Death Fugue

by Sheng Keyi

  Mengliu fished the leaves out and placed them beneath a tree.

  He thought, ‘Every stream flows to the sea. If I follow it, I will get some results.’

  Sure enough, before it was dark he had come upon a river, about twenty or thirty metres wide. It wasn’t deep, and its surface was placid. Bushes covered the opposite bank, and in the distance behind them he could see the boundless mountains, a touch of white at their peaks, stern and bright.

  He went into the water, intending to cross the river. He remembered wading ashore on that first night. He looked around, but he couldn’t see the remains of a boat, so he raised his head to look at the sky. There was no moon, and night was closing in.

  He tasted the water and found it salty. Thinking he must be near the sea, he grew excited. The water was cold, and seemed to suck the warmth from his body, making him shiver. His condition also had something to do with the thing he had stepped on, a hard object like a skull, covered with slippery moss. He rubbed the eye and mouth cavities with his toes, and very clearly felt two rows of sharp teeth. He thought he must also have stepped on some ribs.

  The water was up to his thighs now. It was not completely dark yet. All around was hazy, with only the snowy tops of the mountains clearly visible. Schools of fish swam by him in the water. He had never seen this kind of fish before. They were oddly shaped and not as long as a finger. Their bodies were almost transparent, and they gathered at a spot about a metre from him and halted, as if waiting to accumulate a larger school of fish in this one place. If not for the ripples on the surface of the water, they would have been difficult to detect. Together they were soft, like a cloudy body of fluid, or like seaweed floating back and forth, constantly changing its formation. Attracted, he reached toward them in the water. The fish scattered, then disappeared. Calm was quickly restored to the surface of the water.

  As he continued to make his way across the river, he felt a sting on his left leg and immediately realised something had bitten him. It was followed quickly by another hard bite. He turned and fled back to the shore. He saw two wounds on his calf, flowing with blood like a spring. As he was thinking of how to bandage the wounds, he saw Shanlai looking at him.

  It seemed Shanlai had been by the river watching him the whole time. He was chewing something as he casually walked over, spat a bit of foamy grass into his palm, and applied it to Mengliu’s wounds. The bleeding stopped.

  ‘The squids in the river are very powerful. Within a couple of minutes they can chew you to bits, leaving only a pile of white bones.’ Shanlai carried a small bamboo basket. His eyes flashed in mockery.

  ‘You’re kidding. Man-eating squids?’ In response to the extreme exaggeration Mengliu’s facial features enlarged to several times their normal size and looked a little grim as they stood out in the darkness.

  Shanlai swung his head, motioning for Mengliu to come back with him. ‘Every time there is a river burial, you can hear the ghosts of humans struggling in the water at night. The river churns like it is boiling. Actually, it is the squids snatching food, emitting an eerie sound.’ He turned back and looked at the man behind him. ‘Many millions of years ago, there were man-eating squids. You see them in all of the cave drawings of the early humans. They were very vicious.’ He reached behind and knocked his basket a couple of times. ‘If you stir-fry some of these fellows up with a bit of corn, it’s a dish to die for. I’ve got a few here. They are ferocious, but stupid enough that, with a little light, you can lure them into your net.’

  Hearing this, Mengliu grew a bit queasy. Limping behind Shanlai, he encouraged the boy to put the squid back into the river.

  Shanlai acted like he didn’t hear. He switched the torchlight on, and swung it back to look at Mengliu’s calf. He saw that no new blood was oozing and said, ‘If you are pure, God will heal the wound…’

  Thinking that he had almost been turned into a pile of bones by a bunch of squid, Mengliu shivered slightly. Not daring to act rashly, like an innocent child meekly listening to an elder’s nagging, he followed in Shanlai’s footsteps. Even the snap of dead branches beneath his feet made him flinch. As they moved away from the stream, they pushed their way through bushes with fat thick leaves, into the forest, where they were surrounded by a moist fragrant scent, which mingled occasionally with a rancid odour. Mengliu felt something was wrong. The fear of not being able to get out of the forest enveloped him. The forest at night reminded him of the scene so many years before, when young people grew like trees in Round Square, waiting for rain to come and cleanse them. The forest was silent and furious, bearing great sorrow and helplessness, as if a beast were being held back, waiting for release under the cover of darkness, when it would rush out and devour them. Qizi was like the owl perched on the tree there, eyes bright and vigilant.

  ‘I don’t understand. What were you doing at the river?’ Shanlai asked, shining his light on Mengliu’s face for a few seconds before he turned away, letting the beam play on the forest again. Someone went fleeing by as if holding something in its hand.

  ‘I…was checking to see how deep the water was.’ Mengliu’s answer wasn’t very convincing. There seemed to be baby cries coming from the forest. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘What sort of strange bird is that calling?’

  Shanlai did not immediately answer. They reached a point where the forest was less dense, and the half-moon shone down between the trees. A bat flew low through the light of the fireflies. ‘That is a waste disposal site over there,’ he finally replied. ‘Some people come to discard things, and the vultures call out. They are pleased.’

  Mengliu was still not clear about what he meant. They had crossed the hillside, and the quiet face of the town lay spread out before them. He was so surprised he was speechless. The path that had taken him all afternoon to walk took less than half an hour on the return journey. The pain of his wound and the blood trickling down his leg again let him know that he wasn’t dreaming. He set aside all the strange questions that were troubling him and filled his mind with the pleasure of returning to Juli’s side. His heart was as warm as ever. He did not want to leave her.

  4

  When Suitang first saw Jia Wan’s poetry and photos in the library, she dreamed of meeting the handsome poet, but she didn’t imagine that it would happen years later in a hospital. By that time, Jia Wan was no longer youthful and suave, but he still retained a sort of romantic elegance, the wrinkles on his face enhancing the attraction Suitang had first felt for him. Having just entered society, she was now in the first blush of adulthood, perhaps in part because of the positive experience of her affair with Mengliu. The feelings she had for him were easily transferred to Jia Wan, being a poet as he was, and because of his Cadillac. In Jia Wan’s eyes, she saw a desire for power that excited her. The old gifted scholar and the pretty young lady wasted no time falling into each other’s arms.

  Jia Wan had heart problems and needed to undergo surgery. The insurance company was even more concerned about whether he lived or died than his own family was. To begin with, there were problems with his pharmaceutical company. Some patients had died from taking medicine produced by his factory, so Jia Wan was in trouble with the legal system. Suitang said she had tried everything humanly possible to set her man on the right path, but Jia Wan was like a deeply rooted tree, unshaken by any tempest.

  When Mengliu learned that Suitang was pregnant with Jia Wan’s child, he felt his head would explode.

  Suitang’s affections were nothing more than a youthful whim, not to be counted on. Jia Wan promised to give her two million yuan, provided that she abort the baby. Jia Wan’s wife had dark thoughts regarding the issue, and wanted to wait for Suitang to abort the baby, and then not give her anything. She had to prevent Suitang giving birth to the child, for fear she would demand a share of Jia Wan’s fortune. Though Suitang was enduring the discomforts of pregnancy and pretending she wanted to keep the child, she went quietly to the hospital and had an abortion. Then the injured bird landed in Meng
liu’s garden. Imagining it was Qizi, he took her into his warm nest and nursed her back to health, until even her feathers glistened again. When she had recovered, she talked about her fascination with poets once more, mentioning Bai Qiu and the poem in his suicide note. ‘I see soldiers with their bayonets, on patrol in my verse, searching everyone’s conscience.’

  Sometimes she wore a long pink chiffon dress as she sat in one of the lounge chairs in Mengliu’s garden, reading his poetry or looking toward the distant mountains in a trance, as if she had not walked out of the shadows of the past.

  ‘Qi– No, Suitang, let me tell you about Jia Wan,’ Mengliu said, the alcohol perhaps making his speech a little incoherent. ‘You don’t understand him…Hei Chun might still be alive…It’s hard to know the truth.’

  He looked at Suitang’s face. She seemed very interested in what he had to say.

  In the story of Jia Wan’s infidelities, according to Mogen, the betrayal of his motherland and of certain political beliefs were smaller matters than the betrayal of his friends.

  The summer following the breaking up of the protest in Round Square, the atmosphere had been sensitive and fragile, and everyone was on edge. Summer arrived early, many of the flowers refused to open, and the trees remained bare of leaves. People were very interested in poetry readings, which occurred often and were well-attended. The most sensational was the one held in a small garden near Round Square. There had once been grassy mounds there, where the bodies of the dead had been buried, but it had since been covered with concrete. Most of the reciters were students. They read poems by Neruda and Miłosz, Whitman and the Three Musketeers. Later, a young man rushed onto the stage, and recited what was in effect a letter of resignation. He was scrawny as a flagpole. Sweat covered his forehead, and he was nervous, his face suddenly turning brick red. He said, ‘Being obedient citizens under a tyrant’s reign is immoral…’ This phrase pushed the atmosphere to a climax. The young man worked at the Propaganda Unit and was known only by his code name. Somebody shouted that it was time to take care of the headaches, and time for the young people to give their lives for their country. The people’s emotions were stirred. Things got out of control, grew chaotic. One of the less famous poets recited poems as he undressed. Then most of the poets began to strip until they were naked, turning the poetry reading into performance art. Later, when the police came, those who were naked and those who were not, poets and non-poets, were all taken into custody and charged with disturbing social order. They were detained for fifteen days. The enquiries did not address the undressing, most of the questions were about the content of the poetry. More pointed investigations revealed that it had been aimed at inciting the people, and instigating a reactionary movement. This was especially true of the resignation letter, and his use of the word ‘tyranny’ brought the young man, Xiao Guang, a good deal of trouble. He remained incarcerated longer than anyone else, and it was at this time that Mogen met him.

  It was finally over, but the situation remained tense. Many had been caught, punished, and even put to death. Many more remained under ‘close observation’. Mogen fled to his hometown on a remote island to hide. Jia Wan went to great trouble to find him, bringing him news of the death or disappearance of many of their classmates. Of course, he also brought cigarettes, liquor and books, and kept him company as they drank, discussed poetry, talked about ideals, and analysed the current situation. Mogen felt that, even as the world collapsed around him, he had gained a valuable friendship. He decided he would continue working with Jia Wan for the sake of their fallen classmates. Mogen acted anonymously, while Jia Wan used his numerous connections to help him find work in the district, procuring materials for the manufacture of illegal cigarettes. Mogen still felt uneasy. When everyone else was living in hiding, why was Jia Wan completely unaffected? He even seemed to be a little too successful. But then, one night, Jia Wan drove for more than two hours, rushing back from the provincial capital to vent his frustrations to Mogen, cursing the authorities and informing his friend that he had resigned from the Plum Party. Mogen gained new respect for Jia Wan, and started treating him as a confidante. It was on that night that Jia Wan brought up the idea of setting up an organisation to carry out underground activities. He would be responsible for handling the money, and he asked Mogen to find trustworthy people. First, they would start an underground newspaper for publicity and the enlightenment of the people, and at the same time, they would correspond with related overseas organisations. He even had the audacity to say that everyone should behave like the poets had.

  Hot-blooded Mogen once again found meaning in life. He immediately started preparing and not long after, got hold of a place for the underground press, pulling trusted compatriots together from all over the island. However, Jia Wan’s promised funds never materialised, no matter how long Mogen waited. One day, Xiao Guang, the reader of the resignation letter, suddenly appeared before Mogen, and asked him about his relationship with the overseas organisations. He had stolen a secret document and said it might be valuable. Skeptical, Mogen asked him why he should risk imprisonment. Xiao Guang said that, for the sake of their companions who had shed their blood, he had always hoped to be able to do something to help. He could not just stand idly by. Mogen treated the matter casually at the time, but he did tell Jia Wan about it. Jia Wan was overjoyed and told Mogen to get his hands on the document. Mogen thought Xiao Guang could not be trusted, and did not want to be fooled by him. Several days later, Jia Wan drove to Mogen’s residence, and the two of them discussed Xiao Guang in detail, finally deciding that, even if he wasn’t very reliable, he was at least harmless. Three days later Jia Wan again brought up the document. Mogen remained hesitant, but Jia Wan demanded that he get it within three days, because he had already mentioned it to an overseas organisation. Two days later, he came to Mogen’s residence again, enraged this time. He said five people from the overseas organisation had already come to see him, and he did not want to keep them waiting as they had many other matters to attend to. If they did not establish trust from the beginning, there would be no way to work together in the future. He tossed his cigarette butt out the window, and bunched up his face. He wanted Mogen to pick up the document immediately, then go to the hotel to find the people from the overseas organisation.

  Mogen got the file from Xiao Guang and went to the hotel in the city and met Jia Wan, but there was no sign of the members of the organisation. Jia Wan told him it was not convenient for them to meet him at the moment, but that the file would be passed on to them.

  Actually, the so-called ‘overseas organisation‘ was just one of Jia Wan’s fabrications. He was also the one who had paid Xiao Guang one hundred yuan to read the resignation letter, then paid him another hefty sum to be part of this ‘document’ scheme. As soon as Mogen left the hotel, he was arrested by plain-clothes police officers and immediately sentenced to five years in prison for leaking state secrets. After his release, he could not find work, nor would anyone publish his articles, so he was left destitute.

  Jia Wan, who had rendered meritorious service on the other hand, was transformed. He started up his own business and married the daughter of a senior official. He wrote lyrics praising the political apparatus, and his talent for flattery grew and grew. Using the rotted-out ladder of poetry, he climbed his way to the top through the black chimney of conscience. Hearing that Mogen had fallen on hard times, he secretly contacted him through influential friends, hoping to patch things up by using his wealth to redeem himself for past wrongs.

  ‘No matter what, Jia Wan is more powerful than you. There’s nothing he won’t do, no crime he won’t commit. He knows what he wants.’ Suitang’s sleepy voice did not lose its harshness. ‘But you? You don’t write poetry anymore. What do you want? Where are your ideals?’

  ‘After Bai Qiu’s death, poetry became hypocrisy, showing off, meaningless.’ Mengliu’s face darkened. ‘Rows of sentences are just row upon row of corpses. It’s all ringing in the ears, and h
allucination.’

  Suitang’s eyes closed as she lay on the lounge. She seemed to have fallen asleep.

  ‘Yes. The Three Musketeers are either dead or castrated. Everyone thinks that romance with a doctor conforms more to reality.’ She lazily opened her eyes and said leisurely, ‘A hot-blooded fellow could soar higher than the wind, higher than any victory ever experienced, transcend the most beautiful utterances in the history of the world. We have left that time behind, and we have learned to crawl. Armed men couldn’t break down the security doors. Only a few men with long hair were left to dwell in Beiping. It is impossible to know whether they feared bloodshed. I still want to believe that, besides shouting and singing, our flesh was also hardened. I am waiting for war, to bring back my homeland. The wolves are growing old and perishing in the wilderness, they have nowhere else to go. I am not a thug. I just want to marry a poet.’

  Seeing that Mengliu had no response, Suitang straightened up and said slowly, ‘Those two sentences about war and wolves… would you know who wrote them?’

  Of course he knew that the poem was written by Hei Chun on the evening before the bloodshed. The poem had circulated underground. Everyone who read it was struck with sorrow. Those who died would not live again, and those who had disappeared were still missing. The Green Flower had been closed down, Shunyu’s father captured. Mengliu did not want the pressures of his past to bear down on his present life. In particular, he could not bear to let a girl as lovely as Suitang know the cruel weight of history. But his more secret reason was the fact that he had not played the part of a hero at the crucial moment. He didn’t have enough of that quality to fascinate a young girl. He said casually, ‘I’m a doctor. I only care about the life and death of my patients. I do not bother with who writes what sort of poetry.’