by Sheng Keyi
So Shunyu’s father was the chuixun player his mother had met beside the river…Every time Mengliu thought of this, he felt suffocated and could not speak.
When your innocent relatives were killed by the guns of the nation, your own life had been taken over too. You were no longer yourself.
His voice softened. It was no longer so self-righteous. He did not want to go back to Beiping, but he was filled with a disgust that he could not quite understand. It didn’t matter if the robot of Swan Valley could capture the thoughts of people and understand a person’s past and future, the spiritual leader’s words still needed to be considered. What man did not want to possess power, status, and prestige? He would hold to his sense of dignity though.
‘Don’t try to tamper with my emotions. Even more, don’t slander my brothers and sisters. Whom you choose to breed with whom is your business. All I want is my freedom.’
‘You do go on and on! Today’s conversation ends here. Goodbye.’
The robot was annoyed. With a crackling sound, the machine ground to a halt. Then all was silent.
2
On Saturday mornings, there was usually a public academic report, followed by an open salon, where everyone could listen or speak as they pleased. Mengliu surprised himself by showing up at the event. He was in a daze and did not remember how he got there. He recalled what seemed to be a conversation with a robot, but could not figure out if it was real or a dream. He saw a flat space hewn out of the mountain, and on it an oval table encircled by bamboo chairs. Many young people were sitting there, and some he knew, like Esteban and Juli. They had serious expressions on their faces, which were as hard and cold as stones in winter. He noticed several girls of about sixteen or seventeen, including one with blonde hair and pink skin, a full figure, and long eyebrows above her wide eyes. She wore an indifferent, proud expression. There was also a handsome, elegant-looking young man. His facial features were perfect, delicate and gentle, with idealism flashing in his eyes. They called him Darae, and from time to time, he cast an appreciative glance at the blonde-haired girl.
The mountain breeze blew gently through the leaves on the trees along the slopes, making them sway, with the birds bobbing up and down on their branches. A mighty burst of drums sounded, as Darae presided over the reading of the conclusions of the academic report. The contents were in praise of the beauty of Swan Valley, though there was also mention of a handful of cases of theft, adultery, fornication, and other immoral actions.
‘These came about because people were unwilling to change their bloody values, and some even treated gold or diamonds as treasure. Such decadent ideas would seriously affect the development of civilisation in Swan Valley, hindering it in its quest to become the world’s most ideal place to live.
‘In some countries, there are fucking awesome princes, gold-dealers and loan sharks, and those who do not think of the good of the country or have any sense of crisis, and they all live an aimless, useless, bloody extravagant life. The wealthy all work hand in glove, making unauthorised use of the name of the state for their own bloody profit and enrichment. They exploit the poor, and the labourers and the carpenters and the farmers all have to toil endlessly. They are like bloody beasts of burden, barely making enough money to make ends meet. Their lives are a fucking misery. They suffer worse treatment than animals, but without their labour the country couldn’t survive. Even the beasts of burden are given a time of rest. They need not worry about the future. And what about the humans who are worse off than bloody animals? They labour and suffer, gaining nothing, and have to suffer pain and poverty in old age. But fucking hell, Swan Valley will never repeat those mistakes. Everything the government does is for the citizens of Swan Valley, for the citizen’s fucking lives, to do good, be optimistic and proud of the knowledge we possess. As long as everyone is pure and perfect in his or her spiritual life, this poetic lifestyle will be a reality in Swan Valley.’
‘Fucking’ and ‘bloody’ – such words kept popping up in the academic report, and Mengliu was stunned to hear them, even though he could not help but nod, the smile of a sleepwalker fixed on his face. He observed the others carefully, his eyes finally falling on Su Juli. She always looked grim, but at that moment even her hair was shining with the glory of idealism. He felt that on some nights her body must have trembled with wild joy, and that however sated she was on polite conversation, she too earnestly looked forward to the coming of midnight to lie with a man. On those hidden occasions her face shone with the elixir of love. Her hair was as smooth as silk. She would have taken off her lip ring way ahead of time, in preparation. As he thought of her warm moist lips, his body stiffened, but he immediately broke free of his absurd imagining.
Esteban seemed to have grown thinner, and looked slightly worn out, but was still in high spirits.
Like Darae he was filled with all the arrogance in the world.
The green-haired monster emerged in Mengliu’s mind, along with the robot, and the metallic flavour of that place. ‘I saw a green-haired monster,’ he confided in Esteban.
‘What …monster?’ Esteban asked.
‘A green-haired monster. Your spiritual leader.’
The academic report had ended. It was time for a short break.
On the round table sat a teapot with a spout that resembled the male genitalia. The golden glasses had long stems inlaid with diamonds, and mouths which resembled female genitalia.
The blonde girl picked up the teapot and appeared to pour out a stream of pearls. All that could be heard was a shrill tinkling sound.
Mengliu was thirsty, as if his whole body was on fire.
Before the start of the discussion, Esteban introduced Mengliu to the gathering, calling him a poet. He made particular mention of the fact that he was a carrier of excellent genes.
Still in a daze, Mengliu learned that the blonde girl’s name was Rania, and that she was one of Juli’s students.
Esteban finally introduced Darae, as the young artist who had crafted the naked sculpture of the spiritual leader.
Mengliu shook hands with Darae and was secretly amazed at how soft and smooth his hand was.
In a flash, he thought of Hei Chun, Bai Qiu, the years they had shared together, and the girls.
He sat down, feeling shaken.
‘Mr Yuan, you don’t look well. It seems you need a rest,’ Rania said. The syllables blew from her teeth and lips like a breeze over the valley. Behind her, the blue sea sparkled.
‘It’s like you’ve not quite woken up.’ Darae’s tone was suspicious.
Juli’s face was impassive as she looked at the bundle of papers in her hand, occasionally correcting a line with her pen. She appeared quite confident.
‘Let’s continue with the discussion,’ said Esteban. ‘As for crime, let’s say someone goes into another person’s garden and steals some peaches, or chickens, or perhaps even kills a person. Everyone would agree that these are crimes, and that the criminal should be punished. But when one country invades another, destroying their ancestral temples, snatching treasures, and killing millions of people, it is not considered a crime. On the contrary, it is celebrated. But the nature of these two acts is exactly the same. Both are unjust, both are crimes…’
‘Only people who are dissatisfied with the status quo are eager to rebel, and then dispossessed people make trouble, taking every opportunity to gain something from the chaos,’ Darae interjected. ‘Some governments will try to suppress the confusion by using torture, plundering and kidnapping, thereby reducing the people to beggars. If all the people in the country are beggars, then the whole nation becomes the private property of a small group or elite, much to the sorrow of the people.’
Mengliu’s mind was a little foggy. ‘You are all the private property of the green-haired monster!’
Rania hesitated for a moment, but did not alter the course of the discussion. ‘If the country is private property, it is an autocracy, like a person running his or her private business
. No matter how many workers he has, the benefits all go to the business owner, and the workers are under the supervision of the owner alone. But if you look at it another way, it’s like a joint venture, and the people are the shareholders. As the company suffers losses or gains profits, the shareholders will be affected. Everyone has a right to have a say in the company’s operations, and everyone has the obligation to give to the company.’
‘You are all the private property of the green-haired monster. She told me so herself!’
Esteban suddenly turned to address Mengliu. ‘I hear that the crime rate in some of your cities is particularly high because of social dissatisfaction and hatred. What do you think of this situation?’
It seemed no one had heard what Mengliu had said. But he was still thinking of the green-haired monster.
‘Do you have hatred in your heart, Mr Yuan?’ Esteban asked, one hand playing with his teacup.
‘What hatred?’ asked Mengliu.
‘Maybe toward women, such as…’
‘No.’
‘I heard that your people like fancy clothes and elaborate dressing, but that very few think of their spiritual adornment. They never look up at the sun or moon or stars, but are entranced by the sparkle of jewels. Do you think this makes people more noble, Mr Yuan?’ Esteban continued.
As he listened to Esteban’s undisguised sarcasm, Mengliu’s blood was stirred.
‘Of course not. I don’t deny that there are a few who live in great luxury. We can’t expect everyone to live on bread and water. Since you find it impossible to see nobility in outer displays, then what does it matter if some dress freshly and brightly? You can wrap the same body in linen or silk, but it won’t change the spirit of the person. For me, I think a life written in blood is the most noble. Perhaps you want to say that people taking off their hats or bowing to you can’t really make you happy. They can’t cure rheumatism or correct vision either, but I think no one is really all that concerned about who wears a fur, or how they kneel before a diamond. After all, it is the person wearing these things that they pay respect to.’
He spoke quickly, like a burst of machine-gun fire. He suddenly felt that his own words were fresh, and nicely expressive of his thoughts. Because of the pleasure his own remarks gave him, he no longer felt that this sort of discussion was as ridiculous as talking about poetry in a meeting of doctors.
Esteban was very gentlemanly, but his words were oppressive. ‘When the state is rich, there are massive construction projects everywhere, money is spent, and things get done. The government has shown results, but poor taste. To put it plainly, the emphasis is on showing off wealth. If the whole country is this way, no wonder the people…’
‘There is indeed a phenomenon of the sort you speak of, but you shouldn’t generalise. In any case, the government is always there to serve the people, for the benefit of the people…’ Having said this, Mengliu’s voice grew noticeably weaker.
‘Serve the people?’ Rania laughed, leaning her head over. ‘Will those in power serve as nannies to the people? Do you really believe such a childish pack of lies?’
‘Mr Yuan, I’m also inclined to think you are joking,’ Darae said confidently, touching the buttons on his cuffs. ‘In democratic countries, you shouldn’t have to wash the people’s diapers.’
‘I think that the type of government should suit the type of citizens in a country,’ Esteban said.
Rania retorted, ‘No. The type of government determines what type of citizens a country has. What type of chicken you have determines what sort of eggs you’ll get.’
‘That’s also not necessarily the case. An ugly chicken may lay double-yolked eggs. Some chickens have beautiful feathers, are gorgeous and elegant, but they still lay small ugly eggs.’ Darae laughed smugly at his own development of the metaphor.
A small bird landed on the table and began combing its feathers with its beak. It hopped happily a couple of times, then flew onto Juli’s shoulder.
3
At night when he thought of the crime he planned to commit after stripping Su Juli of her clothes, Mengliu’s body felt engorged, as if all its energy were gathered in the root of his manhood. That part of his body was a restless little beast. Fattening itself up with loneliness, now it was robust, protein-rich and ready for action. He was not sure when it had grown so fat. This newly-gained power was inconsistent with the psychological sluggishness he was experiencing. His body was betraying him, was filled with a vengeful desire. He was a stocky, well-nourished, middle-class man with a sparkle in his dark eyes. The scars of history had faded from his gaze, replaced by the charming moderation of Swan Valley.
Like a tree that grows and flowers that bloom, Mengliu opened himself up to enjoy the morning light. He was wearing a navy-blue robe. He stood up from where he was seated and, walking with an easy stride, saw Juli tending the garden, picking off dead leaves, loosening the soil and watering it. He could recognise some of the plants – Holsts Snapweed, spotted leaves of Chimaphila, single-flowered wintergreen grass, calyx, purple loosestrife, willow herbs, hickory grass, hibiscus, mock strawberry, butterfly beans… He thought that this woman with no sex life could only pass the time by tending her flowers – not unlike a widow scattering and gathering coins in the middle of the night – the various heights and different colours of flowers, growing in the ground or hanging from supports, with the wind blowing casually over them as they climbed, as if struggling and full of pain.
‘What is this flower?’ Mengliu pointed to a snowy-white blossom, making idle conversation.
‘Camellias. Boy-faced camellias…Unfortunately, when they’re most beautiful, they fall.’ Juli’s expression was simple and natural as she said this.
‘Not fall, they wither, or die, or fade. You can say that when a woman passes the age of beauty her breasts and buttocks fall,’ Mengliu teased cautiously.
‘…Can people also be said to fade?’ Juli did not understand what he implied.
‘Yes. For example, a woman dies, like a wilting flower. You can say she has faded.’
‘Esteban is waiting for your poem.’ Juli did not smile, nor did her voice become more gentle. ‘He thinks highly of you.’
‘I’m a doctor. I stopped writing poetry long ago.’
‘You can write any time. It’s not difficult for you to do.’
‘I don’t want to write.’
‘Why?’
‘What use is poetry?’ His eyes suddenly grew dark, as if darkness had fallen over the garden. Juli frowned, unsure how to answer.
‘Juli, can I ask you a question?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Throughout the long night…do you ever want that kind of thing? Do you want…to know what it’s like?’
‘What?’ Juli still did not understand what he was getting at.
‘…Have you seen the current spiritual leader?’ Mengliu reined in the hints, fearing he might annoy her.
‘Yes,’ she said, her brows still knitted.
‘With your own eyes?’
‘On the electronic screen. She used to appear once a week. Sometimes she talks with the leading scholars about science and poetry, and sometimes she chats with people about domestic issues.’
‘Is she pretty?’ Mengliu asked.
‘Maybe. She isn’t tall, and she likes to wear veils of different colours.’
‘Does she have green hair, like seaweed?’
‘Sometimes, but not always. It depends on the light.’
‘Then I’m not dreaming. I’ve seen her and talked to her,’ he said in a single breath. ‘I’ve seen her moving about in a room, talking on a phone. She mentioned you, Shanlai, Esteban. She praised all of you…’
‘These days she doesn’t appear on the electronic screen. She has gone on a world tour,’ Juli interrupted gently, burying the leaves that she had nipped off in the soil. She calmly continued clearing the ground, her movements causing her hips to swing and her buttocks to quiver, as if there were an animal under
her skirt.
Mengliu wanted to continue talking about what had happened to him, but Juli had lost interest. He stood alone in the bright sunlight, watching as her body was absorbed into the dark shadows of the house.
It was midday, and Mengliu was walking along the road in a hurry. The diamonds in his pocket knocked against his body. The people resting by the side of the road smiled at him, and he saw in that smile a much deeper meaning, as if they knew he wanted to escape from the place. Their expressions told him they saw a terrapin trapped in a screw-top jar. He realised what a stupid thing he was doing, so he slowed down and crossed his hands behind his back, walking unhurriedly as he tried hard to recall the path he had taken into Swan Valley that first day. Strangely, he could not remember. His memory had been cut off at that point. He felt like he was standing on the bank, looking at the wide expanse of water, with no trace of how he got there. He hoped to evoke more of the memory as he walked. He assumed a casual air, and wandered a long way. He had come to the engraved stone, when suddenly he fell, rolling head over heels until his body landed against a heap, some soft object, at the base of the slope. When he came to his senses, he saw two lions looking at him with kind eyes. One of them even raised itself and gracefully offered him its place.
His first reaction was to check the diamonds in his pocket. They were all there, not one missing. He could barely stand. He had pretty much always known there was no way out, but had needed to test this for his own peace of mind. After his fall, his restless soul quietened. He rested his head on the lion’s back, feeling himself no different from the birds, reptiles and other animals. He had no language, no voice, and no one would ask about his disappearance or death. He was the most common sort of creature and easily forgotten, naturally base, not even in need of a sheep dog to look after him. Where everyone is the same, they all become one big organism.
With a faint heart, he got up and walked towards the mountains. The poplars were scrawny, their leaves sparse. Birds’ nests sat in the ‘V’ between their branches. Thorns were growing in bushes. White flowers bloomed and scattered, like a girl’s jacket, giving off a light fragrance. Before long he heard the sound of a stream. Walking along its bank, he came to a body of water. The pond was small, about four or five metres across, and of a dark blue colour. The current chased the fallen leaves to the side of the pond, constantly shoving them into a tight spot. They had no choice but to jostle with each other for position.