A Yi - A Perfect Crime

‘Don’t you have your college entrance exams soon?’ the judge said. ‘Couldn’t you throw yourself into the anxiety of studying?’

‘I was secretly assigned to the military academy a long time ago. My uncle is head of the dean’s office.’ ‘You could have chosen to put your energies into something positive.’ The judge again.

‘I tried. I put everything into being an exceptional student. But those things are like water cast out in the desert, they evaporate quickly. Whenever I started something, I would picture its inevitable ending. An apple becomes pips in the trash. While everyone is making toasts during their feast, a cat paces in the kitchen waiting for the scraps. Take love. Fireworks exploding in the air. We’re like impotent men trying to have sex, we’re cheating ourselves. We want to believe the sky is lit up by the sparks of romantic connection when actually it’s just black. Our lives are simply a long turn to old age and decrepitude until we can’t even wipe our own arses. It’s undignified. Then once we’re dead along comes a dog one day, digs up our bones and plays with them. We’re nothing more than decaying corpses.’

‘What do you think the point of life is?’ the prosecutor asked.

‘Exactly. There is no point. If I’d killed you instead, yours would have had some meaning at least.’

He banged his hand against the table. I really thought I’d set him off, but I continued.

‘I’m not here today to play God and tell you what life is really about. All I’m trying to say is I may be young but my soul is exhausted. This is my reality. I lost faith in it all a long time ago. I know swans have nothing to do with poetry. Why are they always flying? Because they’re like pigs, avoiding the cold, looking for food. We’re no different. We’re not better than animals, we display all the same disgusting behaviours. We’re just aware of it, that’s all. We hunt for food, plunder territories, calculate resources. We’re completely controlled by our primal sexual urges. We do it all, but feel ashamed. We invented meaning just like we invented underpants. But once we see through these fake meanings, it all slips away until the word no longer makes sense.

‘This false enlightenment made me detached, passive, bleak even. My life started to fall apart. I took to lying for hours as if paralysed. No miracles filled my days. Each was as unchanging as the one that went before. Time stood still, or moved achingly slowly, like pouring concrete. Every day was death by drowning. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I felt absolute terror for no apparent reason. I took to crying. One day, when I could stand it no longer, I made a decision: seeing as I had no power over my life, I’d give it to you. I couldn’t choose myself, but I’d give the choice to you.You chase, I run. It was that simple. Imagine an animal at the bottom of the food chain: everything is a constant competition, a hunt for food. The thought replenished me. Life is pointless after all; it’s all the same, no matter what you do. It’s all destructive ultimately. But at least this would prevent me from having to face the passing of time alone. I wanted to put up a protective barrier between myself and time. I used to think, wouldn’t it be cool to go to war, or become an outlaw – that way I could satisfy my private desire to kill in the name of something greater. I thought of rescuing a damsel, like a knight in some martial arts novel, but then I realised no one would come miles looking for me to help them find retribution. No, killing your perfect sweetheart was my best option. I went on the run, dropping clues, like an animal leaves a trail of scent, so that you might find me. I was happy; my time was filled. I could feel it in my body. I was living a fruitful life. My performance was perfect. But you let me down.’

I was finished. I lifted my handcuffs and with great difficulty scratched the itch on the back of my neck. Everyone watched, dumbstruck. I was perverse, frightening, and yet somehow my conclusions made sense. I was feeling pretty good about my speech and even half expected someone to come over and pour me some water. After a while, a noise, a realisation, broke through the silence.

‘No!’

It was the prosecutor. He pulled at his tie, jumped up and pointed at me.

‘You are pure evil! Suddenly I can understand why people kill for money or desire. Compared to you, they are worthy of our respect! They still operate according to society’s norms and our normal ways of thinking. But you! You are an attack on our very way of life, our traditions and the beliefs we rely on to live.’

I nodded. He stared at me as if I was a monster. Then came his screams, like those of a terrified child.

‘The judge has the final say. I beg you, Your Honour, give this young man the death penalty. At once. Have him executed at once! I can feel his insidious thinking spreading and multiplying. He will only serve as inspiration to other helpless young people. He is a danger to our society. He will terrorise the whole world. I beg you! For all of us, for humankind, kill him at once!’

No response. Everyone sat in their seats.

I raised my handcuffed hands, looked up and spoke calmly.

‘Yes. Shoot me.’

They led me to a new cell. The judgement came quickly and was no surprise. Documents pertaining to my case must have been rushed between government departments, from the District Court to the High Court, the High Court to the Supreme Court, which then prodded the High Court, which in turn prodded the District Court. The guards were handed a letter and they reported to their section manager, who then reported to the section chief, who then reported to the vice-procurator of the court, who then reported to his superior, the presiding judge. The death sentence would no doubt take months to process, maybe even a year. Probably it would be done by shooting, maybe by lethal injection. Whatever. I was waiting for my last supper. As for explaining the case to the outside world, they’d no doubt come up with their own explanation. Attempted robbery? Exam pressure? Social exclusion? Something suitable to propagate to the masses. They sure as hell wouldn’t let people know it was out of boredom. A desire to play cat and mouse. That that was my reason for killing her.

My original plan consisted of four parts:

Purpose: Relief.

Method: Escape.

Technique: Murder.

Funds: Ten grand.

This is the full record of my last words. Let it be recorded in history that once lived such a person.

Goodbye.

I would like to thank Marysia Juszczakiewicz and Tina Chou at Peony Literary Agency, Oneworld Publications, my translator, Anna Holmwood, and Julia Lovell, who made the English-language edition of the book possible.

This book has been selected to receive financial assistance from English PEN’s Writers in Translation programme, supported by Bloomberg and Arts Council England. English PEN exists to promote literature and its understanding, uphold writers’ freedoms around the world, campaign against the persecution and imprisonment of writers for stating their views, and promote the friendly cooperation of writers and free exchange of ideas.

Each year, a dedicated committee of professionals selects books that are translated into English from a wide variety of foreign languages. We award grants to UK publishers to help translate, promote, market and champion these titles. Our aim is to celebrate books of outstanding literary quality which have a clear link to the PEN charter and promote free speech and intercultural understanding.

In 2011, Writers in Translation’s outstanding work and contribution to diversity in the UK literary scene were recognised by Arts Council England. English PEN was awarded a threefold increase in funding to develop its support for world writing in translation.