have to say, Eminence Qian?”
Qian Ding prostrated himself at the feet of Yuan Shikai and von Ketteler and said, his voice suffused with reverence:
“To ensure that nothing goes wrong at tomorrow’s execution, your humble servant has invited Zhao Jia and his son to practice on this pig. With your permission, of course.”
Excellency Yuan looked over at von Ketteler, who nodded his approval. Yuan Shikai nodded his, a signal for Qian Ding to get up, quick-step his way over to the black pig, reach out and grab it by the ears, and say to my gongdieh and Xiaojia:
“Commence.”
My gongdieh placed the tip of the sandalwood stake, from which sesame oil still dripped, up against the pig’s anus and said to Xiaojia:
“Commence, son.”
With his legs spread, Xiaojia spat into his hands, made a circle in the air with his oil mallet, and gave a mighty whack to the butt end of the stake, half of which slurped its way up inside the pig. An involuntary arching of the back was followed by an ear-shattering screech. The animal lurched forward, knocking Qian Ding off the stage. The “oof!” when he hit the ground sounded as if he had landed on the head of a drum. The next thing I heard from him was a shrill:
“Heaven help me! I could have been killed!”
Now, although I was unhappy with Qian Ding, we were, after all, lovers, and it pained me to see him hurt. So despite the fact that I was pregnant, I jumped down off the stage and tried to help up the man I held in my heart. His face had a deathly pallor, his eyes were shut, and for all I knew, he could have been dead. So I bit his finger, pinched the groove between his nose and upper lip, and kept at it till I heard him sigh and saw the color return to his face. He clutched my hand and, with tears spiraling in his eyes, said:
“Ah, Meiniang, you are what makes my heart beat, so tell me, am I dead or alive, am I dreaming or am I awake, am I a man or a ghost?”
“Dearest Qian Ding, my love, though I say you are dead, you live on, though I say you are awake, you sleep on, and though I say you are a man, you look like a ghost.”
All hell broke loose up on the stage, A beaten drum, a clanging gong, a cat fiddle goes li-ge-long. A black pig, sandalwood stake up its rear, in circles runs, chased by my gongdieh and his son. The pig bites off Yuan Shikai’s leg, blood everywhere, then takes off half the German commander’s buttocks. How happy I am, two unlucky stars have fallen, but thunder and lightning prove me wrong. Yuan Shikai’s leg returns, von Ketteler’s buttocks are whole again, they sit on the stage looking fit and strong. But the black pig is no more, replaced by Sun Bing, to whom I belong. He suffers cruel torture, as the air fills with mallet sounds~~bong bong bong~~and the stake splits his body, his screams loud and long . . .
My heart pounded in my chest, and cold sweat soaked through my clothes.
“Did you have a nice sleep?” Zhu Ba asked, his eyes smiling.
“Eighth Master,” I said sheepishly, “I’m so embarrassed to have fallen asleep at such a critical moment . . .”
“That is a good sign, for people capable of accomplishing great things at critical moments are normally able to enjoy good food and a restful sleep.” He placed four more rolls in front of me. “Eat these while I tell you what’s happened today. This morning, your gongdieh put the finishing touches on his sandalwood stakes, and the County Magistrate erected an Ascension Platform across from the opera stage on the Tongde Academy parade ground. By the platform stands a matted shed, a large stove in front, a small one in back, there for your gongdieh and his son. The stakes steep in sesame oil, the fragrance traveling far. Oil in the large pot, beef in the small, for father and son it is an oily treat. But tomorrow at noon, one of those stakes will be driven up your dieh’s back, his life undone. The yamen entrance is still guarded like a fortress, security is tight, and there have been no sightings of your dear Qian Ding, Yuan Shikai, or von Ketteler. I sent one of my cleverest youngsters disguised as a food delivery boy, hoping