Death Fugue

by Sheng Keyi

  8

  At the thought of vultures pecking at the vacant bloody wreckage of the child’s flesh, Mengliu’s stomach did churn. He felt less and less like a doctor who had opened up the flesh of others and more like a fragile girl. He had thought there was nothing left that could disgust him, whether death, politics, poetry or desire. He wanted to vomit, but could not. He had gone for two days without food, and was feeling drowsy. The child seemed to be alive. He watched the vultures snap at its throat, devouring the innards. They pecked at its flesh, staining their feathers with the child’s blood, their eyes grim. No one told him why the pit was called the rubbish disposal site. Both he and the topic were unpopular. Even Shanlai would not explain it to him. He drank fermented tea, which made him hungry, but also calmed him. The intimacy between him and Juli had disappeared, as if it had all been of his own imagining. He could not get any confirmation from her. She remained as polite, civilised and indifferent as ever. He could not imagine her involved in debauchery any more than he could imagine Esteban, stern as the emblem of the nation, in that hidden moment of ecstasy, face twisted as he climaxed and ejaculated.

  A week later, it was arranged for Mengliu to stay elsewhere, apart from Juli, a couple of kilometres away in a small house with a garden, built exactly the same as hers, though the plants in its garden were disorderly. The furnishings were exactly the same, with a painting of a forest on the wall in the living room, replete with snakes, butterflies and all sorts of creatures. The bedding was new, the batik linen embroidered with drums surrounded by groups of birds facing each other. Between the birds was a snake, which in turn held a gourd. Butterflies flew out of the gourd, filling the spaces between the snake and the birds. The room had an ambiguous wedding-night sort of atmosphere. Mengliu walked numbly in a circle around the bedroom then back to the living room. Juli’s student Rania was there, as if she had dropped from the sky, her plump body stuck in a wicker chair. Her golden hair was piled into a high beehive atop her head, her skin was pale and she had a cold aloof look in her eyes.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ His meaning was clear. He was not happy about being disturbed.

  ‘This is my home,’ she said deliberately, getting up from the chair to replenish her cup of fermented tea. Her fingers, pale and plump as maggots in contrast to the black tea, creating a strong visual impact. ‘Surely you cannot be completely ignorant.’

  Rania had the charm of a noble lady today, and looked like the Mona Lisa, wrapped in a large loose scarlet robe with pale pinkish purple pyjamas underneath, which left her full bosom half exposed. Even so, Mengliu felt she was too young, with that unique naivety of wayward girls. ‘I would appreciate more information.’ He could not keep the note of sarcasm from his voice. ‘I’d like to see what fresh tricks there will be.

  ‘Have a good look at this. If you don’t understand it, I’m obliged to translate it for you.’

  Rania took an envelope from her robe. Its sticky seal had been carefully opened so as to preserve its original appearance. Mengliu looked inside. It was an official document issued by the Swan Valley Council, a marriage-gene document. He was so shocked he felt the fear of someone about to be executed on the spot. He closed his eyes, as if he was waiting for his throat to be cut. At that moment his mind was in chaos, with red files surfacing above the mess, each as murderous as a bullet, with the list of the condemned giving off a charred odour, and birds like ashes flying in the sky.

  The document was handwritten, a lean script on white paper. There was a fresh woody scent, and he could tell careful attention had been given to the document’s format. It was beautifully laid out, impeccable. At the top, in the centre, was a line of text in red and in a bold font. ‘Regarding the decision to arrange the marriage of Mr Yuan Mengliu and Ms Rania Fu…’

  Mengliu started, the blood was rushing to his head. ‘Ha!’ he laughed, then said strangely, ‘Arranging for Mr Yuan Mengliu and Ms Rania Fu to be married?’

  Rania sipped her tea indifferently. Mengliu’s mouth gasped as he continued reading. The document not only contained detailed information and explanations about the decision, but also described their race, height, weight, blood type, eating habits, hobbies, and included a variety of genetic data. The data was very precise. Scientifically, he and Rania were a perfect match, and their offspring would be a one-hundred-per-cent prodigy. At five or six, or even younger, the child’s thinking would be as mature as any adult’s. Their union would bring about the most perfect creation in history, a genetic legend. The document contained many more theories, such as that strong genes build strong countries, that when a country is involved in international conflict it is a contest based on the quality of the people and their knowledge, that riches and power begin with good genes, grasping the spirit of education starts from birth, and so on. At the end, it said, ‘We have not created a new society because we are better than others, but only because we are simple people with simple human needs. We want air and light, health and honour, freedom and spiritual pursuits. Our impartial behaviour is innate. We, the fine citizens of the new nation of Swan Valley, will capture the world’s attention in a few years.’

  ‘Absurd! Absurd! Absurd!’ Mengliu shook his head repeatedly. ‘What a cock and bull story! Can you even believe this nonsense? Are you obeying it?’

  Rania’s face was like a full moon, like flowers in full bloom protected by strong leaves from the freezing wind. She wiped tea from the table, her clothes rustling with the movement, without showing any response.

  ‘Rania, we do not like one another, and yet we are commanded to become husband and wife. Don’t you find that ridiculous? If I haven’t guessed wrongly, the person you like is Esteban. You should tell him. We should each pursue our own happiness.’

  Mengliu felt that this beautiful girl was like a medicine. Nourishing, adding supplement but not too overbearing, gentle on the liver, stopping pain and harvesting sweat. It was difficult for him to view her as a flower, but maybe this was her misfortune. She was the opposite of Juli.

  Swanese girls were not rash. At this critical moment Rania remained quiet and calm.

  You could say she was confident, or apathetic, or just dispassionate when she said, ‘Happiness is in the heart. You do not need to pursue it, or even seek it. Whom one likes and whom one marries are different matters. There is no conflict. You Dayangese are used to taking good things for yourselves, turning beauty into something ugly, whole things into something broken. As a result, everything is ruined, and you become disillusioned. You say you want to become a monk, or to migrate, but in fact, you just want to escape.’

  ‘Rania, don’t you have anything to say about this arranged marriage?’ Mengliu was deflated. ‘I’m a layman, not at all a part of your world…If you don’t know that love can sometimes demand one’s whole life, then you can never understand real love…’

  ‘Who says a marriage has to have love? For you the world is big, but not as big as your heart. Is there nothing, or no theory outside the heart under heaven?’ Rania had a point of her own to make.

  ‘Your system in Swan Valley, whatever your observances, has nothing to do with me. I want to choose the person I love and marry her. That is my right.’

  ‘Well, it seems you really don’t know anything. You’ve been appointed the Head of a Hundred Households. I want to congratulate you on your official position, your contribution to Swan Valley. Your Certificate of Citizenship and letter of appointment will be issued soon and sent to you.’ Rania’s nostrils flared and she snorted. ‘I really do not understand what use Swan Valley has for a washed-up poet. But anyway, please be less selfish and think more for the collective good.’

  ‘Official? You think marriage is for the collective good?’

  ‘You don’t love Swan Valley?

  ‘I love my own country.’

  ‘But your own country doesn’t love you.’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense. I won’t marry you. I don’t want to create a child prodigy.’ He thought
of the raccoon-like Shanlai becoming a miniature wizened old man, with the verses rotting in his belly and causing indigestion, gallstones, kidney stones, intestinal ulcers. His blood would cease to flow, and he would no longer be able to hold the knowledge inside. They would use a scalpel to dig it out, opening the diseased organ and removing tens of thousands of archaisms and countless useless words.

  ‘It’s just pride on your part. The match is right. Forget other women.’ Rania thought for a moment, then added, ‘Do you know what I’m talking about?’

  Mengliu’s angry exit from the house brought an end to their unpleasant conversation, but an hour later, when his feelings had calmed, he found that Rania’s attitude had also changed. She was respectful towards him now, and more careful with her words, and even her silences expressed a more reverential obedience. She referred to him as Master Yuan, and she looked like a perfectly submissive wife and a good mother.

  ‘I think I offended you earlier. Never mind if you write poetry or not, I should still show you the respect I would a poet. I have not done so, but now I know what I should do.’ Rania offered him a pile of clothing, and a scarlet mandarin robe, its collar and cuffs embroidered with birds and flowers. On its hem, the swans were so finely sewn that the wings looked alive. She held up the new robe, and Mengliu involuntarily opened his arms and slipped them into the sleeves. As she helped him dress she said, ‘This was made especially for you, a combination of styles befitting the Head of a Hundred Households, and a bridegroom. You don’t know this, but the position is only given to those who are highly respected, so it’s an honour. I believe you will be able to take the lead in dutifully doing good deeds.’

  As if under a strange hypnosis, Mengliu began to feel a little smug. He looked at Rania as she buttoned his robe. As she clasped the next to last button she squatted down, and her breasts swelled as her knees pressed against them. When she finished, she twitched the hem and stroked the birds that were embroidered there. Perhaps because she had squatted down, and her blood flow had been blocked, her pale face was flushed. Her hair was flowing. A red shell hung between her breasts.

  Mengliu stepped back, spread out his arms and looked down at himself. His body was covered with birds with strange eyes and gloriously overlapping feathers. It was like a magical robe, and as he wore it, he felt a burning sensation in his chest. His mind was in chaos, and his legs seemed to float, as if he were in the clouds.

  ‘Tonight at the bonfire party we are to take the lead. We need to arrive on time.’ Rania’s expression was submissive, like a humble wife’s, a lowly sort of humility.

  Once it was dark, she was a different person again. She wore a white wool dress, spread her wings and flew out the door, bouncing like a Mona Lisa and singing the wedding march in a shrill voice. He did not know this dance of hers, whether it was tap dancing, or a tango, or line dancing. It was a bit like all of them, and also unlike each. It was dissipated and yet restrained. It stopped as it reached a frenzy. It was a rhythmic pulsing, like waves of flesh. She danced wildly all the way, bringing Mengliu to the square.

  There was a lot of people there. The fire had been lit and the drums were beating. It was a masquerade, many of the people were dressed like savages and wore animal masks. Women suddenly exposed their flesh, draping branches over themselves, leaves dangling as they shook their breasts, twisting their bodies in madness and desire. Some people were using metal skewers to roast rabbits, seasoning them with marinade or sprinkling them with herbs. They were also cooking squid, chicken wings, pig hearts, potatoes, onions, cabbages, sending up fragrant aromas.

  Mengliu spotted Juli. Even though she was wearing a vulture mask, her eyes were uncovered, and dazzling. Her hair fell like a waterfall, and her painted body was glittering in the light of the fire. Her breasts were clasped in two melon shells, and she wore a string of red cherries around her neck. Her lower body was wrapped in a skirt of corn husks, and her legs were smooth and as sinuous as a swimming dragon. Earlier, when Rania had told him that at parties of this kind the Swanese people were allowed to abandon all modesty and engage in wild pleasure, he did not expect to see such scenes. He wondered what a carnival amongst these aesthetes, the Swanese, would really be like and what the limits of their revelry would be. The beauty of the women and the smell of the food stimulated him. The music was lively, the drums and flutes were playing with abandon. Men and women alike were stirred into action, whipped to intensity, their legs flailing and hips gyrating in a danse macabre. They leapt into any space that became vacant, rubbing hips and shoulders against one another in play that was rough and wanton, full of provocation and seduction, like a grand orgy.

  ‘Head of a Hundred Households, today is a double celebration. Why are you looking so glum?’ Esteban pulled off his tusked mask. His lower body was encircled by a leopard skin, and he carried a spear.

  ‘I am appreciating it.’ Dressed in his official robes, Mengliu replied briefly. ‘What is this dance?’

  ‘The Infinite Dance. It was invented by the Chinese. During the Spring and Autumn period, when the Emperor Chu died, his disciples wanted to pursue his woman, and they invented this dance to tempt her.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s the Infinite Dance. I’ve heard of people dressing beautifully for it, and eating elegant food to make them radiant… but with you this is…’

  ‘Yes, the food must be elegant, and the clothing beautiful.’ Esteban gave him an arrogant smile. ‘But to the Swanese, clothing would only cover our perfect bodies.’

  As the pair was talking, Darae came over carrying a metal skewer with a roasted animal on it, saying, ‘Mr Yuan, this is the rabbit king. Yesterday, it bit off the water buffalo’s neck, and a hundred rabbits devoured the buffalo.’

  Lions that ate grass, squids that ate people, rabbits killing and eating a buffalo. These unusual things in Swan Valley no longer seemed strange to Mengliu.

  ‘Mr Yuan, Darae’s cooking skills are superb, just like his sculpting skills. Why don’t we watch him use his knife on the rabbit. Esteban waved his hand toward the square, exclaiming, ‘Please play “The Mulberry Song”. Everyone continue dancing!’

  Darae took the roasted rabbit off the skewer and sat at the communal table, on which there were laid out knives of various sizes. He took one and applied it to the meat. It was as if his actions were a dance timed to the music. The petals of meat flew in the air like plum blossoms, and their aroma lingered. He paused, changed knives, then took up the dance again, cutting through the muscles and dismembering the animal. Mengliu heard the tearing of the flesh as it was stripped from the bone. The rabbit meat was oily, with a strong taste. With the last note Darae gracefully put the knife down, the process of butchering the rabbit and the song ending together.

  ‘Ah, that’s amazing. There’s nothing better than watching a skilful butcher dismembering an ox.’ Mengliu was filled with wonder. ‘How have you mastered such skills?’

  ‘Darae holds in high esteem the chef who butchered oxen for King Hui of Liang,’ Esteban said, smiling. ‘Everything is an art. Does its beauty match that of a good poem?’

  Mengliu rubbed his hands, trying to restrain his excitement. But Esteban had mentioned poetry again, and this spoiled the mood a little for him.

  Rania, having had enough of dancing, was like a bun that had just come out of the steamer. Her expression showed that she was enjoying herself. She stood to one side, her eyes filled with pride.

  Someone brought lotus-leaf cakes, cucumbers, garlic, sweet sauces, hot pepper rings and carrot sticks, placing them in a huge circle on the table. ‘Will you please, together with your wife, taste the rabbit,’ Darae said respectfully, not at all carrying himself like a great artist.

  Feeling himself like an emperor in his robes, Mengliu involuntarily fixed a more dignified expression on his face. As he chewed the delicious rabbit meat, his face remained ridiculously stiff.

  ‘In another forty minutes, the couple will enter the bridal chamber.’ Esteban ate a few cakes then got
up and left his seat. ‘Someone will bring you to the hospital. Everything has been set up.’

  ‘Hospital?’ Mengliu swallowed the last slice of meat. ‘But why should we go to the hospital?’

  ‘Artificial insemination,’ Esteban said, without looking back.

  Mengliu felt like the chair had been kicked out from under him. His face fell.

  ‘You really don’t know much,’ Rania added. ‘That’s the regulation.’

  9

  The light of the sun rising in the east fell diagonally across the fence and into the garden. With the fresh seed growing in her body, Rania had the look of a new wife. She was like a pregnant cat, and seemed even more elegant when she walked. The old rebellious, naughty, mean edginess had disappeared. She had begun to tend the plants in the garden as she waited for the seed in her body to germinate in the sun, to flower and bear fruit. Mengliu felt it was a dream. His feelings for her had grown even stranger to him. He had no idea what she was thinking, and feared he would never figure it out. He felt the people of Swan Valley were like robots running on a program. In the face of instruction they offered unconditional obedience. And yet it was as if everyone here was a philosopher, denying personal desire with their lofty spirits and the depth of their insights about life.

  The wound on Mengliu’s leg had still not healed. In fact, it was just as they had said, regressing again after it had begun to improve.

  Now that she was Mengliu’s wife under the law, Rania used a mysterious potion every day to clean his wound, murmuring as she did so, as if she was saying a prayer before a meal. Since the absurdity of their wedding night, Mengliu had continued to struggle. All the way to the hospital he vowed not to submit to their arrangements, even to die fighting them. Upon reaching the hospital, he and Rania had been separated, and he was brought to a secret chamber with warm lighting and mural-covered walls. The elaborate frescoes with their quasi-religious symbolism moved him greatly. He skirted around green and red mountains, meandering rivers, plains, hills and forests, and a barefoot flying god. Above the giant lotus blossoms men and women engaged in intercourse, employing all kinds of positions. As the light shifted, they seemed to move in a very lifelike way. Meanwhile members of the hospital staff stood in a corner playing sensual tunes on reed flutes, while a woman chanted passages from a book, as if calling him enticingly to bed. Obscene sounds seemed to come from the people in the pictures. Under such stimulation, poor Mengliu’s resolve and dignity crumbled together. A young nurse, smiling with admiration, brought a glass bottle over, and he was happy to pay his debt in pent-up seed. They planned to use an instrument to inject the fresh sperm into Rania. Now he saw that the figures on the lotus were the Hindu god Shiva and his wife. They weren’t moving after all. Perhaps the obscene images had been the product of his own imagination. The last image he saw was of a woman, upside down and with legs spread apart, a plant growing out of her womb.