Sandalwood Death (8 page)
Grandma Yu banged his head loudly against the brick floor. We did the same. Our Patriarch’s face glowed red in the candlelight. Altogether we each kowtowed nine times before standing up, starting with Grandma Yu, and stepping back three paces. Second Aunt went outside to fetch a celadon bowl; Third Aunt went outside and returned with a white rooster with a black comb. Second Aunt placed the bowl in front of the Patriarch’s altar and stepped aside, going down on his knees. Third Aunt knelt directly in front of the altar and held the rooster by the neck with one hand and by the feet with the other, stretching it out horizontal. Second Aunt then took a dagger out of the bowl and neatly sliced the rooster’s neck. For a moment no blood appeared—our hearts nearly stopped, for killing a rooster and drawing no blood augured a botched execution. But then the blood—so red it was almost black—spurted from the wound and into the bowl. Blood surges through the veins of roosters with white feathers and black combs, and killing one before an execution is for us an essential ritual. Once all the blood had drained out of the rooster, the two aunts placed the bowl on the altar, kowtowed again, and backed away, bent at the waist. Grandma Yu and I stepped forward, fell to our knees, and kowtowed three times. Then I followed his lead by sticking the first two fingers of my left hand into the bowl and painting my face with the rooster’s blood, like an actor applying stage paint. The warm blood made the tips of my fingers tingle. There was enough to paint both our faces, and a bit left over to turn all four hands red. Now our faces, mine and Grandma Yu’s, were the same color as the face of the Patriarch. Why had we used rooster blood? To unite us with the Patriarch, but also to notify those spirits of the wrongly executed and evil spirits that we were descendants of Master Gao Tao, and that when we put someone to death, we were gods, not humans. We were the law of the land. With our hands and faces painted red, Grandma Yu and I sat peacefully on stools to await the official summons from the Imperial Palace.
As the red sun wheeled into the sky, crows in scholar trees set up a racket of caws. A woman was keening in the Imperial Dungeon. Condemned to die for killing her husband, she keened like that every day—for heaven, for earth, and for her children. By now she had descended into madness. Your dieh, I, being young, soon began to fidget and could not sit still. I stole a glance at Grandma Yu, who sat straight and unmoving as an iron bell, and I followed his lead by holding my breath to calm myself. The blood-paint had dried and become stiff, turning our faces into something resembling sugarcoated berries, and I strained to experience the feeling of armor covering my skin. Little by little my thoughts blurred, and a hazy picture formed in my mind of me following Grandma Yu down a deep, dark trench, walking on and on without ever reaching the end.
The Office of Palace Justice Director, Eminence Cao, led us up to a pair of small, blue-curtained palanquins and gestured for us to climb in. This sudden and unexpected indulgence nearly unnerved me, for I had never ridden in a palanquin before. I glanced at Grandma Yu, who, to my surprise, stood without moving, open-mouthed, as if he were about to cry or sneeze. A eunuch with a double chin standing beside the palanquins said in a throaty voice:
“What’s the matter, chairs too small for you?”
Still, neither Grandma Yu nor I was willing to climb in. Our eyes were fixed on Eminence Cao, who said:
“These are not intended as a show of respect, but to keep you from attracting too much attention. What are you waiting for? Get in! It is true, you cannot put a dog’s head on a golden platter.”
The four bearers, all unwhiskered eunuchs, stood in front of the chairs, their hands tucked into their sleeves, looks of disdain on their faces. That actually emboldened me. Stinking castrati, fuck you and your mothers. Thanks to your Little Insect, I am going to ride on the shoulders of you two-legged beasts today. I stepped up to a chair, pulled the curtain aside, and climbed in. Grandma Yu did the same.
Our transports left the ground and began the bumpy ride to the Imperial Palace. I heard the hoarse grumbling of one of the eunuchs:
“This executioner is heavy, dead weight, probably from drinking all that human blood!”
These men, who normally carried the Empress or one of the Imperial Consorts, had never imagined that they would one day carry an executioner, not in their worst nightmare. That made me so proud that I began to rock back and forth to make the trip harder on those stinking castrati. But before we’d even left the Board of Punishments compound, Young Aunt shouted from behind:
“Grandma, Grandma, you forgot Yama’s Hoop!”
An explosion went off in my head; I saw stars; sweat seeped from my pores and rained to the ground as I tumbled out of the chair and took the red-wrapped Yama’s Hoop from Young Aunt. I cannot describe what I felt at that moment. Grandma Yu had also gotten out of his chair, I saw, his face similarly beaded with sweat, his legs quaking. If not for Young Aunt’s quick thinking, we would have been in very hot water that day.
“Your mother be fucked!” Eminence Cao cursed. “Can an official misplace his official seal? Does a tailor lose his scissors?”
I was all set to enjoy the privilege of riding in a palanquin, but this turn of events soured my mood. I crawled back in and sat quietly, making no more trouble for the eunuchs.
I don’t know how long we had been riding when my chair abruptly landed with a thud and I emerged, confused and disoriented, nearly blinded by my resplendent surroundings. Holding on to Yama’s Hoop, my back bent slightly, I followed Grandma Yu, who was being led into the palace by a eunuch, down one winding corridor after another, until we emerged into a large courtyard in which a line of men with no whiskers on their faces and dressed in tan clothing with black skullcaps were kneeling in the dirt. Little Insect, the fowling piece thief, was already bound to a post. He was a good-looking youngster with delicate features, so daintily demure he could easily have passed for a girl, especially his beautiful eyes—double-fold lids, long lashes, and moist pupils that looked like grapes. What a shame! I had to sigh over such a fine specimen, a good-looking boy brought into the palace only to be castrated and made to serve as a eunuch. What kind of parents could do that to their own son?
A temporary viewing stand had been erected in front of the post on which Little Insect was bound. A row of carved sandalwood chairs had been placed on the viewing stand, the central one larger than the others. That particular chair had a yellow cushion embroidered with a golden dragon. His Imperial Majesty’s Dragon Seat, no doubt. Already present were Excellency Wang, the President of the Board of Punishments; his deputy, Eminence Tie; and, standing in front of them, a host of other officials, all in caps inlaid with jade or coral, officials from the various boards and bureaus. None of them dared even cough. This was, after all, the Imperial Palace, with an atmosphere that set it apart from all other places: silent, hushed, so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. Only the sparrows nesting beneath the glazed roof tiles did not know enough to keep silent, as they chirped insistently. Suddenly, without warning, a white-haired, red-faced old eunuch on the platform sang out smoothly, letting each syllable hang in the air:
“His Majesty the Emperor!”
The lines of red caps sank to the ground, the only sound the swish of their wide sleeves; and faster than it takes to tell, officials from the Six Boards, palace women, and eunuchs were all kneeling in the dirt. I was about to fall to my knees when something stomped on my foot. I looked up and was pinned by the blazing glare in Grandma Yu’s eyes as he stood beside the post, head up, motionless as a stone carving. That jogged my memory: for generations, one of the conventions associated with our profession has been that an executioner whose face is smeared with chicken blood is no longer a person, but has become the sacred and somber symbol of the Law. We are not required to kneel, not even in the presence of the Emperor. And so, following Grandma’s lead, I threw out my chest, sucked in my gut, and stood as motionless as a stone carving. I tell you, son, such unprecedented glory had never before been bequeathed to a third person here in Gaomi County, or in all of Shandong, or for that matter in any of the territory belonging to the Great Qing Empire.
At that moment, the toots and whistles of pipes and flutes drew near; behind the languishing musical notes, His Majesty’s procession appeared between two high walls. A pair of tan-clad eunuchs led the way, carrying incense burners in the shape of auspicious creatures, from whose mouths emerged clouds of dark green smoke, so fragrant that it penetrated my brain, sharpening my senses one moment and dulling them the next. On the heels of the two eunuchs came the Imperial Musicians, followed by two columns of eunuchs carrying flags, banners, umbrellas, and fans, all in reds and yellows. Next came the Imperial Bodyguard, armed with golden battleaxes, brass spears, and silver lances, marching ahead of a bright yellow palanquin carried on the shoulders of two powerful eunuchs; in it sat the Manchu Emperor, protected from the sun’s rays by an oversized peacock fan held by a pair of palace women. That was followed by dozens of resplendently attired women of great beauty, the Imperial Harem, of course, all riding in palanquins and forming a florid array of colors. A long tail constituted the end of the procession. Grandma Yu told me later that since all of this was taking place within the palace grounds, the Imperial Procession was greatly simplified. If it had occurred outside, it would have been so long that the head would have passed long before the tail appeared. The Emperor’s palanquin alone would have been carried by sixty-four men.
The eunuchs were so well trained that everything was quickly in place. His Majesty and His consorts were seated in the viewing stand. Emperor Xianfeng, in yellow robes and a golden crown, sat no more than ten feet from me. I stared with rapt attention, taking in all the royal features. He had a gaunt face around a nose with a high bridge. His left eye was a bit bigger than the right. A large mouth, white teeth. A neatly divided moustache adorned his upper lip, a goatee his chin. His cheeks were dotted with white pockmarks. Bothered by a persistent cough, he made liberal use of a glittering spittoon held for him by a serving girl. He was sandwiched between a dozen or more palace ladies, creating the image of a phoenix with spread wings. Their towering coiffures were adorned with brightly colored red flowers, from which silk tassels dangled, the sort of decoration you see on stage actresses. Every one of the palace ladies was a striking beauty; their bodies emitted bewitching perfumes. The woman to the Emperor’s immediate right, powdered and rouged, had the appearance of a celestial maiden come down to earth. Know who she was? You’ll shudder when I tell you. The one we now call Cixi, the Empress Dowager.
Taking advantage of the Emperor’s turn to use his spittoon, the imposing old eunuch lightly swished his horsetail whisk as if it were a flyswatter, a sign for the ministers and officials, as well as the dark-haired lines of eunuchs and palace ladies, to shout at the top of their lungs:
“Long live Our Imperial Majesty! May He live forever and ever!”
That is when I discovered that, far from keeping their heads down so as not to look up, they were all sneaking peeks at the viewing stand. Between coughs, the Emperor declared:
“Worthy ministers, you may rise.”
To which they responded with a kowtow and a shout in unison:
“Praise His Majesty’s generosity!”
Another kowtow, a flicking of wide sleeves, and they rose to their feet, before, bent at the waist, retreating to the periphery. The President of the Board of Punishments, Excellency Wang, emerged from the cluster of officials, flicked his sleeves, and fell to his knees to kowtow once more.
“Your loyal servant Wang Rui, President of the Board of Punishments, in compliance with the Imperial Edict, has ordered the fabrication of Yama’s Hoop and has selected two eminently qualified executioners to bring their equipment into the Palace to carry out the execution. May it please His Majesty.”
“Yes, We know. You may rise.”
Excellency Wang kowtowed yet again, thanked the Emperor for His favor, and retreated to one side. The Emperor said something, but it was so garbled I couldn’t make out what it was. Obviously, in the throes of consumption, He was short of breath. The old eunuch made another announcement, drawing out each syllable like an operatic aria:
“His Majesty decrees that President of the Board of Punishments Wang present Yama’s Hoop for his inspection——”
Wang scurried over to where I stood and snatched the red silk bundle in which Yama’s Hoop was wrapped out of my hand. He returned to the viewing stand, holding the bundle gently in both hands, as if it were a steaming-hot pot. There he went down on his knees and raised his hands above his head, offering up Yama’s Hoop. The old eunuch walked up, bent down, and took the proffered bundle, which he carried up to the Emperor, laid it gently on a table, and slowly unwrapped the red silk until the object itself was in full view. It glistened in all its terrifying grandeur. It had not cost much to make, but I had put considerable effort into it. When first produced, it was an ugly black thing, but I’d rubbed and scoured it for three days to make it shine. I’d earned every one of those seventy ounces of silver.
His Majesty reached out with one sallow hand and tapped the object tentatively with the long, yellowed nail of His index finger. Whether it felt too hot or too cold was impossible to gauge, but the golden finger jerked backward almost immediately, and I heard the aging ruler mumble something. Knowing what that something was, the old eunuch stepped up, retrieved the object, and carried it down the line to let the members of the Imperial Harem have a look at it. They each followed the Emperor’s lead by touching it tentatively with index fingers shaped like jade bamboo shoots. Some put on a show of terror, quickly turning their heads away; others simply stared at the thing with no discernible expression. When he had finished, the old eunuch returned the object to Excellency Wang, who was still on his knees; accepting it with deference, he stood up and, walking backward, bent at the waist, returned to where I was standing and handed it to me.
