The trial quickly got underway, beginning with the magistrate’s reading of Sima Ku’s crimes and ending with the pronouncement of the death sentence. Soldiers then led him down off the platform. He hobbled as he walked, causing the soldiers to stumble as they held his arms. The procession halted at the edge of the pond, the infamous execution site. Sima Ku turned to face the dike. Maybe he spotted us, and maybe he didn’t. Sima Liang called out, “Daddy,” but Mother quickly clapped her hand over his mouth.
“Liang,” she whispered in his ear, “be a good boy, and do as I say. I know how you feel, but it’s important that we don’t make your daddy feel any worse than he does now. Let him face this last challenge free from worries.”
Mother’s words worked like a magic charm, transforming Sima Liang from a mad dog into a tame sheep.
A pair of powerful-looking soldiers grabbed Sima Ku’s shoulders and forced him to turn around to face the execution pond, whose thirty-year accumulation of rainwater had the appearance of lemon oil, in which his gaunt face and scarred cheeks looked back at him. With his back to the squad of soldiers and facing the pond, he saw countless women’s faces reflected in the water, their smell floating up from the surface, and he was suddenly overcome by a sense of his own frailty; turbulent waves of emotion overwhelmed the calmness in his heart. He wrenched himself from the grip of the soldiers to turn back around, throwing a fright into the director of the Judicial Department of the County Security Bureau, as well as the executioners, who were known for their ability to kill without batting an eye.
“I won’t let you shoot me in the back!” he shouted shrilly.
Facing the stony stares of his executioners, he felt stabs of pain from the scars on his cheeks. Sima Ku, for whom face was so important, was overcome with regret as the events of the day before surfaced in his mind.
When the legal representative had handed down the article of execution, Sima Ku had received it joyfully. The representative had asked if he had any last requests. Rubbing his stubble, he’d said, “I’d like to have a barber shave my head,” to which the representative had replied, “I’ll take that back to my superiors.”
The barber arrived, carrying his little case, and approached the condemned cell with obvious trepidation. After haphazardly shaving his head, he turned his razor to the beard. But about halfway, he nicked Sima Ku on the cheek, drawing a screech from the victim, so frightening the barber that he leaped back toward the cell door and placed himself between the two armed guards.
“That guy’s hair is pricklier than hog bristles,” the barber said as he showed the guards the nicked razor. “The blade’s ruined. And his beard’s even worse. It’s like a wire brush. He must concentrate his strength at the roots of his beard.”
So the barber gathered up his stuff and was about to leave, when he was stopped short by a curse from Sima Ku: “You son of a bitch, what do you think you’re doing? Do you expect me to go to meet my ancestors with half my face shaved?”
“You, there, condemned man,” the barber shot back. “Your beard’s tough enough already, and then you go concentrating your strength there.”
Not knowing whether to laugh or to cry, Sima Ku said, “Don’t blame the toilet when you can’t do your business. I have no idea what you mean by concentrating my strength somewhere.”
“The way you keep grunting, if that isn’t concentrating your strength, what is it?” the barber replied cleverly. “I’m not deaf, you know.”
“You bastard!” Sima Ku said. “I’m groaning from all the pain.”
One of the guards said to the barber, “You’ve got a job to do. So suck it up and finish shaving him.”
“I can’t,” he said. “Go find a master barber.”
Sima Ku sighed and said, “Shit, where in the world did you find this piece of rubbish? Take off these handcuffs, men, and I’ll shave myself.”
“Not on your life!” one of the guards said. “If you used that as a ploy to attack us and run off, or kill yourself, it would be on our heads.”
“Fuck your old lady!” Sima Ku bellowed. “I want to see whoever’s in charge.” He banged his handcuffs noisily against the window bars.
A security officer came running over. “What do you think you’re doing, Sima Ku,” she demanded.
“Look at my face,” Sima said. “He shaved half and then stopped because he said my beard’s too tough. Does that make sense to you?”
“No,” she said as she slapped the barber’s shoulder. “Why won’t you finish shaving him?”
“His beard’s too tough. And he keeps concentrating his strength in the roots…”
“Fuck your ancestors, with all that talk about concentrating strength!”
The barber held up his damaged razor in defense of his position.
“How about acting like a man, friend?” Sima Ku said to her. “Take off these handcuffs, and I’ll shave myself. It’s the last favor I’ll ever ask.”
The officer, who had participated in Sima’s capture, hesitated momentarily before turning to one of the guards and saying, “Take them off.”
With a sense of foreboding, the guard did as he was told, then jumped back out of harm’s way. Sima Ku rubbed his swollen wrists. When he stuck out his hand, the officer took the razor from the barber and handed it to Sima, who took it and gazed at her dark, grapelike eyes, which were topped by bushy eyebrows. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll attack you, or run off, or kill myself?”
“If you did,” she said with a smile, “then you wouldn’t be Sima Ku.”
With a sigh, Sima said, “I never dreamed it would take a woman to really understand me!”
She smiled scornfully.
Sima stared at the woman’s hard, red lips, and then let his gaze move down to her chest, which arched upward under her khaki uniform. “You’ve got nice breasts, little sister,” he said.
Grinding her teeth in anger, she said, “Is that all you can think about the day before you’re going to die?”
“Little sister,” Sima replied somberly, “I’ve screwed a lot of women in my life, and my only regret is that I’ve never screwed a Communist.”
Furious, she slapped him, so loud and so hard that dust rained down from the rafters. He smiled impishly and said, “I’ve got a young sister-in-law who’s a Communist. She has a firm political stance and nice, firm breasts…”
As her face reddened, the officer spat in Sima’s face and said in a low growl, “Be careful, you mangy mongrel, or I might cut your balls off!”
Sima Ting cried out, his voice filled with sadness and anger, rousing Sima Ku from his anguished thoughts. What he saw was a squad of militiamen dragging his elder brother up to the crowd of onlookers. “I’m innocent – innocent! I’ve rendered great service, and I broke off relations with my brother a long time ago!” No one paid any attention to Sima Ting’s tearful pleas. Sima Ku sighed, as threads of guilt filtered into his heart. When the chips were down, the man was a good and loyal brother, even if you couldn’t trust some of the things he said.
Sima Ting’s legs were so rubbery he couldn’t stand. A village official demanded, “Tell me, Sima Ting, where’s the Felicity Manor treasure vault? If you don’t tell me, you can walk down the same road as him!” “There’s no treasure vault. During land reform, they dug down three feet and didn’t find anything,” Sima Ku’s wretched brother pled his case. Sima Ku grinned and said, “Quit your bitching, Elder Brother!” “It’s all your fault, you bastard!” Sima Ting complained. Sima Ku just shook his head with a wry smile. “Stop this nonsense!” a security bureau officer rebuked the village officials, resting his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. “Take that man away! Don’t you give a damn about policy?” As they dragged Sima Ting away, the village official said, “We figured this might be a good opportunity to get something out of him.”