Sandalwood Death: A Novel (Chinese Literature Today Book Series)

sleeves, assumed a look of distress, and fell to his knees with a swish of those sleeves, facing the chair. When his head hit the floor this time, the sound resonated throughout the room. “I, Gaomi County Magistrate Qian Ding,” he said as loud as a curse, “wish His Imperial Majesty a long life, a very, very long life!”
    My dieh’s hands quaked as he fingered his prayer beads. An irrepressible look of triumph shone in his eyes.
    Now that he was back on his feet, the Magistrate said, “Grandma Zhao, may I ask if there are other Imperial treasures in your possession? I have been on my knees once and then twice, so I can surely do it yet again.”
    With a smile, Dieh said, “Your Eminence, that is not my fault. The custom has been dictated by the Imperial Court.”
    “Well, then, since there is no more, will Grandma Zhao accompany me to the yamen, where Governor Yuan and Plenipotentiary von Ketteler await?”
    “May it please the Magistrate to have his men pick up this chair? I would like for Governor Yuan to determine its authenticity.”
    Magistrate Qian hesitated for a moment. “Very well,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Come take this!”
    The two wolf-yayi picked up the Dragon Chair and followed my father and Magistrate Qian, who walked side by side out our gate. My wife stayed behind to vomit in the yard, crying between her stomach upheavals, “Dear Father, you must live on, for your daughter is carrying your grandchild!”
    I watched as Magistrate Qian’s face went from red to white, proof of his discomfort, while the look of arrogance and self-satisfaction on my dieh’s face was, if anything, more apparent than ever. The two of them vied to let the other mount the palanquin first, like officials of equal rank or best friends. In the end, they both chose not to climb aboard, while the yayi tried to squeeze the Dragon Chair inside. When they failed, they hung it upside down from the shaft. My dieh leaned into the palanquin to set his prayer beads inside, and then leaned back out, as the curtain fell to keep the sacred object from view. Now that his soft white hands were empty, he looked contentedly at Magistrate Qian. With a leering smile, the Magistrate raised his hand and— whack —spun my father’s head around with a slap that sounded like the squashing of a toad. Caught unawares, my dieh stumbled, trying hard not to fall, but the moment he steadied himself, a second slap, more savage than the first, sent him thudding to the ground, where he sat only semi-conscious, his eyes glazed over. He leaned forward and spat out a mouthful of blood and, it appeared, a tooth or two. “Forward!” Magistrate Qian commanded.
    The carriers picked up the palanquin and trotted off, leaving the two yayi behind to pick my dieh up by his arms and drag him along like a dead dog. Magistrate Qian walked on, head high, chest out, the epitome of power and prestige, like a rooster that has just climbed off a hen’s back. The head-up posture did not serve him well, as he nearly fell when his foot bumped into a brick in the middle of the road, and would have had it not been for the quick action of Diao Laoye. Not so fortunate was the Magistrate’s hat, which fell to the ground in the flurry of activity. He reached down, scooped it up, and put it back on his head—cockeyed, as it turned out. He straightened it, then continued walking behind the palanquin, followed by Diao Laoye; the yayi brought up the rear with my dieh in tow, his legs dragging along the ground. A bunch of impudent neighborhood children fell in behind my dieh, bringing the total number in the procession to a dozen or more traveling along the bumpy road on their way to the county yamen.
    Tears spurted from my eyes. Oh, how I wished I had thrown myself at Magistrate Qian for what he’d done. No wonder Dieh said I was the perfect son so long as there was no trouble, but in a crisis, I turned into a no-account son. I should have broken the man’s leg with a club; I should have cut open his belly with a knife . . . Well, I picked up my butcher knife and ran out of the yard, intent on chasing down Magistrate Qian’s palanquin. But my curiosity got the better of me, and I followed a trail of houseflies to the spot where the puddle Dieh had made lay in the sun. Yes, there they were, two of his teeth, both molars. I moved them around with the tip of my knife, feelings of sadness bringing fresh tears to my eyes. After I got to my feet, I turned