Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“Oh, really? But you do know that if you try to go, I’ll go straight to that sheriff who was after you, right? And I’ll go out whoring with the reward money, stopping by your bitch little sister’s grave to piss on it—”

He was interrupted by a hard punch in the face; the next blow dislodged some teeth. Cí stood back. Xu spat bloodily on the ground and then smiled up at Cí.

“Listen: you’ll work with me, or not at all.”

“No, you listen! Put your stupid disguise on and scratch together whatever living you want. You’re enough of a trickster to fool a few people yet. But if I ever find out you’ve spoken to Kao about me, you can be sure the whole city will know about your fraud business. And that’ll be the end of you. And if I find out you’ve come anywhere near my sister’s grave, I’ll break you in two and, I swear, I’ll eat your heart.”

He dropped one last flower on Third’s grave and went down the cemetery’s hill.

It was raining and he was soaked to the bone, but he dawdled in the streets anyway. He spent the whole morning walking the same maze of alleys, head bowed, going over and over the question: Was it really worth it to go to the academy? If it would never bring back Third, or his mother or father, was there really any point?

Leaning back against a pillar, he became lost for a long time in a swirl of images, all of his family. They were never coming back.

A beggar boy with no arms came and sat next to him. He had two cloth bags for carrying sand slung over his stumps. He grinned toothlessly at Cí; he liked the rain, he said, because it cleaned his face. Cí leaned over and adjusted the boy’s bags for him, and with a cloth wiped some of the dirt from his face. Third’s constant smile sprang into his thoughts, her enthusiasm in spite of everything. He felt her there with him.

Getting up, he stroked the boy’s head and looked out. Maybe it was clearing up. If he hurried, he might even make it to the Ming Academy before nightfall.

From outside the academy, he could see silhouettes of the students in the classrooms. Their talk and laughter drifted out into the gardens and through the cloisters where, behind an imposing stone wall, there was a grove of plum, pear, and apricot trees.

A group of students came from the street behind him and passed by as they walked in the direction of the academy. They were discussing their classes, and behind them a couple of servants pulled handcarts overflowing with all kinds of food. A few of them glanced back at him as if they were worried he might contaminate them somehow. I probably would, he thought. They entered through the academy gate whispering.

Inside there was wisdom and cleanliness; outside, ignorance and baseness.

Summoning all his courage, Cí walked through the academy’s entrance. But as he did, a guard stepped out in front of him brandishing a stick. Cí told him Professor Ming had invited him.

“Professor Ming doesn’t give interviews to beggars,” he said, advancing on Cí.

Backing away, Cí noticed the group of students watching and laughing. But he wasn’t going to be diverted from the academy any more. He sidestepped the guard and ran through the gardens toward the main building. Shouts went up as he came through the door, and as he looked back he saw that the guard and several students were chasing him. He ran through the hallway and into a library. The students and the guard entered through another door and, together with students who had been studying in the library, quickly surrounded Cí. With his back against a bookshelf, he shut his eyes and waited for the first blow.

But then they all went quiet.

Looking up, Cí saw Professor Ming coming toward them, glowering. As soon as Ming heard what the guard had to say, he ordered that Cí be thrown out without even the opportunity to explain himself.

Cí was just outside the main gate, still dusting himself off, when he felt a hand on his elbow. It was the guard, and, after helping Cí to his feet, he gave him a bowl of rice. Cí was confused, but he thanked the man.

“Thank the professor. He said he’ll receive you tomorrow if you present yourself with better manners.”

Cí slept collapsed against the academy’s outer wall. He was exhausted, but his thoughts churned so much he didn’t sleep well. Every time he drifted off, he saw Third’s smiling face. All he could do now, he knew, was honor her memory and hope her spirit would give him protection.

In the morning, he had to be shaken awake by the guard. He got up and tried to make himself look as decent as possible, hiding his matted hair under his cap. Following the guard, who Cí now noticed had a strange tottering gait, he went through the gardens, stopping at a fountain to splash his face.

Ming was in the library, and Cí bowed as the guard left them. Ming, who was wearing the same red gown that he’d worn at the cemetery, closed his book and told Cí to take a seat. Ming asked his name, and he only replied, “Cí.”

“What about a full name? What should I call you, then?” he said, beginning to pace the room. “The Amazing Murder Guesser? Hmm? Or what about the Uninvited Academy Invader?”

Cí blushed. He hadn’t considered this obstacle, but he couldn’t reveal his full name because of the report about his father’s conduct. Rather than have to field more uncomfortable questions, he said nothing.

“OK, Cí No Parents, tell me this. Why should I make this kind of offer to someone who rejects his parents by refusing to name them? I was certain the other day not only that you were blessed with talent, but that you might even be able to make a contribution to our complicated science. But I’m having doubts, given this and your conduct yesterday.”

Cí considered saying he was an orphan, but that wouldn’t stop Ming from asking more questions. Finally, he came up with a story.

“I was involved in an accident three years ago and lost my memory. All I remember is waking up in a field one day. A family found me and took care of me, but they were moving to the south, so I decided to come to the city. They always said they thought I must have been from here.”

“Right,” said Ming, stroking his mustache. “And nonetheless you have a wide knowledge of how to uncover hidden wounds, about where a prisoner is tattooed, about which knife wounds are mortal and which are not…”

“The family worked in a slaughterhouse. The rest I learned in the cemetery.”

“The only thing you’d learn in a cemetery is how to dig graves—and tell lies.”

“Please, sir—”

“Not to mention your disrespectful performance yesterday!”

“That guard’s an idiot! I told him about your offer, but he wouldn’t even listen to me.”

“Silence!” said Ming. “How dare you insult someone you don’t even know? In this institution, everyone follows orders, and that was all the guard was doing.” Ming turned away from Cí and went over to his desk. “Recognize this?” he said, picking up the book he’d been reading before.

It was his father’s copy of the penal code.

“Where did you find it?”

“Where did you lose it?” replied Ming immediately.

Cí avoided Ming’s penetrating stare. It was no use trying to fool him.

“I was robbed,” he managed to say.

“Mmm…Maybe the robber was the same man who sold it to me.”

Cí said nothing; if Ming had the book, there was a chance he knew about Kao’s tracking him. He got up to leave, thinking he should never have come. Ming told him to sit back down.