Sandalwood Death (58 page)

Once I was in a comfortable sitting position, I looked up and laid eyes on the moon-shaped, oily face of Yuan Shikai and the long, gaunt face of the German von Ketteler. Magistrate Qian Ding was standing to the side, bent at the waist, his back arched, looking both pathetic and anxious.

“You, down there, villain.” It was Yuan Shikai’s voice. “State your name!”

“Ha-ha, ha-ha . . .” My laughter rang through the hall. “Excellency Yuan’s eyesight does not serve him well,” I said. “With pride I shall tell you who I am. I am the leader of the resistance against German aggression, once known as Sun Bing, but I have been anointed the great spirit Yue Fei, carrying the posthumous name of Wumu. I suffered cruelly when imprisoned in the Pavilion of Wind and Waves!”

“Bring the lanterns closer!” Yuan Shikai demanded.

Several lanterns materialized in front of my face.

“Magistrate Qian, what is going on here?” Yuan Shikai said icily.

Qian Ding rushed up, flicked his sleeves, and lifted the hem of his robe so he could get down on one knee.

“Excellency, your humble servant personally went to the condemned cells, where I found Sun Bing chained to the bandit’s stone.”

“Then who is this?”

The Magistrate rushed up and stood in front of me to get a closer look with the aid of the lanterns. His eyes flashed like will-o’-the-wisps. I thrust out my chin, parted my lips, and said:

“Take a good look, Eminence Qian. This is a chin you ought to recognize. There was a time when it sprouted a beard so grand that each strand stayed perfectly straight even when immersed in water. And in this mouth there were once two perfect rows of teeth so tough they could bite through bone and leave marks in iron. It was you who personally yanked out the hairs of that beard, and von Ketteler who knocked out my teeth with the butt of his pistol.”

“Well, if you are Sun Bing, then who is the Sun Bing in the cell?” Qian Ding asked. “Don’t tell me you can be in two places at the same time.”

“I cannot be in two places at the same time. It’s you who are blind.”

“Guards, sentries, be on your toes. Bolt the main doors and search the grounds,” Yuan Shikai commanded his men. “Bring every one of those villains to me, dead or alive.” Regardless of rank or station, they swarmed out of the hall. “And you, County Magistrate, take someone with you to the condemned cells and bring that Sun Bing here to me. I want to see for myself which is the true Sun Bing and which is a fake.”

Hardly any time passed before the soldiers returned with the corpses of four beggars and one monkey. Actually, four corpses is not quite accurate, for a gurgling sound rumbled in the throat of Zhu Ba and bloody drool formed in the shape of chrysanthemum blossoms around his mouth. I was no more than three feet away, close enough to see light streaming from his still-open eyes. It stabbed straight to my heart. Old Zhu Ba, we have been friends, more like brothers, for twenty years. I still recall how I brought my Maoqiang troupe to perform in town, and you invited me to drink three cups with you in the Temple of the Matriarch. You were obsessed with Maoqiang opera, and had already committed great portions of fine operas to memory. You had a voice like a gander, which imparted a unique quality to your singing. No one sang the old-man parts any better than you. Surges of emotion unsettle my heart when I recall the old days, my brother, and favorite lines of opera want to spill from within. I was about to burst into an operatic aria when I heard the commotion outside the hall.

The clanking of chains made its way into the hall, as Xiao Shanzi appeared in the custody of a clutch of yayi. He was wearing a ripped white robe and was shackled hand and foot. Dried blood stained his skin and clothing; his lips were cut and torn, and he was missing three teeth. Flames seemed to shoot from his eyes . . . his every step, his every move, his every gesture, were just like mine, though he had one more missing tooth than I. I was secretly shocked, seeing what a spectacular production Zhu Ba had put together. If not for that extra missing tooth, I’m sure my own mother could not have told us apart.

“Excellency,” the Magistrate came forward to report, “your humble servant has brought the foremost criminal Sun Bing to the hall.”

I watched as Yuan Shikai and von Ketteler gaped in wide-eyed amazement.

Xiao Shanzi stood straight, head up, and gave them a foolish grin.

“Insolent criminal,” Yuan Shikai thundered, “why are you not on your knees?”

“I am the great Song General,” Xiao Shanzi replied fervently in imitation of my voice. “I bow down before heaven and earth, I kneel at the feet of my parents, but nothing can make me fall to my knees in front of barbarians and mangy dogs.”

He was a natural, an actor with an ideal voice. Back when Zhu Ba had invited me to teach opera to the beggars in the Temple of the Matriarch, few of them could boast of much talent. In fact, he alone had the necessary adaptability, able to immediately grasp the essentials. I taught him to sing
The Hongmen Banquet
and
In Pursuit of Han Xin
, which he learned well, with perfect pitch and a splendid stage appearance; it was as if he were made for them. I tried to get him to join the troupe, but Zhu Ba wanted to keep him around to take over the leadership after his death.

“Good Brother Shanzi,” I said, saluting him with cupped hands, “you have been well since last we met?”

“Good Brother Shanzi,” he repeated my greeting, “you have been well since last we met?” His shackles clanked when he brought his hands together to return my salute.

How absurd, utterly preposterous that was, a performance of the true and false Monkey King there in the middle of the Great Hall!

“On your knees, condemned prisoner,” Yuan Shikai demanded majestically, “and answer my question!”

“I am like bamboo in the wind, which will break before it bends, like the mountain jade that will shatter before it is taken whole.”

“Kneel!”

“Kill me, take my head, do as you please, but I will not kneel!”

“Put him on his knees!” Yuan ordered, by now nearly apoplectic.

The yayi pounced on Xiao Shanzi like wild beasts, grabbed him by the arms, and forced him to his knees. But the minute they took their hands away, he shifted his legs out in front, just as I had done. Now we were sitting side by side. I grimaced; so did he. I glared; he did too. I said, “Shanzi, you are a scoundrel.” He said, “Shanzi, you are a scoundrel.” We were like performers in a comic skit, one aping the other, with the surprising effect of taking the edge off of Yuan Shikai’s anger. He actually chuckled, while von Ketteler, who was sitting right beside him, laughed like an idiot.

“In all my years as an official, I thought I had seen every type of bizarre behavior possible. But this is the first time I’ve watched two people vying to be a condemned prisoner. Gaomi Magistrate, you are a wise and worldly man,” Yuan said sarcastically. “Explain to me what has just happened.”

“Your humble servant is a man of little learning,” Qian Ding said in a reverential tone, “and requires guidance from above.”

“Then tell me which of the two people sitting on the floor is the true Sun Bing.”

Qian Ding walked up to us and looked first at one and then at the other. The look in his eyes said he was having trouble making up his mind, but I knew that this official, cleverer than a monkey, was able to tell the real Sun Bing from the fake at first glance. So why the hesitant look? Could it be as simple as trying to protect the father of his lover? Was it possible that he would willingly let a beggar suffer the sandalwood death in my stead?

The Magistrate studied the two of us for a long moment before turning to report to Yuan Shikai:

“Excellency, my eyesight is poor, and I truly cannot tell them apart.”

“Look closer.”

The Magistrate put his face right up next to us. He shook his head.

“I still cannot tell, Excellency.”

“Look at their mouths.”

“They are both missing teeth.”

“Do you see a difference?”

“One is missing three teeth, the other is missing two.”

“How many teeth is Sun Bing missing?”

“Your humble servant cannot recall.”

“The dog bastard von Ketteler knocked out three of my teeth with the butt of his pistol,” Xiao Shanzi eagerly volunteered.

“No,” I corrected him forcefully, “von Ketteler knocked out two of my teeth.”

“Gaomi Magistrate, you should remember how many of Sun Bing’s teeth were knocked out.”

“Your humble servant truly cannot recall, Excellency.”

“So you are telling me that you cannot tell the real from the fake, is that it?”

“My eyesight is poor, and I truly cannot tell them apart.”

“Well, then, if even the local Magistrate cannot tell them apart, there is no need to keep trying,” Yuan Shikai said with a wave of his hand. “Lock them both up in condemned cells. Tomorrow they will both have a date with a sandalwood stake. Gaomi Magistrate, tonight you will watch over them. If there is a problem with either one, it will be on your head.”

“Your humble servant will do his best . . .” The Magistrate bowed deeply, and I saw that the back of his robe was wet from perspiration. Nothing remained of his erstwhile poise and proud demeanor.

“This switch could not have taken place without the assistance of someone in the yamen,” Yuan Shikai said, having seen the obvious. “I want the jailer and all those assigned guard duties at the condemned cells here first thing tomorrow to answer some serious questions!”

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2

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Before Yuan’s soldiers could carry out his order, the jailer had hanged himself in the Prison God Temple. Yayi dragged his corpse out of the compound like a dead dog and deposited it alongside those of Zhu Ba, Hou Xiaoqi, and the others. While soldiers were dragging me over to the condemned cells, I saw executioners cutting off the dead beggars’ heads on someone’s orders. Sick at heart, I experienced intense feelings of remorse. Maybe, I thought, I’ve been wrong; maybe I should have done what Zhu Ba wanted me to do, which was to quietly slip away and foil the scheming collaboration between Yuan Shikai and von Ketteler. I’d wanted to render a great service, to leave a good name for posterity, and to have been loyal, trustworthy, merciful, and benevolent, but I wound up causing the deaths of so many. Enough; no more such thoughts. I’ll cast away all that has tormented me and somehow make it through the night, waiting for the light of tomorrow.

The County Magistrate had his men chain Xiao Shanzi and me to the same bandit’s stone and light three candles inside the cell and a row of lanterns outside. He moved a chair up and sat just beyond the door. Through the tiny window I saw seven or eight yayi assembled behind him and an array of soldiers behind them. The fire in the mess hall kitchen had been put out, but the air was still thick with smoke, and it was getting worse.

The fourth watch was sounded.

Roosters crowed, some near, some far, and lantern light dimmed; the candles in the cell had burned down halfway. The County Magistrate was still in his chair, head slumped down on his chest, like a wheat stalk weighted down after a frost, seemingly neither dead nor alive. I knew he was in a perilous situation, that even if he didn’t lose his head over what had happened, his days as an official were over. Ah, Qian Ding, what happened to that hard-drinking, poem-writing man you once were? County Magistrate, oh, County Magistrate, mortal enemies are bound to meet; my death tomorrow will erase all debts of gratitude and enmity.

Xiao Shanzi, Xiao Shanzi, whom I count as my protégé, by disfiguring your own face and taking another’s place in jail, you have earned a place in the annals of history for your incorruptible loyalty. Why did you adamantly insist that you are Sun Bing? Had you told the truth, you would have lost your head, but how much easier that would be than suffering the sandalwood death!

“Worthy brother, why did you do what you did?” I asked him softly.

“Shifu,” he replied in an even softer voice, “if I had taken the easy way out by letting them lop off my head, wouldn’t I have lost three teeth for nothing?”

“But have you given any thought to the sandalwood death?”

“Shifu, we beggars are hard on ourselves from the moment we’re born. On the day Master Zhu Ba took me on as his disciple, he made me stab myself with a knife. I have trained myself in the ruse of self-injury, and I have trained myself in taking a knife to the head. There are blessings in this world not meant for beggars, but no suffering we do not endure. I urge Shifu to disavow his claim to be Sun Bing; let them punish you with a quick death, and allow your young brother to take the punishment meant for you. By letting me suffer the sandalwood death in your place, it will be your good name that gains the credit.”

“Since your mind is made up,” I said, “then let us crash the Gates of Hell arm in arm. We will show them the meaning of a heroic death and give those foreign devils and treacherous officials a taste of Gaomi courage!”

“Shifu, daybreak is still a ways off,” Xiao Shanzi said. “While you have the chance, won’t you tell me about the origins of Maoqiang opera?”

“Yes, Shanzi, I will. My good young protégé, there is an adage that goes, ‘When death looms, a person can speak only good.’ As your shifu, I will relate for you the history of Maoqiang opera, from its beginnings up to the present.

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3

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“It is told that during the reign of the Yongzheng Emperor, in the eighteenth century, a truly remarkable man by the name of Chang Mao was born in Northeast Gaomi Township. Single and childless, he had but one companion, a black cat. A crockery mender by trade, he walked the streets and alleys from dawn to dusk carrying his tools and his cat in baskets on a shoulder pole, stopping to mend people’s cracked and broken crockery. He was very good at his trade and, as a man of fine character, was well liked by all. One day, at the funeral of a friend, as he stood before the gravesite, sadness welled up inside him as he thought back to how decently this friend had treated him, and he was moved to pour out his grief in a voice with such lush qualities that the family of the deceased stopped crying and everyone within earshot fell silent. Listening with rapt concentration, they were amazed to discover that a crockery mender had such an affecting voice.