but it occurred to me that one does not fertilize another’s field, and since you have someone here in your home who slaughters pigs, why go elsewhere? This should be yours.”
Now, I knew that this little bit of silver was worth far less than what he had skimmed from the ginseng, but I thanked him anyway. “You put a great deal of thought into this,” I said, “so take the silver and divide it among your fellow yayi as a little bonus.”
“We thank the old squire!” He bowed again, as did the men who had come with him.
Money talks! A tiny bit of silver had that bastard calling me “old squire” instead of the vapid “sir.” If I’d given him a gold ingot, he’d be down on all fours, banging his head on the ground and calling me Daddy! Again I waved my hand, this time for him to get up, and without a trace of emotion, as if commanding a dog, said: “Go now. You and your men take all these things to the execution site, where you are to set up a big cook stove. Dump the sesame oil into the cauldron, fill the belly of the stove with kindling, and light it. Then set up a smaller stove for stewing the beef. After that, put up a mat shed near the stoves, place a vat inside, and fill it with water—be sure it’s fresh drinking water. And ready an earthen pot for herbal medicine along with a hollow horn used to medicate livestock. Carpet the ground in the shed with a thick layer of this year’s dry wheat straw. Then I want you personally to carry in my chair—you know its background, I take it. That master of yours and the Provincial Governor, Excellency Yuan, both got down on their knees and performed the rite of three bows and nine kowtows in front of it, so be very careful. If you so much as knock off a chip of paint, Excellency Yuan will skin you like a dog. Everything I’ve told you must be ready precisely at noon. If you are missing anything, go see your laoye.” The man bowed and proclaimed loudly:
“It will be as you say, Laoye.”
After they left, I checked off the remaining objects in the yard again: the sandalwood stake—the single most important item—would require much painstaking work, but nothing I would let those bastards watch, not with their unclean eyes, for that would spoil the effect. Nor would I let them hold the rooster, not with their dirty hands, for that would sap its power. I shut the gate; two armed yayi were posted to keep people out. Apparently our Magistrate Qian had seen to everything. Of course, I knew it was all for Excellency Yuan’s benefit. Oh, how he hated me, but my gums still bled from losing two teeth, and to teach the dog a lesson I needed to let him know who he was dealing with. I must not demean myself. I was not putting on airs or throwing my weight around, flaunting the fact that I had been favored by gifts from the Empress Dowager and the Emperor. And this assuredly was not a case of abusing public power to avenge a personal slight. It was a matter of national honor. Since I had been chosen to end the life of a man whose shocking criminal acts had gained worldwide attention, an extravagant display was both proper and necessary. The extravagance would belong not to me, but to the Great Qing Empire. Being laughed at by foreigners could not be tolerated.
Damn you, von Ketteler, I know you Europeans have used wooden stakes on people, but that is simply nailing someone to a crossbar and leaving him to die. I am going to let you see what a real punishment is like, one that is so exquisite, so refined, that the name alone reveals its resounding elegance: sandal—wood—death, a term with a rough exterior but an aesthetic core, displaying the patina and aura of antiquity. It is a form of punishment beyond the imagination of any European. Out on the street, my neighbors, all hopelessly rustic and shortsighted, craned their necks to get a peek into my yard. The looks on their faces revealed envy and admiration. Attracted by wealth, they were blind to the dangers that lay behind it, and my son was no less wooly-headed than they, though his muddled mind had its endearing qualities. Hearing my