The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure

by Adam Williams

  ‘It’s not true. It’s not true,’ she whispered, turning in a pathetic desire to justify herself to Pastor John. ‘That child had a brain disease. I only gave her some medicines to stop the pain. I never pretended I could save her. How can they be saying such things?’

  But Pastor John was on his feet, his usually placid features quivering with rage, his shoulders and fists shaking. ‘How dare you?’ he was shouting, in a remarkably loud and carrying voice. ‘How dare you mouth this evil, superstitious rubbish at us? You accuse us of devil worship when your temples are full of plaster idols! Why do you think we become Christians, if not to get away from the foolish, wicked ignorance in which you are all mired? Don’t you realise that the Lord Jesus offers us a way out of our slavery into a better world?’

  Headman Yang was also on his feet, his face radiated by a triumphant grin. ‘Hear him!’ he shouted, in an even louder voice. ‘He admits, did you hear? He admits he wants to trample on our traditions. You heard him mock our gods. He wants to make a better world, he says, and calls us slaves! What’s that but an attack on the Emperor himself? Villagers, are we to allow this treason in our midst? Treason and black magic, threatening our very homes!’

  ‘I’ll give you treason, you bag of goat’s piss,’ screamed Miller Zhang, and leaped across the table to strike the headman. The two embraced in a biting, hair-pulling, knee-jerking, scratching struggle. On all sides Elena saw other Christians and non-Christians standing off against each other, pushing, shouting, some exchanging blows. The old men on the benches looked at each other in confusion. Pastor John seemed stunned. Elena felt she had to do something, and suddenly found herself propelling herself forward so that she was standing on the table. More in frustration at her impotence to stop this terrible brawl than because of any conceived plan, she threw back her head and issued a long, high-pitched, ululating shriek. It pierced the noise around her like a whistle at a football match, bringing both game and grandstand to a halting silence. Faces turned to stare at the foreign woman with her raised arms and her thrown-back head, who stood transfigured above them. ‘Stop! Stop! Stop! For the love of the Blessed Virgin, stop,’ she was still screaming, but the words were strange to her audience because in her confusion she had used Italian. After a moment she, too, paused, aware of the growing stillness around her. She blushed, a little embarrassed, turning towards Pastor John as if asking him what she should do next.

  Then a voice from the non-Christian side of the village shouted, ‘She’s made a spell. In her devil’s language. Witch! Wupo! Witch!’

  And the chant was taken up: ‘Wupo! Wupo! Wupo! Wupo! Wupo!’

  * * *

  It seemed as convenient a moment as any, and Ren Ren gave the order for Monkey to fire his musket into the air above the commotion. The echo of the explosion reverberated round the square, hushing the startled villagers, who gazed in confusion at the armed, uniformed figures who had positioned themselves silently round the perimeter and at strategic positions blocking all exits. None of them had seen Boxers before but they knew immediately from the yellow turbans, the orange sashes and their studied martial-arts stances who they were.

  Ren Ren, followed by Monkey and his other lieutenants, strolled into the silence, past the tableau of frozen, frightened figures, into the centre of the square. ‘Friends,’ he said. He spoke conversationally but his drawl sounded brittle in the tension. ‘Friends. It seems that we’ve arrived at a perfect time. Have you caught a witch? That’s very clever of you. It’s a foreign one, I see. A fat, ugly bitch, isn’t she?’

  Sister Elena, still on the table, felt her knees shaking, but she knew she had to control her fear. ‘I am Sister Elena, from the Christian mission in Shishan. I don’t know who you are, but there will be trouble if you harm anyone here.’

  Ren Ren smiled. ‘Who’s the headman?’ he asked quietly.

  Headman Yang tumbled forward and prostrated himself at the young man’s feet. ‘Master, we meant no harm,’ he mumbled into the dust.

  ‘If you’ve been identifying witches that’s no harm done at all,’ said Ren Ren. ‘In fact, it’s highly commendable. Helpful, even. But I am confused. We’ve been hearing terrible stories, haven’t we, Monkey? That this whole village has been overrun by Christians. It makes me wonder why a good headman, who’s presumably loyal to the empire of the Ch’ing, allows his village to be overrun by Christians and traitors to the Emperor. Are you a Christian yourself?’

  Through the convulsion of terrified sobs and protestations at his feet that followed, Ren Ren established that, no, Headman Yang was not a Christian. On the contrary, he hated and feared Christians. They had been casting their spells on innocent villagers, and stealing their land. He himself had suffered, he and his whole family, from their magic, only there were so many of them, so many of them—forgive him, Master—there was little he could do …

  ‘You can get off your feet and stop snivelling,’ said Ren Ren. ‘That’d be a start. Then I suppose you’d better point out to me which ones are the Christians, and I’ll show you how to deal with the turtle eggs.’ He turned to give orders to his men, but was stopped short by the tall figure of Pastor John, who with great dignity had risen to his feet and blocked his way. Ren Ren looked up at the calm, weathered face and grizzled grey hair. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘With respect I would like to ask you the same question,’ said Pastor John, ‘and by what authority you come to intimidate our community. I am a schoolteacher and my name is Wang. I also have the honour and privilege to be the pastor of the Catholic church in this village. We are not witches, sir, and we are loyal subjects of the Emperor. I would like to see your commission, please. With respect, you and your … soldiers do not on the face of it appear to represent any regular forces of the Ch’ing empire.’

  For a moment Ren Ren and his lieutenants looked at Pastor John with amazement. Then Monkey began to giggle. ‘Shall I show him our commission, Ren Ren?’ he asked, pulling a great sabre from his belt.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Ren Ren, smiling. ‘The man’s made a point. We’ve been lacking in courtesy, it seems. We ought to have introduced ourselves. With respect, Mr Christian Schoolteacher,’ he addressed Pastor John sarcastically, ‘I’ll be showing you my authority in a moment. Don’t go away.’

  In three fast strides he had reached the table. Sister Elena stepped back as he climbed upon it but Ren Ren grabbed her wrist. ‘Stay,’ he whispered. ‘There’s a good little bitch.’ He released her and turned to survey the crowd. All eyes were focused anxiously upon him. Smiling broadly, he held up a hand as if to acknowledge applause. His teeth flashed like a showman’s at a fair. ‘There’s a gentleman over there who’s just asked me who we are.’ He pitched his voice loud. ‘He wants to know by what authority we come here. But I think most of you good people know who we are, and who’s sent us to Bashu. Are there any of you still guessing?’

  His question met a predictable silence. ‘Xiao Tan,’ he called to one of the Boxer guards. ‘Come over here and show them what you can do.’

  The young man he had appointed ran forward to the centre of the square, pulling off his tunic as he did so. He bowed to Ren Ren, then began to move his body in an elegant demonstration of kung fu, kicking, jumping, punching. Swirling faster and faster, he leaped his own height off the ground, his legs scissoring as he did so. He landed smoothly on one leg while his fists were still moving in a pink blur. His sharp intakes of breath mixed rhythmically with the hiss and swish of his limbs in an almost musical sound that matched the beauty of his movements. Suddenly he froze, balancing at an impossible angle. Those close to him could see that his eyeballs had rolled upwards under his eyelids. He appeared to be possessed or in a trance. When he moved again it was with an odd, inhuman gait, sloping or galloping across the ground. He paused, standing on one leg. He cocked his ear in one hand, as if he was listening to a faraway sound; his mouth and nostrils twitched as he sniffed the air, his eyes blinked and rolled; his movements were alert, simian. There
was a gasp from the crowd, for the character standing live in front of them had been familiar to most of them since childhood.

  ‘You recognise him?’ Ren Ren called. ‘Of course you do. That’s Sun Wukong, the Monkey God himself, and he’s taken the boy’s form. Monkey’s just one of the gods we can call down from Heaven to help us. Look at him. Look carefully. Watch how he moves. See for yourselves what it’s like to be possessed by one of the gods! That’s the power we have. Can you imagine? It gives us invulnerability and supernatural strength in our martial arts. It makes us Boxers of Heaven. Heavenly Boxers. That’s who we are. We are the Tiger Company of the Shishan Chapter of the Battalions of Righteous Harmony. We’re a loyal militia, sworn to serve the Emperor, and we have Heaven behind us.’

  Ren Ren pretended disappointment when there were no cheers. ‘You should believe it, you know,’ he said. ‘The gods are coming down to earth to make an invincible army here below. We are their vanguard. But you should be asking yourselves why they are coming, good people of Bashu. Why you are being so honoured. Because our country’s in danger, that’s why. The Middle Kingdom and the throne of our Emperor are being threatened by the magic of foreigners—by the sorcery of Christians.

  ‘You’ve got Christians here among you, haven’t you? People like yourselves, aren’t they? Except for their funny rituals, perhaps, and their special attitude towards paying bills, you might think they’re harmless on the whole. They even talk nice, don’t they? About brotherly love, and coming to Heaven through Jesus. Don’t be deceived. That’s what’s so diabolical and dangerous about them. They look like us, but if you look inside their hearts you’ll find stinking malevolence and corruption. In every one of their black hearts plots are fermenting. Oh, yes, their faces may give you sweet smiles, but inside there’s only one thing they want: to destroy you, and your families, and your village, and bring down the empire itself.’

  He watched with satisfaction the effect of his words, as people in the crowd began to distance themselves from their neighbours.

  ‘We have to be constantly on our guard,’ he continued. ‘The gods are with us but our enemy’s magic is also strong. Sometimes the evil is so strong that even the gods find it difficult to prevail against it. Sometimes the rank evil of the Christian is so foul that it can pollute the purity of the vessel holding the god within us. Our gods can withstand the bullets of our enemies, but not always can they withstand the black magic of the Christian wizards. That is why we have come to exterminate the witches and demons who call themselves Christians wherever we find them.

  ‘And that’s why we’re here in Bashu. We wanted to see what sort of danger you were in—and what do we find? You’ve already identified a witch.’ He grasped Sister Elena’s hand and pulled her to his side. ‘This one here, I take it? Well, she’s ugly enough, that’s for sure. And she smells rancid, and she looks foul, but is she really an evil witch? Shall we prove it one way or another? How about a little demonstration, good people of Bashu, to see just what danger you are really in?’

  He paused for dramatic effect. ‘My lord Sun Wukong,’ he called. ‘May it please you to honour us with your presence on this stage.’

  As the simian creature loped towards the table, Ren Ren made a quick movement, catching and twisting Sister Elena’s two hands behind her back. As the possessed Boxer jumped onto the board, balancing on one leg, cocking his head in a perfect imitation of the Sun Wukong they all knew from the opera, Ren Ren pulled out a knife. Sister Elena was so surprised that, despite the pain, she did not cry out, but Pastor John, watching from below, gave an angry shout. He was immediately grabbed by two of Ren Ren’s men, and prevented from coming to her aid, his mouth gagged. ‘Now let us see whose magic is the stronger,’ shouted Ren Ren, and he slit the front of the nun’s jacket and vest open from collar to waist, cutting the string of her pajama trousers at the same time so that they fell to her knees. Elena’s sex and belly were fully exposed to view; a little crucifix dangled between her heavy breasts. There was a gasp from the crowd, no doubt partly caused by shock at this sudden nudity in someone they had been used to venerate, but there was even more surprise at the dramatic effect on the Monkey God. He emitted a high-pitched screech, and growling and muttering, seemed to shrink from his heroic posture, collapsing to the boards of the table where he shook and shuddered, his back arching as if in pain. With a final groan the body slumped into a swoon, feet drumming the table, and lay still. This was but momentary, however, for at the next instant the young Boxer, looking tired but with no hint now of possession, was sitting up scratching his head, clearly wondering how he had got there and startled by the sight of a naked foreign lady beside him.

  ‘Surprised?’ asked Ren Ren, rhetorically. ‘You shouldn’t be. That’s what happens when one piece of magic overcomes another. And in this case the pollutant effect of the witch was so foul that it drove the Monkey God back to heaven. He couldn’t bear the sight of her disgusting parts, you see. The lewdness of a witch and whore, who fucks with Christian devils…’ Ren Ren ran his hand under Sister Elena’s loins, then theatrically smelt his fingers. ‘Ugh! What a pong! The stench of corruption and evil.

  ‘But don’t be disheartened, good people. We’ve other magic just as powerful. I only wanted to show you how dangerous a foe we face, and how evil these Christians among you really are. We’ve proved she’s a devil. How many others are there down there like her?’

  No longer interested in Sister Elena, he pushed her off the table. She fell winded to the ground where, in her shame, she clutched what remained of her clothing and curled, foetuslike, sobbing. None of the Christians dared approach her. Their scared eyes were fixed on Ren Ren.

  ‘Never mind the witch. She’s a spent force now we’re here. She’ll be despatched, of course, as soon as I get her back to the Harmonious Fists headquarters. What concerns me more is what we’re to do with all the other Devil-worshipping Christians you have here. Your own people.

  ‘They won’t get away, if that’s what anybody was thinking. We have this square sealed tight, and my men are already scouring the houses for anyone hiding there. It won’t take us long to sort out who’s who. You all know who they are anyway, don’t you? And, if I’m not mistaken, we’ll probably all be able to smell who they are before long. If they’re not shitting in their pants already they soon will be.’

  He stalked round the table.

  ‘Can you smell their fear of us? I can. And their malevolence? I can. Let’s take this pastor, this schoolteacher, the one who wants to see my credentials. You there. Headman. Why don’t you advise me? What shall we do with him? He’s already confessed to being head of the Christians here. And you told me that the Christians have been making magical attacks on your family. If he’s their leader, he’s got to be some sort of wizard too, hasn’t he?’

  Ren Ren cocked his ear comically, in part parody of the now departed Monkey God. ‘Speak up,’ he said. ‘Can’t hear you. Whisper whisper. Moan moan. You’re more bashful than a bride on her wedding night. Come on, what shall we do with him?’

  ‘Kill him!’ a loud female voice called from the crowd.

  ‘Fact. It’s always the women who are the most bloodthirsty,’ said Ren Ren. ‘Well? Is that what you want too? You’re the headman here. Is that what we should do? Kill him? Shall we?’

  One or two more voices repeated the call. Soon there was a hesitant chorus of scared villagers demanding Pastor John’s death. Headman Yang, his eyes wide with fear, eventually nodded. ‘Yes. Kill him,’ he said. ‘Please. Kill him for us.’

  ‘Bring him up here then, ‘Ren Ren ordered, and the bound and gagged Pastor John was pushed up on to the table. ‘And you come up too,’ he added. Headman Yang nervously climbed up beside him.

  ‘Now, how are you going to do it?’ asked Ren Ren. ‘Knife? Axe? Pitchfork? I know you peasants can be very imaginative … Oh, you wanted me to do it for you, did you? No, no, no. That’s your responsibility, Headman. Your village, after all.’


  Ren Ren played with him for some time, then lost patience. He pulled out his own knife and thrust it into Yang’s hand. ‘That’s his heart,’ he said. ‘Just shove it in. Pretend you’re killing a sheep.’

  Yang, his mouth twitching, turned to the gagged Pastor John. ‘Forgive me,’ he muttered. ‘Old Wang, I’m sorry. He’s forcing me…’

  Pastor John’s eyes flashed their contempt.

  ‘Just get on with it,’ said Ren Ren.

  Yang squeezed his eyes shut and, with both hands clutching the knife’s handle, stabbed downward into Pastor John’s chest, groaning as he did so. Ren Ren, his face leaning close to that of Pastor John’s, smiled when he saw the old man’s eyes widen with pain, and heard the choking behind the gag. ‘Satisfied with my authority now, are you?’ he whispered. ‘No more questions about my commission?’ and he spat on the body as it dropped to the ground in its death agony.

  The crowd watched Pastor John’s execution in silence, but there were three piercing screams. Two young girls and an old woman ran forward, reaching vainly through the cordon of Boxers for the body of their father and husband. Idly, Ren Ren noticed that one of the girls, the pink-faced one, was very pretty. She might do as a gift for his mother, he thought. The old lady was always looking for new stock. She seemed the right age too. Later, he thought. He would think about that later.

  ‘Now who’s next?’ he asked the panting and bloody Headman Yang, who was staring at the stained knife he was holding in his hand. ‘Let’s be a bit more methodical about this next time, shall we?’

  * * *

  It took little encouragement for the villagers to identify and denounce the Christians, and it was quite an easy task for the Boxers to herd them into the small hall on the side of the square, which Pastor John had used as his church. There was no resistance. They had all been cowed by the presence of the Boxers, Ren Ren’s intimidating theatricals, Sister Elena’s humiliation and the murder of Pastor John. Even Miller Zhang and his two sons gave up their knives without a struggle and meekly followed the others into the church, awaiting their fate.