Death Fugue

by Sheng Keyi

  Rania was a woman who was easily managed now. After marriage, she was idle and dull, brightening her days by sipping fermented tea, cleansing her organs along with her libido. All distractions had been washed away. She had become as pure and innocent as a baby, her mind a vast empty space. Touched by the orange of the sun, Rania’s sunflower-like face looked eastward, filling her fertile body with the sun’s warmth. Mengliu saw the germinating sprout pushing her belly outward. A strange tenderness filled him, brief but sweet. In a way, this unexpected family life had struck a chord in his instincts, as if a candle had been lit in a dark chamber, allowing him to study himself. He was still unable to find clarity – without poetry, his former life had collapsed. It was past. He had often thought about how, in this morass, he could rebuild his world, but it was all in vain. The whole world had caved in.

  Mengliu felt a little fondness for the serenity before him. A woman he had never touched, pregnant with his child. He hardly knew her. Her civility towards him gave him a sense of dignity and self-worth. He could appreciate the simplicity and perfection of this kind of relationship, like prescribing the right medicine for a specific illness. Sometimes he missed Juli acutely, and the distant Suitang, and Qizi, though he did not know whether she was still alive. Rania did not mind his moodiness at such times. She gave all his belongings a good cleaning, even destroying his wallet – credit cards and all – without his permission. She said it was all rubbish, not needed by the Swanese, and therefore cumbersome. The spirit could not be measured in Arabic numerals. People could not live by figures alone. It was a waste of time to fight for worldly possessions. She said the spring has flowers while the autumn has the moon, summer has breezes and winter snow. Having nothing to do is the best season. You could write poetry, study or meditate, with nothing confusing or surprising happening, no improper thoughts, you needed only to feel cheerful, because the family and the nation were prospering. She related everything to the politics of the nation, turning a flea into an elephant with her descriptions, or a crocodile into a gecko. It was her responsibility to assist Mengliu fully in his role as Head of a Hundred Households, and possibly even as the future Head of a Thousand Households. A dutiful wife should naturally push her husband forward in this way.

  Rania was bathed in sun, her hair pulled back into a bun, her forehead white and shiny, idealism crystallising in her features. Her arms lay on the armrests of her chair, as white as porcelain in the sunlight. She looked like she could break. Her fingers were plump as maggots, their nails rosy. Mengliu had never known their texture or their warmth, their desire or even their curiosity.

  They had never known the plains of his body, and yet they belonged to him.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at Rania’s dazzling white face. It was a leering expression, as if he was calculating how he might seduce her. Since he could not do anything with his own legal wife, except perhaps one day escape with her to the forest for an illicit liaison, he now understood how seriously wrong the situation was.

  ‘Where did you put my bag of marbles?’ he asked, thinking of his diamonds.

  ‘I threw them away,’ she answered.

  ‘You tampered with my stuff again? That was a souvenir Shanlai gave me.’ He was angry, and distressed about the diamonds.

  ‘Are you still talking about “mine” and “yours”? Yours is mine. You forgot that this authority was conferred on me by Swan Valley,’ Rania said casually. ‘I was assigned to be your wife according to the document.’

  Having nothing to say to that, Mengliu turned to the rubbish bin, but he could not find the bag of marbles. ‘You should marry your Swan Valley. It is more suitable than any man to be your husband. I want to annul the marriage right now.’

  ‘I know. If you had married Su Juli, you wouldn’t say this. But I should remind you that only genes can be a basis for annulment.’

  ‘You don’t need to bother about who I might have married… Swan Valley’s ban on sexual intercourse, its reliance on artificial insemination – creating geniuses – don’t you find these things contrary to human nature?’ Mengliu turned his back to the sun. His body was covered by a soft layer of dust motes. ‘Rania, as a human, as a woman, do you really not have an opinion about this?’

  ‘No. They’re the rules.’

  ‘There’s always a place not exposed to the sun. A little bit of shadow is nothing very unusual…but now, this sort of thing…’

  Rania smiled quietly, as if to say he was making a fuss over nothing. She turned and went into the house, and when she came back out she carried a tea set. ‘Many years ago we had an artist who went to China and returned with many relics. Look at this purple clay teapot. It’s said to be a thousand years old. Try it and see what is different about our fermented tea when it is brewed from Swan Valley’s water in a Chinese purple clay teapot.’ She was very particular about her tea-making, not the least bit perfunctory as she spoke. ‘Smoking is bad for one’s health. Smoking is not allowed, and tobacco production is prohibited. Tea-drinking has been designated the national pastime because tea cleanses the heart, promotes goodness and fosters a peaceful environment.’

  Rania did not speak like a big-hearted, empty-headed person, and Mengliu had some respect for that. ‘If people maintain a preference for a single flavour there will be nutritional imbalance. The provisions in the tea referendum seem a little overbearing.

  ‘In some places, good tea is ruined by common hands, just as a good landscape can be ruined by a mediocre artist, or good students made poor by inferior teaching. Swan Valley does not have such terrible problems.’ Rania took a sip of her tea, testing its flavour with her eyes closed. ‘Mr Yuan, don’t be a nitpicker. You have admitted that your own place is quite imperfect. Your pitiful attempt at democracy crushed by the government and left to die…’

  ‘You bitch, don’t try to change the subject,’ Mengliu interrupted rudely, having gulped down two cups of tea. ‘This tea isn’t so special. The one who brewed it didn’t put her heart into it, so there’s no soul in the tea.’

  ‘You’re right. I was distracted. I kept thinking of a question. Did you…’ she stared at his face. ‘Did you do that with Su Juli?’

  ‘Do what?’ He pretended to be innocent.

  ‘Okay, I’ll say it directly. Did you go to bed with her?’

  ‘No,’ he said coldly.

  ‘You are my husband. I will not betray you.’

  ‘It’s true. I didn’t.’

  ‘Then Esteban? Her relationship with him?’

  This was something Mengliu also wanted to know, so he gave a mysterious knowing smile, deliberately provoking her. ‘I can’t say. You should ask the parties involved.’

  ‘Mengliu, I feel we should have no secrets between us.’ She had changed, and was now calling him by his given name.

  ‘What? No secrets? I hardly know you. I wouldn’t even count you as a friend.’ Mengliu suddenly wanted to mess with this woman.

  ‘You did not see the requirements in the files…Of course, we shouldn’t talk of requirements, but I really do want to be your friend…your confidante…your wife.’

  ‘You don’t need to offer sweet talk. Of course, if you have a good attitude, I will change my view of you.’ Then Mengliu added abruptly, ‘Let me ask you. What sort of place is the waste disposal site in the forest?’

  Rania’s face darkened. She stammered, and said she really did not know, as she had never gone roaming about there.

  ‘You’re still not honest enough,’ Mengliu snorted. ‘I was testing you. You just missed a chance to earn my trust.’

  Rania was embarrassed, and her face was mottled, as if crisscrossed with the shadows of tree branches. She looked as if she were suffering from vitiligo.

  10

  No one had given Yuan Mengliu a concrete idea of what the Head of a Hundred Households should do. Life in Swan Valley was based on virtue. They didn’t need to lock the doors at night, or keep watch on the roads. The more leisurely an officer’s life w
as, the more it proved that the society was stable, like a smooth surface on a deep lake, free of waves. There had never been sit-ins, poster campaigns, riots or any such thing. There was a regular flow of inactivity, with everything kept calm and quiet. Of course there could be no substantial change in Mengliu’s relationship with Rania either. They were still two unconnected wells, each with its own patch of sky. They always seemed courteous enough to each other. As for a marital relationship, Mengliu was secretly inclined to feel that marriage practices here were more civilised than in Dayang, and of a higher nature. Dayang’s marriage customs were more hypocritical. He remembered Suitang’s evaluation, how she had said that most married men kept another woman on the side. The wives’ forbearance, tolerance, magnanimity, and the so-called idea of their being sensible all allowed the root of their husbands’ vice to grow stronger and thicker. A wife had no power to lessen the drive of the male in her husband, and she certainly wasn’t attractive enough to increase it. And yet, she emphasised, this was society’s mindset, its immovable way of thinking, and marriage was its highest form of self-deception. The male temperament was never as humble as its root, aware as it was of the demands of the situation. His spirit was more like this wretched root, full of wrinkles and folds that would house filth. But men were never as frank and sincere as their own dicks. They could put on all the trappings of a eunuch – falsetto voice, ambiguous discourse and all – then read Playboy when they were alone and get off with the girl next door after dark. It was obvious that Suitang’s explosive verbal power was something Jia Wan had given her. But Mengliu thought that her argument, though a bit extreme, wasn’t unreasonable, and was useful in bringing him to terms with his own sense of absurdity.

  Their house was full of poetry books. Rania would readily pick one up and start reading. It was if she read the poems full of sexual content especially for Mengliu’s hearing, to stir his tired body. To begin with, as soon as he heard her reading poetry he would leave the house for long enough to become exhausted. There was no way to coexist peacefully with her. He had submitted a request for separation, but it was rejected by the Genetics Governing Body, so he ended up writing a confession letter instead, and here his attitude toward poetry became even more ambiguous. He knew Rania was trying to stimulate him, to stoke his desire and inspiration for poetry, but her efforts were futile. She was overly concerned with whether or not he would write poetry, and this lead him to feel it was all a conspiracy, including the marriage. The doubts snowballed in him. As he thought of the mysterious unknown spiritual leader, of the landfill in the forest, the strange pension system, he often touched the edges of a memory that remained a huge blank patch, like a hole where a tooth was missing. It was chilling.

  In the midst of this boring, tedious stalemate, he thought of organising a meeting or holding a spiritual forum. This would also be the best way to keep out of Rania’s way. First he would call together the leaders or heads of the various households, then choose a suitable theme for the forum. They would settle on a place with attractive scenery to stay for a few days, and send the conclusion of their discussion to be published in the news so that everyone could learn from it. The first meeting went well, the baptism of spirit reflected in their gloomy but energetic faces. Since no specific problems had arisen for them to solve, they had to come up with plans for possible rainy-day scenarios. The meetings began on a monthly schedule, and soon moved to once a week, running for two or three days at a time. They were held in various parts of the country, with large or small groups as suited the situation. The groups might include a director of social studies, a chief body-guard, a medical foreman, the Head of a Thousand Households, and multiple subordinate leaders under the Heads of a Hundred Households. It was mandatory for those invited to attend, each submitting their thoughts over the past week, giving spiritual reports on the public, asking questions and making suggestions. They put special emphasis on investigating and researching those whose spiritual condition and interests were of a low level. Individual counselling and exchange would be carried out based on gender and place, with the development of a spiritual model and benchmarks for future members to learn from.

  Mengliu’s work was impeccable. From a life of leisure he had suddenly become very busy. He ran an efficient operation. In just a short time he solved all the spiritual crises that might arise over the next fifty years. They were stockpiling, their minds steaming forward. They were bending over backwards to advance the spiritual work of Swan Valley. The influence of this attitude was widespread, and a lot of people from different places came to learn from them. Darae was the hospitality and logistics manager. He preferred cooking to sculpting, and he often greeted guests with a display of ‘Darae’s settling of a rabbit’, while privately practising his next feat, ‘the settling of a sparrow’. He was preparing to show off his skill at the annual work report. Mengliu and Darae worked well together. But then a rift occurred, because a group of important officials were coming to do an inspection. Mengliu panicked, and ordered a vigorous city-wide urban sanitation, whitewashing, road repairs, planting of trees and flowers, and the preparation of Darae’s specialities for a hospitality banquet.

  ‘What is a specialty? What’s a banquet?’ Darae was already against lavishness, and he could not quite adapt to Mengliu’s changes.

  ‘A specialty is something different from the norm,’ Mengliu said solemnly, stroking the embroidery on his robes with his fingertips. ‘In my opinion, we should kill a lion, and prepare bear claws, tigers’ testes and penises, sharks, whale meat…’

  Darae exclaimed loudly that the Swanese never ate such things. Mengliu said they should serve everything fresh. He wanted someone to be sent to the woods immediately to find hunters, and then to the wharves to look for fishermen, to tell them what to deliver. Darae said that no one in Swan Valley hunted or fished. Mengliu broke into laughter. ‘Can any place be without hunters and fishermen? Darae, in order to be an excellent chef, in addition to your rabbit you must know how to cook a variety of rare and valuable animals. A chef must possess the skills to cook anything in the world. He should even be able to make timber taste like pork fat. Of course that’s just an illustration, but you do know what I mean?’

  ‘Mr Yuan, this is your wish, but people cannot eat just anything,’ Darae replied. ‘I know you’re trying to manipulate the laws put in place to prohibit the killing of animals in order to satisfy the extravagant tastes of the rich and powerful. That is a performance that has no boundaries or beliefs.’ Darae would not pander to the dignitaries. He believed that as long as a person was sincere what they ate was secondary. He had recently gone to painstaking efforts to learn a few new dishes, different from those he had cooked in the past, and he would put these on display. Darae’s suggestion allowed Mengliu to back down gracefully, so he relented. He asked him to list the names of the dishes. Darae explained in detail how each was cooked, the nutritional value, the colour and taste. He went at full throttle for a long time, and didn’t seem to be talking about recipes, but about the gospel of good health. He put his ideas into the preparation of his dishes, hoping that the diners would feel that they were not just eating food, but culture.

  ‘Of course, if dinner included poetry slams and readings, then the characteristics of the feast and the flavour of the food would really emerge.’ Darae was adamant in his ideas. ‘Mr Yuan, you are a poet, a cultural official. If you don’t object…’

  Mengliu didn’t say anything. Afterwards Darae really did as he said he would, so Mengliu claimed he was unwell and went home. He could hear the rhythm of the recitations, like the solemn rich beat of a watchman’s drum, filling the space around him.

  The following week this outstanding model of ‘the meeting’ was promoted all over Swan Valley. Mengliu was elevated from Head of a Hundred Households to Head of a Thousand Households. He was given a new robe. Its collar and cuffs were still covered with a bird motif, but this time it was a phoenix with gorgeous feathers in a noble pose. Mengliu couldn
’t differentiate between dream and reality anymore, as if he were starring in a drama. After frolicking about in his robe, he went to Su Juli’s house and found her inside drinking tea with Esteban. Although they congratulated him, they seemed somewhat indifferent to his success. He sat for a while, but felt bored and could not find anything to say.

  When he returned home, Rania’s expression pleased him. She was obedient and thoughtful, and meticulous in her attentions. They even began to chat calmly about life. When Rania suddenly put her hand to her mouth and rushed into the bathroom, her face flushed, he knew immediately that she was pregnant.

  ‘The government’s aim is accurate.’ He followed her and, standing outside the bathroom door, took a nonchalant stance.

  She stopped retching. ‘What aim?’