Sandalwood Death (67 page)

I weighed his comment for a moment. “Zhao Jia is right,” I said. “Sun Bing’s injuries are just beneath the skin. The pus and blood you see are coming from infections, something a surgeon sees all the time. If you cannot deal with that, who can?”

“Laoye . . . Laoye . . .” He was nearly incoherent. “This humble . . . I . . .”

“Stop wasting time with that Laoye and humble business!” I cut him off. “Do what you’re here to do. If it’s a dead horse, treat it as if it were alive!”

Cheng finally summoned the courage to remove his robe and spread it on the platform floor, wind his queue atop his head, roll up his sleeves, and ask for water to wash his hands. Xiaojia ran down the plank and brought up a bucket of water, then waited on Cheng as he washed his hands. That done, Cheng laid his white cloth bag down on his robe, opened it, and removed its contents: two knives, one long and one stubby, two pairs of scissors, one big and one small, two pairs of tweezers, one thick and one thin, and two glass vials, one tall and one short. The taller vial held alcohol, the shorter one medicinal ointment. There were also cotton balls and a roll of gauze.

He picked up a pair of scissors and—snip snip—cut open Sun Bing’s clothing. He then poured alcohol onto a cotton ball, with which he cleansed the open wounds, top and bottom, squeezing out quite a bit of blood and pus, not to mention all the foul odors. Sun Bing shuddered violently and moaned with such agony that it made my skin crawl and gave me the shivers.

Cheng Buyi’s confidence and courage returned in force as he ministered to the injured Sun Bing; professional honor had won out over fear. At that point he stopped what he was doing and walked up to me, not bent over submissively, but standing tall and proud.

“Laoye,” he said, “if you remove the stake from his body, I guarantee that not only will he survive until the day after tomorrow, but he will regain his health completely . . .”

I stopped him in mid-sentence. “If you are willing to have the stake inserted in your own body,” I mocked him, “then feel free to remove it from his.”

Cheng’s face turned ghostly white, his back went from straight to bent, and his eyes shifted evasively. He went back to Sun Bing and continued rubbing his wounds with alcohol-soaked cotton, but this time his hands shook. Next he scooped some dark red medicinal ointment out of the small purple vial with a sliver of bamboo and daubed it on Sun Bing’s injuries.

His work finished, he backed away, bent at the waist. I next summoned Su Zhonghe, who came closer, shaking from head to toe as he reached out with one long-nailed hand and laid it on Sun Bing’s wrist where it was tied to the crossbar. With his hand in the air, his shoulder slumped to one side, and his head bowed in a meditative pose, he presented a comical yet pitiful sight.

His diagnostics completed, Su Zhonghe announced:

“Your Honor, the patient’s eyes are red, his mouth foul; his lips are dry, his tongue charred; his face is swollen, his skin hot to the touch. All symptoms point to internal heat, but his pulse has a floating quality, hollow like a green onion from excessive blood loss, all symptoms of weakness masked as strength, a deficit in the guise of plenty. An inferior physician would be powerless to cure what ails him, and treating him with heat or prescribing the wrong medication would place him at death’s door.”

Su Zhonghe’s reputation as a third-generation master physician was well earned. He was a man of exceptional knowledge, and I was impressed by his diagnosis. “What do you prescribe?” I demanded.

“An immediate infusion of pure ginseng tonic is required!” he said with staunch assurance. “If he is given three bowls of it each day, your humble servant believes he will survive until noon the day after tomorrow. But as an additional precaution, I will prepare three packets of a yin-nourishing concoction that will enhance the effects of the remedy.”

Without leaving the platform, Su reached into his medicine bag and with three fingers extracted a mixture of weeds and tree bark without recourse to his scale, which he placed on a tiny piece of paper; after repeating the action twice more, he folded them into small packets and turned to us, not sure who to hand them to. In the end, mindful of what he was doing, he placed them in front of me.

“A half hour after he’s had the ginseng tonic, boil one of these in water and give it to him,” he said softly.

I dismissed the two physicians with a wave of my hand. They backed out, bent at the waist, manifestly relieved of their onerous responsibility, and fled, not caring where they were headed.

As I pointed to the mass of crazed flies, I turned to Chen Qiaoshou, the papier-mâché craftsman, and Pockface Zhang the tailor. “I don’t have to tell you what I expect from you, do I?”

————

5

————

By midday, when the sun was blazing down with a vengeance, Chen Qiaoshou and Pockface Zhang had built a sort of cage around Sun Bing, with matting on the top to protect against the sun, matting on three sides, and a curtain made of sheer white gauze in front. It served both to block the scorching sunlight and to keep the voracious flies away. To further lower the temperature inside, Zhao Xiaojia spread a wetted blanket over the top; and in order to lessen the foul smells that attracted the flies, yayi washed the accumulated filth off of the platform with buckets of water. With Zhao Jia’s help, Meiniang emptied a bowl of ginseng into her father’s stomach, and then, half an hour later, followed that with one of Su Zhonghe’s medicinal packets. Sun Bing cooperated with their ministrations, a sign that he planned to live as long as possible. If he’d longed to die, he’d have clamped his mouth shut.

The emergency treatment worked, as Sun Bing’s condition slowly improved. I could not see his face through the sheer curtain, but his breathing was regular, his body odor less repellent than before. I made my way down off the platform, so tired that I could barely hold my head up and weighed down with an indescribable sadness. I had no reason to be worried. Excellency Yuan’s instructions had been to keep Sun Bing from dying. Now Sun was determined to live on, while Zhao Jia was not about to let him die, and neither was Meiniang. The tonic had infused his body with the strength to go on; exhaustion was no longer his enemy. Go ahead, keep on living. That went for me, too—I was determined to keep on living until my luck ran out.

With bold confidence, I left the Tongde Academy grounds and walked out onto a street that no longer seemed so familiar, heading straight for a public house. A young waiter rushed eagerly up to me, shouting:

“We have an honored guest——”

The rotund proprietor sort of rolled up to me, a smile of manifest puffery on his oily face. I looked down to examine my official garb, which made passing as a common citizen impossible. Besides, even dressed in ordinary clothing, my face was known to everyone in town. Each year on Insect-Waking Day, the beginning of spring, I joined the peasants toiling in the field; on Grave-Sweeping Day, I helped with planting peach trees on the outskirts of town; and on the first and fifteenth of each month, I set up a table in front of the Propagation Hall to read from the classics and instruct the people on the tenets of loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness . . . I am a good official, close to the people, and were I to leave office, I am confident that I would be rewarded with a very large umbrella from the masses . . .

“I welcome the esteemed gentleman to this humble establishment. Your presence brings me great honor . . .” The proprietor was reaching the heights of pedantry. “May I ask your pleasure, sir?”

“Two bowls of millet spirits and a dog’s leg,” I said.

“My apologies, Laoye,” the proprietor said unhappily, “but we do not sell dog meat or millet spirits . . .”

“Why is that? Why would you not sell such fine items?”

“All I can say is . . .” The proprietor stumbled over his words, apparently trying to screw up the courage to say what was on his mind. “Laoye is probably aware that the finest millet spirits and dog’s legs in town are supplied by Sun Meiniang. We cannot compete with her . . .”

Heated millet spirits, fragrant dog meat, scenes of the past in my head repeat . . .

“What do you sell?”

“To answer Laoye, we sell Baigar and Erwotou sorghum spirits, baked sesame cakes, and stewed beef.”

“Then bring me two liang of Baigar, one jiao of the beef, plus two hot sesame cakes.”

“Right away, Laoye,” the man said as he disappeared around back.

The Gaomi Magistrate sits in a shop, his thoughts running apace, and all he can think of is Meiniang’s lovely face. She possesses what it takes to create stirrings of love, like water for frolicking fish, or nectar for honeybees, weaving soft romantic lace . . .

After he placed my order in front of me, I dismissed him with a wave of the hand. “I’ll pour my own today,” I said as I picked up the bottle and filled a green cup to the brim. The first spicy cupful brought a pleasant sensation as it slid down my throat; the second heated cupful made me slightly woozy; and the third turbid cupful made me sigh and sent tears streaming down my cheeks. I drank and I ate, I ate and I drank, and when I’d eaten and drunk my fill, I said to the proprietor, “Make out a bill for what I’ve had. I’ll send someone over to pay in a day or two.”

“The mere presence of Laoye has brought great fortune to this establishment.”

I walked out, so light on my feet that I felt as if I were strolling amid the clouds and mist.

————

6

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A yayi roused me out of bed on the morning of the fourth day. The effects of the alcohol had abated but not gone away. I was still in a fog and suffering from a headache; I could barely recall what had happened yesterday, which seemed so long ago. I staggered over to the parade ground, blinding sunlight auguring yet another fine day. Sun Bing’s steady, seemingly happy moans filtered down to me from the Ascension Platform, and I knew that he was holding up well. The duty yayi, Liu Pu, scampered down off the platform and, with a furtive look, said:

“Laoye . . .”

I followed the line he was pointing with his chin. A group of people had gathered in front of the opera stage. Dressed in colorful clothing, they presented a strange sight. Some had powdered their faces and painted their lips; others had red faces and ears. I saw some with blue faces and golden eyes, and others whose faces were shiny black. My heart lurched as I recalled the opera troupe Sun Bing had led not so long ago. Was it possible that the remnants of his troupe had come together to make their entry into town? The sweat oozing from my pores sobered me up at once. Quickly straightening my clothes and adjusting my cap, I hurried over toward them.

They had formed a ring around a large red chest on which sat a man who had painted his face with whites and yellows like a faithful and courageous “justice cat.” A big black cat-skin cloak was draped over his shoulders; a cat cap, with ears that stood straight up and were tipped with patches of white fur, rested on his head. Cat cloaks covered others’ shoulders as well, and some in the group wore cat caps. Quiet and solemn, they looked ready to mount the stage and perform. The top of the chest was covered with red-tasseled spears, knives, swords, and halberds, the whole range of stage props. So the Northeast Gaomi Township Maoqiang Troupe had returned. I breathed a sigh of relief. But I had to wonder if they had come to the Ascension Platform solely to put on a performance. Courage and toughness were hallmarks of Northeast Gaomi Township folkways, something of which I had a clear understanding. With its mystical, gloomy nature, Maoqiang opera had the power to drive its spectators into a frenzy, making them lose touch with reality . . . a chill settled over my heart as I envisioned a scene with glinting knives and flashing swords and thought I heard the sound of battle drums and horns.

“Laoye,” Liu Pu whispered, “I feel something in my bones——”

“Tell me.”

“This sandalwood death is major bait, and these Northeast Gaomi Township actors are fish who have come to take the hook.”

Maintaining a calm demeanor, I smiled and walked toward the actors with measured steps, being sure to look the part of the Laoye. With Liu Pu beside me, I confronted them.

Though none of them said a word at first, the chilling looks they gave me spoke clearly of their animus toward me.

“This is His Honor the County Magistrate,” Liu Pu said. “What is it you’ve come to say?”

They held their tongues.

“Where have you come from?” I asked them.

“From Northeast Township,” Justice Cat said in a muffled stage voice from his seat on the chest.

“For what purpose?”

“To put on an opera.”

“Who told you to come here to put on an opera at this time?”

“Our cat chief.”

“Who is your cat chief?”

“Cat Chief is our cat chief.”

“Where is he?”

Justice Cat pointed to Sun Bing up on the Ascension Platform.

“Sun Bing is a criminal condemned by the throne and is being punished appropriately. He has been on public view for three days, so how could he have summoned you here to give a performance?”

“That up there is just his body. His soul returned to Northeast Gaomi Township a long time ago,” Justice Cat replied dreamily.

I heaved an emotional sigh.

“I know what you must be feeling. Even though Sun Bing committed a terrible crime, he is, after all, your second-generation Maoqiang Patriarch, and staging an opera for him before he dies is fitting and proper. But this is neither the time nor the place. You are citizens of this county, and I have always treated you as my own sons and daughters. With that in mind, I urge you to leave this dangerous spot for your own safety and that of your families. Return to your Northeast Township, where you are free to put on any performance you like, with no interference from me.”

Justice Cat shook his head and in a soft but uncompromisingly firm voice said:

“No, Cat Chief has instructed us to put on our performance in front of him.”

“A moment ago you said it is only your cat chief’s body up there on the Ascension Platform, and that his soul returned to Northeast Gaomi Township long ago. If you put on your performance here, aren’t you doing so for a soulless human form?”