by Sheng Keyi
Shunyu’s father rattled on. Some regular customers came in and called to him, and he hastily greeted them. When he came back, the alcohol made him all the more flushed.
‘Shunyu said you two are going overseas to study. That’s good. Such an opportunity isn’t easy to come by! You’ll definitely have a brighter future,’ he continued. Then he turned his criticism on his daughter. ‘I just don’t understand, my girl, why you are reluctant to go abroad. Go add something to your life, like plating something with gold, learn from other people…To tell the truth, there’s a lot of things worth studying overseas…Really, a lot.’ He munched on some roasted peanuts and, his face coming alive, he said as if to himself, ‘This faecal matter has been going on for several months now, hasn’t it?’
Mengliu said cautiously, ‘Off and on for about three months.’
The old man’s nostrils flared, snorting out alcoholic fumes, and he took a hesitant sip of his wine. He seemed about to speak, but held back.
‘I hear that representatives have met with the people, and they have negotiated. It seems they’ve agreed to find some experts to come and study the matter again, and to publish their findings about its DNA.’ Shunyu glanced at her father. Seeing that he didn’t object to what she had said, she continued, ‘But there’s still one condition the official representatives haven’t agreed to.’
‘What condition?’ It was Shunyu’s father who asked, breaking his own rule that no one should speak of politics, much to everyone’s surprise.
‘Father, do you really want to hear about it?’
‘Silly girl. If you’re going to talk about the situation, at least do so clearly.’
Shunyu said, ‘It’s about admitting that people from the Wisdom Bureau got beaten up.’
‘The Wisdom Bureau people were beaten up?’ her father asked.
‘Yes, the newspaper made false claims, saying that it was the police who had been beaten.’
Shunyu’s father took a deep breath, and then muttered, ‘The newspapers always lie, but it’s hard to believe they would stoop so low.’
No one replied to his mumbling, since he clearly didn’t expect an answer. This was his usual attitude. He had his own way of dealing with things.
Just then, more customers came in and Shunyu’s father left the wine jug but took his own cup. As he walked away, he reminded them, ‘Don’t talk politics,’ then swung his large form around to welcome his guests. It was several of his regular customers, and he led them up to the second floor.
‘Your father really loosened up on his restrictions today,’ Mengliu said.
‘The main reason was that you played the chuixun well. My father takes you as a soul mate.’ Shunyu smiled happily. ‘In fact, there’s no generation gap between my father and us. He likes to tell me about how things were when he was young. He did one thing once that was exceptionally absurd and romantic –’
‘Shunyu, come here!’ her father called.
‘He seems to have a sensor. Any time I want to say something bad about him, he calls me.’ Shunyu stuck her tongue out and went to answer her father’s call. When she came back, her face was flushed with embarrassment. She said her father’s old army comrade had come, bringing his son with him, to discuss a marriage between the young man and herself. At this point, the tail of the body of demonstrators disappeared from the doorway, and Qizi’s eyes suddenly looked vacant. ‘Maybe the negotiations will be useful. Then everyone’s hard work won’t be wasted.’
‘Yeah. Many of the leading intellectuals and celebrities are responding.’ Shunyu spoke excitedly, as if she herself were a participant.
‘You act as if you’re concerned about society, but really for you it’s all about Hei Chun. This is called being blinded by love.’ Qizi smiled, looking at Mengliu as he refilled his wineglass. ‘You should seize the opportunity to tell him. If not, it’s likely someone else will grab him.’
In a panic, Shunyu looked toward the inner depths of the bar and seeing her father was still upstairs, she settled her nerves again. ‘Only if you’re the one snatching him from me,’ she retorted.
‘Shunyu, what kind of rubbish is that you’re talking?’ Qizi chided.
Shunyu’s words had aroused Mengliu’s interest. He had had a lot to drink, and the free flow of wine was going to his head. He looked red and hot.
‘Hei Chun is talented, and there are certainly lots of girls who like him.’ His jealousy had provoked a cynical rivalry in him. ‘Especially when he goes up on the podium to speak, he looks so valiant. He speaks well, has a manly voice, and when the girls listen to him, they lose their wits.’ He turned to Qizi and continued, ‘Are you like all the rest? No? I bet your heart thumps at least a few times…Hei Chun, that son of a bitch. He just pretends not to notice the thousands of girls whose hearts throb for him. You’re right! He’s got his eye on someone, the bastard.’
Shunyu stood up silently and left.
Mengliu realised that Qizi’s face had darkened and her eyes were fixed on him in a murderous glare.
‘You…What’s wrong with you? Eh…why are you looking at me like a tigress?’
Qizi did not say anything, but continued to stare at him until tears began to fall. The murderous look was extinguished. She snatched Mengliu’s wineglass and swallowed the drink in one gulp. She drank so fast she choked.
Squinting, she said deliberately, ‘Hei Chun – right now he’s out there charging the enemy lines! He’s not spineless!’
‘Are you calling me a coward?’ Mengliu was getting worked up. ‘Qizi, you need to be clear about this. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have gone on an outing at this time, and I wouldn’t be sitting here like a pansy drinking wine now.’
‘I admit I’ve played some part in it, but you’re giving me too much credit. You’re making me the scapegoat for the sake of your own ego. You only care about your own future.’
‘Do you really think so? Have you no conscience?’ This was going too far, and it stoked an alcohol-fueled fury in Mengliu. ‘You object to me joining the party, but then ridicule me when I sit here drinking. One minute you say this, the next that. I’ve been listening to you too much, going wherever you pointed, allowing you to weaken my will and disgrace me in front of everyone! And your father, that trump card, haven’t you played that too? You tell me, at the end of the day, what the fuck am I supposed to do?’
‘Stop pushing the blame onto me! In the final analysis, it’s your personality that’s the problem. You’re indecisive and dependent.’ Qizi was disgusted with him for swearing. She had begun by wondering whether he could withstand her assault, but she became angrier with each word and, throwing caution to the wind, she continued, ‘You’re a selfish prick. You live in the fantasy world of poetry. You are complacent, weak and without any vision. You have no ambition. You’re a hero in your own verse, but in real life, you’re just mediocre.’
Throughout Qizi’s harsh speech Mengliu’s pupils dilated until they were like flowers in full bloom. As the flowers reached the zenith of their life, there was a pause for several seconds, then they gradually turned dim and faded, shrivelled, withered. He lowered his eyes to the empty wineglass, as if he had drained the wine with his gaze. Then he calmly stood up, negotiated his way past the chairs, and flew out through the door of the bar like a flurry of fallen leaves in a cold wind.
Mengliu walked sluggishly beside his bicycle with his head slumped forward. Drunk, he could neither see nor hear a thing. He bumped into people and trees intermittently, until finally he staggered back to the West Wing. He flung the bike carelessly against a wall, went inside, and plopped down onto his bed. As soon as he fell asleep, he began to dream. He was being chased by a biomechanical monster. He tried frantically to escape, but his legs were limp and he could not run. Eventually he took flight, but the monster turned into a huge bat with eyes as red and round as lanterns. It opened its ferocious mouth in hot pursuit. Just as the bat was about to catch him, Mengliu woke up, his body on fire and his h
eart heavy.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a while. The cracks that spread over it made it look like a traffic map, with lines for highways, railways, and airlines winding here and there. He felt dizzy. Suddenly his whole life had become a mess.
Qizi’s words echoed in his mind like a knife scraping against glass, grating on his ego.
He applied psychoanalysis to his wounds for a while and felt better. After a little longer he felt quite good about himself, confident he could carry on with his normal life. But soon the cold reality returned and he felt a terrible pain. He cursed the alcohol, blaming it for starting him off on the trashy talk. He wanted to apologise to Qizi and tell her he loved her very much.
Just as he was filled with tender feelings, he felt the sting of her remarks all over again. His heart hardened, and he thought she should be the one to apologise to him. He would not forgive her if she did not take back her harsh judgement of him. Instead he waited all night, hoping Qizi would suddenly appear, laughing and ready to bury the hatchet. But all he heard was the wind in the locust tree, the cat in the rafters, and the endless flow of the lonely night. He had a splitting headache, and only when morning came did his state of confusion pass.
The radio next door chimed 11am, then began presenting the news. It reported an important meeting, saying it had been convened for the purpose of re-examining the faeces. The issue would be researched and discussed, and a vote taken. Those who attended the meeting had a long list of impressive titles, which was read out in its entirety in the report. It went on to talk in detail about how they made their entrance to the meeting, the suits they wore, their expressions, the colour of their ties, and emphasised the ‘thunderous applause’ that had greeted them. Only at the end was mention made of an illegal gathering of people who had attempted to take the opportunity to cause trouble, and made a negative impact on the smooth running of the conference.
‘In addition, at the entrance to the Catholic Church on Liuli Street, a young man claimed to have acquired some gorilla faeces and ate them in front of the crowd, using this to incite the masses to gather at Round Square and support the sit-in. After this, a violent confrontation erupted, two people were seriously hurt and had to be rushed to the hospital for treatment.’
Mengliu got out of bed and washed himself. The radio was now playing ads for laundry detergent. He went out and looked at the trees and the sky, and his spirits were revived slightly. He went to his landlord’s shop for a drink of warm milk and a snack, and to chat with the elderly man as usual. But the old man, buried in his own business, ignored Mengliu.
He left the shop feeling awkward. Seeing a trishaw parked on the roadside, he climbed into it.
‘Where to?’
‘Didn’t I say to Round Square?’ He saw that it was the same dark, thin fellow he had met when he went to the square before.
‘You didn’t say anything when you got in. Am I supposed to read your mind?’ the skinny fellow said as he pedalled, the tassels around the roof of the trishaw trembling. ‘I can only take you to the top of Liuli Street. You’ll have to walk from Beiping Street to the square.’
When he arrived, he saw Hei Chun and a crowd of people gathered in a circle, their expressions serious as they discussed things. They were all very pleased when they saw him. Hungover, Mengliu looked at them without any interest.
‘Why isn’t Qizi here?’ Hei Chun asked.
‘Qizi? She…’
‘Where is she?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You had a fight?’
‘Sort of…’
‘Revolution always comes with the low tides. We have to be able to withstand the most severe tests.’
‘Yeah.’
‘A breakup is one way to prompt deeper feelings.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’
‘Women are like a strangely tangled knot. The more you struggle with them, the tighter they bind you. They only know they want this or that, but they don’t understand what a man needs.’ Hei Chun was pulling him into the gathering. ‘Put aside your troubles with women and come, share some ideas.’
19
From his long experience, Mengliu was aware that different types of women had to be handled in different ways. It wasn’t wise to approach a woman carelessly without first understanding her history, education, habits, position, and other matters related to her background. If you didn’t, you stood no chance of managing her. Up until this point in his stay with her at Swan Valley, Mengliu hadn’t been able to figure Juli out. She was like a cluster of clouds he couldn’t quite grasp. She changed shape as winds of unknown origin blew on her – becoming dog, horse, fish, lamb – sometimes singly, sometimes in a group. In an instant she would change into a plant, a tree, a spreading branch or a flowering twig, and even the most solicitous bird couldn’t destroy her peace. But relying on his instincts about women Mengliu sensed that, deep inside, Juli harboured a suppressed assertiveness and lust. Moreover, he was sure that her lust had something to do with him, and with this thought he spent the whole night in a stimulated state, a torrent of heat flowing unceasingly through his body.
Imagine yourself as the sweet breeze of Swan Valley blowing into the window as Mengliu shaved. Follow his razor blade, serving as a sort of snow plough on his cheek, piling the foam in one corner, exposing the street-smooth greenish skin. He felt his cheek, scraped a few places again, then rinsed the razor and put it in its little box in the wall cabinet. He washed his face, then raised his head and checked his reflection in the mirror from different angles. He pressed forcefully on his skin with his left hand, like a masseur – or perhaps it was more an attempt to smooth premature wrinkles. His face followed the manipulations of his fingers, going askew as he pulled and poked. If you observed carefully, you could see clearly the traits of one who belonged to the 60s generation – teeth stained by tetracycline, a lack of calcium, shattered ideals and a perplexed idleness – rather like a mirror covered with a layer of dust that made you long to reach out and wipe it clean. But you could also see that Mengliu had an open well-fed look, the look of an official. If his waist had been broader with a more protruding belly, he would pass for a mid-level cadre. Only his eyes were still very clear, unclouded by worldliness. His stiff, detached expression caused his face to wear a cold glint like the blade of a scalpel.
Now, Mengliu was as careful about his appearance as a woman. He wiggled his eyebrows – rise, shoot, pinch, spread – like lively silkworms. He puffed up his cheeks, then opened his eyes wide, and his pupils suddenly turned dull, as if a bat had just flown past. The strange face in the mirror bore none of the romantic air of the poet. Years ago, his classmates said that his ‘every pore oozed with poetry,’ and he himself believed that each drop of his sweat bore the aroma of art. But the face in front of him now was characteristic of a professional, without the slightest trace of the poet, its pores emitting only worldly indulgence and aptitude.
How could a man who wrote no poetry, put in a place where the toilet was made of gold, go about pursuing Juli with dignity? This was the question that absorbed him now.
That night the moon looked pale as it hung above the forest. The look, so melancholy, made it seem like the moon was about to break into tears.
On Beiping Street a women’s propaganda troupe appeared, headed up by Qizi. Holding a megaphone, she spoke to the crowd, making up jingles by substituting their own words for the lyrics of popular songs. A girl named Sixi played guitar as she sang. Sixi was from the Arts Department. She had a round face and dark red skin and was just over a metre and a half tall. Her raven-black hair was twisted into two thick braids. She wore the cotton print patchwork outfit typical of a minority ethnic group and jade pendants that jingled when she moved. She had a style that was simple and understated. She was healthy and fit, and her deep-set eyes were adorned with long lashes, like a row of reeds alongside a pond, which often cast their dark reflection on its surface.
Sixi could sing
and dance, and she played the guitar beautifully. She had once won first prize in a singing competition for university students, and had also participated in a nationally televised song contest and got good rankings. When Qizi and the rest recommended that Sixi join the Unity Party, she was unanimously accepted. As a contribution to the Party, she composed a theme song, ‘Tomorrow’, and performed it on the spot.
The Unity Party had taken up its main position on Beiping Street, hanging up clothing and props for performances in the vicinity. An unsavoury musty smell mingled with that of instant noodles and a mimeograph from which propaganda leaflets were being printed and distributed. Sixi sat at three square tables that had been joined to make a conference table, tuning her guitar. Her knees propped her flowery skirt up as she searched for the right key, then she sang in a solid voice.
At first, everyone looked at Sixi’s fingers, lips, face, earrings and floral dress. Then, as she sang the second verse, they closed their eyes and listened. Her voice was like a ball dangling mid-air in a fog. Sixi sucked in enough air to set her saliva splashing. She issued a string of groan-like trembling sounds from her lips, then bowed deeply.
She hopped off the table, put down the guitar, then said shyly that she had written the lyrics, but they had been polished and revised by a poet. Which one? Jia Wan. Some had heard that he wrote poetry, and was especially good at political verse. The poet’s face was round but held at an angle, with a dash of pockmarks. His nose was huge, and his eyes narrow. It was the look of one who had been brought up well.