Death Fugue

by Sheng Keyi

  ‘She…she stared at the bleeding world without flinching, a thousand times greater than your spiritual leader!’

  The ladder started to rotate, turning the front of Mengliu’s body toward the audience. The light fell on him. His face was pale and sweating.

  Slightly startled, Sama turned around and pulled out a thin booklet, flipping to his next lines. ‘You…you can’t elevate your fiancée so as purposely to devalue our spiritual leader. This does not suit the spirit of debate, don’t you understand?’

  ‘Well, let your spiritual leader face me. Count it as my dying wish. I want to look on his ugly face so I can remember it and find him in hell.’

  ‘What do you want to find him for?’ Suddenly, a small gong sounded twice. Sama turned to another page. ‘He selflessly serves the people, owing no one anything…’

  ‘He deprived me of my freedom. He’s deprived many people of their freedom, their rights, even their lives.’

  Sama put the booklet away and murmured, ‘My idol, pay attention to your lines. You’re engaging in slander.’

  ‘What? I…I was tied to this ladder by you. What I am saying is true. I am the truth. You…don’t even distinguish between right and wrong. You’ve reversed black and white, distorted the facts, smitten the innocent, made a lie of justice!’ His words were as fierce as firecrackers. He paused, and the gong clattered three more times. ‘As a poet, I hate to use clichés. I hate it when language fails to express meaning, I fucking…’

  ‘Wait a minute! You said…you are a poet?’ Sama turned and faced the theatre, breaking into a laugh. ‘Ha! Ha ha ha ha ha!…did you hear that? He claims he is a poet!’

  The idol’s pale face had turned crimson. Now he was tongue-tied.

  All six pieces of the ensemble sounded at once, hissing in disapproval.

  Suddenly they broke off.

  The idol seemed to awaken from a dream. ‘Yes…I am a poet… But now, as a poet, I solemnly tell you that I will never write poetry for Swan Valley!’

  After he said this the three-piece percussion group, the single drum, the large gong and the small gong, struck up a manic military tone, a reckless, merciless racket.

  Sama’s whip cracked, and the first signs of redness appeared on Mengliu’s white haunches. The accompanying music immediately turned joyous, and Sama began to appreciate his own value. Obviously a strict man, he completed each stroke with the same graceful posture. But his damned idol would not cooperate, and remained mute. So Sama accompanied each stroke with a howl of his own. The whole scene had a tragic feel, which soon left him and his idol both covered in blood.

  After ten minutes, Sama fell to the ground with a plop, and declared the end of the flogging.

  The soothing strains of the erhu were raised like a supplicant’s hands toward the sky.

  ‘When a poet no longer writes poetry, he acquires dignity, perhaps a far greater dignity than he ever had when he wrote.’ Sama slowly raised his head and stood up. Tossing the cane from his hand, he spread out his arms toward the auditorium. ‘Lying down or standing up – who can say which is more humble, and which more noble? Perhaps it requires more courage to stop writing, than to write.’

  The crimson curtain slowly closed on the stage.

  The lights were extinguished.

  27

  In the past, during the dark nights of his soul, every day felt like three in the morning for Mengliu. Now there were no dark nights, the light in his cell blazed all the time, making red roses dance before his eyes. Who was smoking and drinking in the room while I was asleep? What unpleasant smells, the whole place littered with cigarette butts, and could I still have slept like the dead? Mengliu’s throat was dry. On the night stand were three cups, one with water, one with green tea, and one with rice wine. He drank them all and was still thirsty. The stars on the ceiling no longer sparkled. At the window the sea seemed to be moving, and there was a vague sound of waves. The door to the cell was unlatched, and the hint of a chill wind slipped in through the crack there. It wasn’t cold, but it cleared his head. The unlatched door seemed to imply an opportunity for escape. He smiled contemptuously. How could he escape his own mind? He waited quietly for someone to come and take him to his suffering. He took this as a battle, a standoff; he would never flee.

  A ray of sunshine squeezed in through the crack at the door, creating a bar on the ground that fell all the way to his feet. Extremely weak, he felt an unusual sense of fulfillment. His heart was like a radiator, throwing out heat. He opened the autograph book and stroked Qizi’s signature, wondering whether she was dead. But he was numb inside and the concept of life and death no longer had meaning for him. He hid the book, then went to clean himself up. He washed his face and shaved. He could not see the person in the mirror clearly, and had no notion of his appearance. He did everything in very low spirits, stroking his face with his long fingers. When he came out, Suitang was in the room. There was a platter of sleek, sliced rabbit on the table, accompanied by a variety of spices.

  ‘What’s this? I’m a VIP again?’ The tangy smell made his mouth water.

  Suitang smiled. ‘This could be your last meal on earth.’

  ‘If it’s the first, that’s good, and if it’s the last, that’s fine too. What’s the point?’ He ate greedily. ‘Tell me. There’s no need to beat around the bush.’

  ‘Don’t be so uncongenial. We are the only two of our kind in Swan Valley.’ Suitang’s resentment had a hint of coquetry. ‘Sama has been sent to the mill for re-education because of his dereliction of duty…Who knows, maybe it’s all a sham. It’s hard to believe your fan club could have penetrated to such a remote location.’

  ‘So?’ he interrupted.

  ‘You’re angry? What are you angry with me for? I didn’t betray my friend for glory…’

  ‘This…is good. It tastes like Darae’s work. Want to try it?’

  Ignoring him, she walked straight to the window and pushed it open. The sudden gust that blew in struck him fiercely. Raising his head, he saw the golden shine of the sea outside and was astonished, as if he had seen a miracle. The genuine sea, boundless, waves crashing in the bay, seagulls soaring, and the sea breeze constantly blowing his way. His hand touched the ledge and on the wall a crack showed through. It was a sliding door. He opened it, and found a balcony outside. It was connected to a long passage like a bridge standing above the sea. He could not help but grasp Suitang’s hand, and she followed him obediently out the door. They reached the end of the bridge and turned to look back at the island far behind them. The sea and sky were both boundless, they couldn’t believe they were on Earth.

  ‘I’ve felt I was in a fog these past few days. Suitang, is this a dream?’ A man may suffer from waking nightmares, especially when he has gone without sleep for nights. Standing in the dazzling sun, gazing at the vast world, his feelings might be even more overwhelming. Mengliu was on the bridge with the water rippling beneath him, and a tempest stirring in his mind. He wanted to write a poem. The words were already on the tip of his tongue. No, on his lips, ready to fly out of his mouth at any moment, like a bird leaving its nest. No. It could not be. He looked into the distance and tried hard to swallow the verse. Apparently choking on it, his face reddened. Before long, he began to feel dizzy, nauseous, and bloated. He leant his head over the sea and vomited. Pieces of rabbit that had turned to debris rained down on the water, then sank quietly.

  Suitang said, ‘The sea breeze is not good for you.’

  ‘I must have been poisoned. If they want to kill me, it would not be difficult. Why bother poisoning me in secret?’ he shouted as he turned back.

  Suitang rushed after him, saying, ‘Are you crazy? I ate the other half of the rabbit. There’s nothing wrong with me. Your empty stomach rejected the oily food. You should eat porridge first.’

  ‘Eat porridge? I would rather drink the west wind! Look at me. I could float away now.’

  He really did look like a sage. Stumbling like a kite that could not ge
t lift-off, he almost fell into the sea several times more.

  They returned by the same route. Strangely, the place they had come from was gone, and the entire topography seemed to have changed too. They had somehow ended up in a secluded courtyard halfway up the mountain. The wide doorway to the courtyard looked like the entrance to a square. There was a nude sculpture by the door and an abandoned armoured vehicle topped with a long gun pointed off in the distance. There was nothing in the courtyard, only a large column shooting up to the sky in the centre and below it, an area the size of a basketball court. Mengliu thought of the white chimney he and Juli had seen. He clearly recalled Juli’s longing look. This should be it.

  He walked around the base, but there was no entrance. He looked up, but he could not see the top. He instinctively knew this wasn’t a chimney. Perhaps it was a military watchtower. Its top would afford a panoramic view of Swan Valley, as well as the distant sea. Suitang agreed. As he checked the bricks, he asked where she had been in recent days and how she had been treated. Suitang prevaricated, saying, ‘I just can’t describe the place. Don’t think I’m making things up. It was like I was sleepwalking. I was in a different place every day. I had plenty to eat and drink, and I listened to a lot of lectures. They said you were writing a ballad.’

  ‘You really don’t know me. I’m not like you, easily manipulated… even to the point of becoming their lobbyist.’

  ‘You try manipulating me. You’re just pretending to be romantic,’ Suitang said.

  ‘I couldn’t bear to manipulate you. If I had wanted to I would’ve done so earlier.’ He knocked on a brick and listened to the sound.

  ‘Well why was I the fish that escaped the net? That Su Juli…’

  He gestured for her to be quiet, as if he had made a major discovery. In truth, he only wanted to stop her line of questioning.

  ‘Help me think. What would this building be used for? How can we get in?’

  ‘Maybe it’s a heating unit. It must be used to get rid of exhaust.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s imaginative. Do you think we can get in?’

  ‘I think…maybe the wall is a decoy. Somewhere there’s a hidden switch or button.’

  ‘That’s so old-fashioned. You might as well say, Open sesame! Or pineapple! Or whatever…’

  As if this spell had had its effect, a door like that on an aeroplane suddenly slid open. He tripped on it, and practically fell inside.

  It was another hall of images, full of electronic screens flickering in silence.

  On one screen, beasts beneath a canopy of trees. In a white robe, Esteban lies on a boulder covered with a white sheet. The mortician is shaving his head and beard. Four people, using only their hands, raise the sheet as if they are an honour guard handling the national flag. They solemnly place Esteban in the ice coffin, then cover it with a layer of white chrysanthemums.

  The morning sun blazes on the ice. The vast sky is filled with puffy, unremarkable clouds.

  A low-flying bird suddenly drops to the ground.

  The band and the dozens of mourners are all in white robes, almost invisible in the snowy funereal world.

  Shanlai and Darae are amongst them, wearing clumsy snow boots and sombre expressions. Their difficult journey through the deep snow creates an even deeper sense of ritual. The group of mourners is halfway up the hillside when the mountain bursts open. Blocks of snow tumble away, followed immediately by an influx of loose snow rolling down the hill. The snow swells, and in an instant engulfs the doll-like group of mourners.

  On a second screen, the hospital is empty. On the gate is an announcement saying that the plague had been brought by vultures. All birds and reptiles have been infected, and humans will inevitably be infected as well. The announcement makes no mention of the vultures’ food source at the waste disposal site. Abandoned infants. The road with mobs of people fleeing the disaster, continually stumbling, no one bothering. Some are hastily buried, or thrown haphazardly aside…They gather at the cliff edge because the cable car is the only way to the outside world. On the first trip, four squeeze into the trolley, but as it bumps and glides along, the rope suddenly snaps, and the cable car hurtles like a stone into the abyss.

  On a third screen, a circle of people in white coats and learned faces stare at an aquarium. It is an academic discussion. There are observations and recordings…In the aquarium, a bloodied baby with its umbilical cord still attached is towed through a pool of alcohol, its hands and feet flailing like a dying fish…its mouth opens rapidly, then it no longer moves.

  All of the screens told stories. Some were videos, some live feeds. Then all the smaller screens were turned off, leaving only a huge black-and-white screen still broadcasting. Its subject was familiar to Mengliu. It was the sit-in at Round Square…The crowd was in chaos. A large number of uniformed men entered the square…It was just like Shunyu’s father described, a blood-filled night with half the sky scorched red…

  A patch of bright light shot down from the top of the column through the darkness but because it was so far away, it became dim by the time it reached the ground. Even so, everything inside the room could be seen clearly. There was an area like a disc jockey’s podium, and in the middle of one of the walls hung a disorderly array of banners. They were flanked on both sides by several small machines. In the centre was a leopard-skin chair, its back facing outward. Someone sat there, head only half exposed.

  ‘I’m impressed. I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly… Well, let’s get to the end of the game.’ The voice from the leopard-skin chair was that of the spiritual leader Ah Lian Qiu, but still transmitted through a machine.

  In such close proximity at last, Mengliu was very curious about Ah Lian Qiu’s appearance, but he controlled his curiosity. ‘Ah Lian Qiu, spiritual leader, I do not know anything, nor do I want to know anything…I have no questions to ask you. I only request that you take care of the people trapped in Swan Valley, and tell us the way home.’ But as soon as he said ‘us’, he realised that Suitang had not come in with him. She had stayed outside the door.

  ‘The cable broke. There’s nothing I can do about that. Surely you have discovered that they don’t need me. Because they are self-aware and self-disciplined, they will govern one another…a good ruler’s presence is not felt…a spiritual leader need only transmit a beneficial spirit, and there will be nothing to worry about…As for you, rest assured that you have earned your way back home. The road is open to both of you.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about?’ Mengliu could not help but ask. ‘Don’t you know the lives of all the people living here have been placed on the altar constructed by you, their spiritual leader?’

  ‘When a person understands what he really wants, his nature as a human can be fully realised. Take Esteban, for example. He found his own worth, and in his death the noble dignity of the individual was restored to him.’ Ah Lian Qiu continued in a leisurely fashion. ‘A person should have a proper understanding of himself.’

  ‘I only have one more thing to say, spiritual leader.’ Mengliu controlled his voice and the rhythm of his speech. ‘Your spirit is nothing more than a lure. It just enables a system of annihilation. Some day…’

  ‘If that’s how you see it, that’s your business.’ The leopard-skin chair began to turn around slowly, then stopped at one hundred and eighty degrees. The spiritual leader Ah Lian Qiu sat in a wheelchair, head bowed, long hair covering his face. ‘So many years. Now you are finally free from the burden of history!’ The leader ripped off the lapel microphone and raised her head, revealing the whole of her pale face.

  All the horrifying things Mengliu had experienced in his life had not prepared him for this shock. He was stunned, and a doubt-filled scream escaped from his mouth:

  ‘Qizi?’

  ‘No. I am the spiritual leader of Swan Valley. I am Ah Lian Qiu!’

  Hearing her real unaltered voice filled Mengliu with ecstasy. It was Qizi! He ran to her, but, the podium on which she sat was encir
cled by a force field, and he was thrown back. It burned a hole in his clothes, and nearly scorched another in his flesh.

  She turned off the force field and rolled her battery-powered wheelchair down from the podium, coming slowly to a halt in front of him.

  Ah, Qizi! She was as young and beautiful as the first time he saw her. He wanted to embrace her, to say, I’ve never stopped looking for you. I knew you had to be alive. But he stood there, rooted, his warm feelings curbed by something unseen. He faced Ah Lian Qiu. She looked at him with rational, calm, indifferent eyes.

  ‘The Qizi of the past, like these two legs, was crushed by a tank.’ Ah Lian Qiu removed her two legs from her thighs. Her upper half sat in the chair on two stumps, like a bust.

  Mengliu seemed to be welded to the ground. Feeling had left his own legs, so that he remained stuck there, motionless.

  ‘At the same time as I was crushed, so were truth and idealism…and beauty and goodness.’ She toyed with the prostheses. ‘Afterwards, the people lived like fish returning to water, right? There was numbness, a philosophy of survival, but that doesn’t mean their concept of the nation had changed.’

  ‘Qizi…’ He wanted to wake her up, but he was actually the one who was confused.

  ‘When he tried to save me Hei Chun was badly burned… Shunyu’s father hid us in a friend’s hospital, and on the third day, secretly drove us to a place that was far away but safe. For a whole year we were constantly on the move, escaping from one place to another.’

  Mengliu was stunned. ‘I had no idea. I was looking for you… Hei Chun…where is he?’

  ‘He was seriously injured. One eye was burned out. His fingers were damaged. He was unrecognisable…After we came to Swan Valley, he spent half a year writing The Principles of Genetics.’ Leisurely, she turned her wheelchair in a circle. ‘He said it was better than More’s Utopia. The original manuscript is here.’