we leave her to play with the dead bodies?”

“Dead bodies are scary,” said Third.

“You be quiet,” said Cí. He looked around, took a deep breath, and held Xu’s stare. “I knew it wasn’t the best idea, but I had no choice. I still don’t know what kind of work you’ve got in mind for me, but she’ll have to stay with us until I find another solution.”

“I see! Perfect! The destitute’s giving his master orders now!” He got up.

“You’re not my master.”

“Maybe not, but you’re a destitute, and…” He muttered to himself and kicked the ground. “Damn it! I knew this was a bad idea.”

“What’s the problem? She’s a good girl. She won’t bother us.”

Xu knelt down again, still muttering. Then he suddenly got up.

“Fine. If it’s the gods’ will…Let’s seal our pact.”

Xu took them up to the Eternal Pavilion, where bodies were brought to be shrouded, to discuss business. The fortune-teller went inside with a lantern, leading them into a room that stank of incense and rotten flesh. Cí squeezed Third’s hand reassuringly. Xu lit a candle and positioned it on a long, raised platform for cleaning bodies. He cleared a space among the essential oils and implements and swept away the sweets and clay pots that often accompanied the dead.