Free Sandalwood Death by Mo Yan Page B

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