Sandalwood Death - By Mo Yan Page 0,36

him, I’d get a taste of his dragonhead cane, for sure. The boar hadn’t even left when a white swan sashayed up carrying a bamboo basket on its wing. When it was right in front of me, it gave me a dirty look and said in a voice dripping with spite, “Xiaojia, you heartless fiend. I found a fingernail when I bit into the dog meat jelly you sold me yesterday. Are you selling human flesh and calling it dog meat?” It turned to the boar. “Did you hear what happened? Two nights ago, the Zheng family’s child bride was beaten to death. Her battered body was a mass of bruises!” Now that the swan had spewed its garbage, it turned back to me and said, “Give me two catties of dog meat jerky. We’ll try something different.” “Who do you think you are, you stinking bitch? A big-assed swan is what you are. I ought to turn you into swan jelly. That’d shut that mouth of yours once and for all.”

—If I’d owned a tiger’s whisker, think how wonderful that would have been! But I didn’t.

Uncle He was having a drink in the tavern that rainy afternoon—he was an ugly man with a pointed mouth, an ape-like chin, and shifty eyes, a damned gorilla if I ever saw one—when I told him about the tiger’s whisker. “You’re a man of the world, Uncle He,” I said, “so this is something you must know about. And you must know where to get one.” “Xiaojia,” he said with a chuckle, “you idiot. What’s your wife up to while you’re here selling meat?” “My wife is delivering dog meat to Eminence Qian, her gandieh.” “I’d say she’s delivering the human kind,” Uncle He said. “She’s a nice morsel, tender and tasty.” “Stop trying to be funny, Uncle; we sell pork and dog meat, that’s all. Who ever heard of selling the human kind? Besides, Eminence Qian isn’t a tiger, so why would he want to feast on my wife’s flesh? If he did, he’d have finished her off by now. But she’s still here, in the flesh.” With a strange laugh, Uncle He said, “Eminence Qian is not a White Tiger, he’s a Green Dragon, the Taoist guardian. It’s your wife who’s the White Tiger.” “Now you’re really not making sense, Uncle He. Without one of those tiger’s whiskers, how could you see the true form of Eminence Qian or my wife?” “Pour me another drink, idiot,” Uncle He said, “and I’ll tell you where you can get a tiger’s whisker.” I filled his glass to the brim.

“You know,” he said, “that they’re real treasures, worth a great quantity of silver.” “I’m not interested in selling them,” I said. “I want one for myself. Just think, I could walk down the street with my tiger’s whisker and meet up with all kinds of animals wearing clothes and talking just like you and me. Wouldn’t that be terrific?” “Are you serious about getting a tiger’s whisker?” Uncle He asked. “Yes,” I said, “very serious. I dream about it.” “Well, then, give me a plate of chopped dog meat, and I’ll tell you.” “If you’ll tell me where to get a tiger’s whisker, Uncle He, you can have the whole dog, and I won’t charge you anything.” I cut off a dog’s leg and handed it to him. Then I stood there, gaping expectantly. He leisurely sipped what was in his glass and sampled the dog meat. “Idiot,” he said with slow deliberation, “do you really want a tiger’s whisker?” “Uncle He, I’ve given you spirits to drink and dog to eat, so if you won’t tell me now, you’ve been playing tricks on me, and I’ll go home and tell my wife what you’ve done. You can fool me easily enough, but she’s a different story. All she has to do is curl her lip, and you’ll find yourself in the county yamen getting your ass whipped.” Now that I’d brought my wife into the discussion, he said, with a note of urgency, “Xiaojia, my good little nephew, if I tell you, you must promise never to tell anybody who you heard it from, especially your wife. If you do, any tiger’s whisker you get your hands on will lose its power.” “All right, I promise, I won’t tell a soul, and that includes my wife. If I do, I hope her belly starts to hurt.” “I’ll be damned, Xiaojia, what the hell

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