by Sheng Keyi
His bedroom and that of the woman in green faced each other from opposite sides of the living room, which was filled with baskets of flowers. This put a fascinating distance of about fifteen metres between them. Mengliu left his door unlocked and stayed in his room for a while, but he did not sleep. He thought of the soldier in the photo. It must be Su Juli’s husband. Was he alive or dead? How had he died? If he was alive, where was he? After a while, he became bored with these questions, and picked up a book in English and flipped through it. His mind grew sluggish.
He lay on the bed. The sheets smelled of apples and his body felt like water spreading comfortably outwards. He listened to the fruit swelling and the shoots popping out of the earth, like someone who was pulling a string and setting off a series of vibrations. Stirred by the wind, his orchard reached the climax of its symphony of sharp, bright, low, and short notes, all alternating in a pleasing mix of sound. After a soft adagio movement, the silence resumed.
Mengliu dreamed, and in his dream he saw three people playing basketball. It was a fierce contest, and when the ball fell into Hei Chun’s hands, it turned into a pistol. Hei Chun pointed the pistol at him, forcing him all the way to the centre of the court, where there was no way out. His assailant interrogated him, ‘Why didn’t you participate in the poetry readings? Why don’t you write poetry any more? If a poet doesn’t write poetry, what meaning is there to his life?’ Bai Qiu suddenly appeared out of nowhere and blocked the pistol with his badly mangled face. His mouth was against the muzzle. He said repeatedly, ‘Poetry is no use; poetry isn’t as fast as a bullet; poetry is not as cruel as the muzzle of a gun.’ Blood and tears flowed from Bai Qiu’s empty eye sockets onto the muzzle of the gun. Blue smoke rose from the muzzle. The pistol turned into a white dove, its dark eyes looking gently at Mengliu. Seeing that the eyes were Qizi’s, Mengliu’s spirit soared. The dove circled the court a few times, and with a cry rose into the sky, shooting upward like a bullet into the glare of the sun. People crowded around, looking at him contemptuously. He was so humiliated he wanted to die. His body became so light it left the earth, hovered in mid-air, then abruptly dropped to the ground.
When he awoke, he was drenched in sweat, even though his heart was chilled.
10
It was raining in Beiping. When the sun broke onto the scene, it warmed things up, and those who braved its heat soon had patches of sweat under their arms. They stripped off their jackets, showing off their physiques – strong, scrawny, stout, or slim – giving the spring a little more flourish.
Mengliu was in a bright mood as he cycled the ten miles to the Wisdom Bureau. He hovered at the entrance to the Physics Department library, a collection of poems clasped in his hand. He glanced over a few lines, then looked around. The peach tree in full bloom above his head occasionally let a few petals flutter down. He saw reflected in the building’s glass facade his ruffled hair and finely chiselled features, and the beard he had specially trimmed for the occasion. His old black V-neck sweater was presentable enough, and his newly-washed jeans had a slightly cloying soapy smell. They were a little long, so he had turned them up at the ankles, allowing the cuffs to rest on top of his canvas boating shoes.
To tell the truth, he was quite satisfied with his image.
Qizi was especially striking in the crowd. She wore a blue shirt with a grey skirt and black flat-soled boots. Her feet clacked as she walked down the steps of the library, clutching a large book to her bosom, blocking it from view. Her chin rested on the book, and it was clear she was lost in a state of mental and physical pleasure. Her skin was even fairer than it had been on the day of the procession, her short raven-black hair flowed around her face, and her slanting fringe especially captivated Mengliu. She was always so beautiful. He only learned later that the day they had met, she had just cut her hair. The way a girl wore her hair always had something to do with what was on her mind.
He stepped towards her and took the book from her arms. It was another book about physics. She was wracking her brains over that machine of the future.
A group of young people walked by, laughing. They wore white T-shirts with the word ‘freedom’ printed across their chests in black. Seeing Qizi, someone whistled cheekily. Mengliu smiled and raised his middle finger toward them.
‘We’re meeting Shunyu. She’s got tickets to see a Chinese opera performance this afternoon at two,’ Qizi said, slapping his hand down.
‘It’s her father’s idea, again. He worries too much. He’s afraid she’ll join in the march, so he gets her tickets to the ballet one day, a concert the next. This time it’s a Chinese show.’ Mengliu shook his head, a wry smile on his face. ‘You and I won’t understand it all. It’s just a novelty, a way for us to have a good time. We’ll have to make the best we can of it.’
‘Her father has good intentions. You’re benefitting from them, but you act like it’s a hardship. Don’t you think you’re being a little unkind?’
‘Poor old man…We should hope that the unrest will go on for a while. Before it started he didn’t even invite us to a movie. Once things settle down, that will be the end of our cultured lifestyle. I don’t know if I could get used to that again!’
Qizi smiled and pinched him. ‘I’ve heard that a lot of people in Round Square have fainted from hunger. If the hunger strike costs someone their life, they’ll be paying too high a price.’
‘Are they really going without food and water? That’s playing too straight…They should sneak a bite, or is just sitting there quietly not eating or drinking supposed to be performance art?’
‘You’re talking nonsense again.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s still two or three hours before the show. Where do you want to go?’
‘Do you want to come back to the West Wing with me?’ Mengliu blurted out. ‘You’ll have to prepare yourself. It’s a mess.’
When he and Qizi appeared in the bar later, they were holding hands and kissing. Love blew on the spring breeze, and their happiness was like flowers bursting into bloom. It was as if their earlier intimacy at his place had propelled them all the way to the bar.
‘Hasn’t that plant ever known a woman’s touch?’ Qizi had been hit by bird droppings when she first stepped into the courtyard, and so had changed into one of Mengliu’s thin sweaters. She stood in the doorway, her posture open and relaxed, watching him wash the bird shit off her clothing. She turned to the half-dead rose bush on the windowsill and started to toy with it, poking it here and there with a stick she had found.
‘No. It has never flowered.’ The old acacia tree flourished in the courtyard. Mengliu hung the blouse out to dry, causing the wire to shake.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘I’m the first?’
‘You’re the first.’
Satisfied, she smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it to bloom with fiery red flowers.’
‘What makes you so sure they’ll be red?’
‘I want them to be red. It’s the colour of passion.’
‘I like white ones. They’re pure.’
‘Let’s bet on it.’
‘Bet what?’
She leaned over and whispered a private message in his ear. Her words filled him with joy – a joy that lasted many years.
He took her and carried her back into the room. They made out for a long time, which made them burn with desire, but they conquered their carnal nature, and their hearts were filled with a sacred purity. He knew she was his, and he was hers. They belonged to each other.
‘It looks like I’ll have to wear your sweater to the show. It’s so embarrassing. Shunyu is sure to laugh at me.’
‘She’ll just be jealous that you’re wearing your boyfriend’s clothes…’ He kissed her. ‘Ever since Shunyu went into the Plum Party, it’s as if she’s been brainwashed.’
‘She’s still herself. If we don’t go abroad, let’s apply to join the Party too. What do you think?’
‘I won’t. I’m a poet. Poe
ts have to be independent and free, without connections to friends or parties…But of course, I won’t object to whatever you decide to do.’
‘I guess I can’t put it off. To tell the truth, for scientific research, the environment overseas is a hundred times better. If our country were rich and powerful, everyone would be scrambling to come here. We wouldn’t need to go anywhere else.’
The sun fell on top of the acacia tree. A bird with a white head twittered in the trees. Patches of sunlight and bird droppings filled the courtyard.
A scarlet curtain was draped across the stage, with several spotlights shining on it. The café offered an array of snacks. The waiter moved to and fro between the tables, adding water to the teapots. After finding a good seat, Qizi downed half of her tea in one gulp. Mengliu focused on the playbill. It read Lady Zhaojun.
Just as he asked why Shunyu had not yet arrived, he looked up to see her lifting the bead curtain at the entrance and walking through it to meet them. She wore a Chinese-style outfit topped with a thin jacket lined with embroidery. It made her look like one of the actors.
From behind the curtain on the stage, the big gong boomed, accompanied by tinkles on the smaller gong, marking the beginning of the performance. They watched the actor spin in a full scarlet cloak, pheasant feathers in her hand, her arms snowy white and her costume shimmering. They were captivated by the glamorous apparel.
But that was all there was to it. Before long, the spectacle became boring.
‘Traffic in Beiping has been blocked and the city is practically in a state of siege. I made a detour on a trishaw to tell you the news. Reports on the double-tracked wall say that people in the square will soon pass out from hunger. They are in urgent need of bread and water.’ Shunyu leaned in toward the centre of the table and whispered. ‘The troublesome shit…Maybe there really is a monster out there.’
Qizi waited for the actor to finish singing the line, ‘Even a huge pool of civilians is no use, and all the generals fight in vain,’ then asked whether anyone had sent food over. Shunyu said she didn’t know. She had finished reading the news on the wall and then come straight to the theatre.
The actress held a horsewhip and walked swiftly onstage. She struck a pose, her gaze determined and the pheasant feathers in her hair quivering ceaselessly.
Mengliu, pretending to be very committed, would have rather stayed where he was and be bored than go and plunge into the events in Round Square.
‘Are they all from the Wisdom Bureau?’ Qizi rolled the playbill up into a cylinder, using it like a telescope.
‘Most are. My father said something really bad is going to happen.’
The actor sang to the climax, struck a pose, and won loud applause from the audience. When the scene came to an end, the scarlet curtain closed. The café burst into a small commotion.
The curtain reopened to the pathos of an erhu being played over a snowy background. At this point, Qizi and Mengliu abandoned Shunyu and left the theatre.
‘When we go abroad, don’t get any funny ideas – not even out of curiosity – about those foreign girls. You can look once, or at most twice, and for no longer than two seconds. If it’s more than two seconds, it means you’ve got some funny ideas in your head. If you’ve got those ideas, then just go with them. I won’t stop you. But it’ll be over between us.’
Clumps of trees grew by the roadside. A well-proportioned foreign girl, fresh as spring, walked by with her breasts showing in a provocative fashion. Qizi, watching her as she passed one tree after another, elbowed Mengliu and said, ‘Hey! Did you hear what I said?’
‘You’re telling me what isn’t allowed, while you’re blatantly doing what I’m not supposed to do. Whatever you look at I can look at too.’ He purposely stared at the foreign girl for a good while longer. ‘Well…she’s still not as cute as our girls.’
‘No double talk from you. I should wring your neck.’
‘I’m just trying to make a responsible, detailed observation. If I don’t look carefully, how can I give an accurate analysis?’
‘You’re such a horny little thing.’
‘If I wasn’t horny, how would I have been attracted to you?’
When they got back to the West Wing, Mengliu pulled a wallet from underneath his mattress, took out a few notes, thought for a second, then took out the whole lot, saying he would have to tighten his belt for a while. He put the money into his pocket, took Qizi by the hand, and they went to the supermarket to buy bread and water. From there, they went straight to Round Square.
Wherever they looked, the streets were packed with people. There was garbage all over the place.
A banner hung on a truck painted in bright colours. It read, ‘Brothel Support Group’. The bed of the truck was filled with prostitutes, all richly attired and heavily made up. They leaned over the sides, waving colourful handkerchiefs and calling cheekily, ‘Come on, gentlemen! If you’ve got money, spend it. If you have strength, then spend that. It’s all in support of the Wisdom Bureau. Come on now!’
At the same time, they distributed scented flyers. ‘The faeces issue is a hoax. The people demand the truth…Protest by petition, not by violence.’
A voluptuous prostitute hung onto Mengliu and said earnestly, ‘Mister, dedicate your passion to the cause. Fifty kuai each time. Just put your money in the donation box…We can do it in the cab…Or we can go to a hotel if you want.’
‘Er, just fifty…to support…’ Embarrassed, Mengliu remained deeply affected as he walked on. It took him a long time to settle down again. His mind kept going back to the prostitute’s words. Why did she say it was in support of the Wisdom Bureau? Could it be that the Bureau had taken an important role in the rally?
As he pondered, he ran across another team, the ‘Writers’ Support Group’. In direct contrast to the prostitutes, they sat smoking, chatting, and casually wiling away their time amongst themselves.
One young fellow sporting a red bandana was carrying a banner across his body that practically screamed, ‘I am Yuan Mengliu!’
Mengliu walked over and asked, ‘Are you really Yuan Mengliu?’
The fellow ignored him.
Mengliu said, ‘I’m Yuan Mengliu.’
The guy took a long, disdainful look at him. ‘Dude, stop pretending! Just take the opportunity to have a good time.’
Mengliu and Qizi exchanged glances, then burst into laughter.
As they made their way through the crowd, it parted like water, then closed again.
In the square, Hei Chun stood, dressed in a black trench coat and with his legs splayed. His hair was tied in a ponytail, revealing the word ‘love’ written across his forehead in red ink. As the ink dripped down his face like blood, he recited his new poem.
It’s time, young people,
to let loose and sing!
Take your pain, your love
and spill it all on the page.
Don’t hide your feelings of injustice
indignation and sorrow –
let the pain and joy in your heart
come out and be seen in the daylight!
In the face of your critics,
their accusations pelt you like rain
– only then will new growth sprout,
fearless in the sun’s light!
My verse is a torch,
burning down all the world’s barriers.
There was warm applause that lasted a long time. Some people took photos, some shouted, others whistled, and threw hats, shoes, or empty bottles in the air.
The air was polluted, a mix of many different odours. Dizzy and headachy, Mengliu and Qizi went to an open space for fresh air. Then they saw a commotion breaking out, people running, shouting, and falling over one another. Suddenly all hell broke loose. The pair backed onto the sidewalk, and sheltered by a tree trunk. They managed not to be separated by the crowd.
At that moment they saw people walking arm in arm, forming a tight horizontal line spread across the street to th
e walls of the buildings on either side. Like a bulldozer, the line advanced, occasionally issuing a brief, dignified cry. About ten metres behind them, another line of people followed, advancing in identical fashion. As they moved forward in unison, the street cleared. The afternoon sun fell serenely on the scene. In the distance, the boundless sky stretched as far as the eye could see.
11
Mengliu remembered very clearly how his newly-appointed surgical assistant had taken the initiative to ask him to lunch that day. He had even gone out to the mall the night before and bought a new pair of red boxers – a girl had once said that when he wore red boxer shorts, it gave him an air of gentleness mingled with a ravaging sexiness, and he had taken it to heart. After that, he went to the salon for a haircut, shave, ear-wax removal, and trimming of his nose hairs. His nose hairs had never needed to be trimmed before. His over-zealous approach illustrated just how important the date was to him. It was the first time since his relationship with Qizi had ended all those years ago that he had taken a date – or a girl – so seriously. He made a ritual of cleaning himself, taking longer than he ever had before. He cleansed himself inside and out and, just for the sake of it, abstained from eating garlic. But still his mind floated to Qizi, and he kept confusing her with Suitang. He even found himself wondering if Suitang might be an assumed name under which Qizi had come to test him.
He dug out a designer suit he’d worn the year he attended a medical school exchange program, matching it with a good shirt and tie, and polished his shoes. He remembered how he had once elegantly laid a young foreign girl face down on his bed, caressing her back, simply because it reminded him of Qizi’s petite, pliable form. Just before going out the door, he changed everything, except the red boxers, taking pains to dress in a manner more in keeping with his professional standing. He was now dressed casually in sports shoes, white shirt under a black jacket, light grey trousers, and a subdued expression.