Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

‘From your point of view, what could a scalpel bring to the nation?’

The leaves rustled around them, his losing game displayed by the distinctive black and white pieces on the chessboard.

Mengliu picked up his cup in two fingers and took a small sip of the tea. His movements were slow. He set the cup down and steadied it, then said, ‘Each flower is a world unto itself, and each tree a life. Perhaps I can give a sick person a new world, a healthy world that has emerged out of their experience of horror, blood, pain, and repentance.’ He paused, leaning back in his chair with his elbows resting on the armrests, as if talking about these things exhausted him. ‘You know, to open up a person’s flesh with a knife is easy. Too easy…Sometimes, you cut out a tumour, or lance a boil, or remove a damaged kidney…just to save a corrupt official, a thief, or some other person who deserves to die a hundred times over…These people are the pillars of the nation, and taxpayers’ money goes to salving their conscience and fitting them with prosthetic limbs…You don’t know, but the kidneys of the poor, the bellies of the hungry, the various organs of the good — they all die helplessly at hospitals and at home. I can do nothing about that.’

The last bit was spoken with great emotion. He surprised himself, not realising he was so thick-skinned, as if he really did do his best for all living creatures, especially for those members of society who were subject to abject poverty and had no one to depend on. Actually, he had never cared about a patient’s identity when he wielded the knife, and he had never felt real sympathy or compassion. He had just taken his salary and lived his own life. Or, rather, he relied on his own abilities to live out his life. Unbelievably, his eyes were actually wet. He was like a revolutionary talking about his failed experiences, occasionally revealing a certain will and spirit to start over again.

His expression touched Juli. She almost felt an impulse to take his hand and comfort him.

‘People are always like this. When their desires reach a climax, their inner demons are released. The nation is like a person, always experiencing problems with its personality. But in the final analysis, wherever there are no strong values, things will end up in a mess.’ Juli sighed, then turned and said in a gratified tone, ‘Our hospital is like a beautiful historic site close to the mountains and water. When you see a doctor or pick up a prescription, it’s all free.’

‘All free?’ He was so surprised that he could not help but repeat Juli’s words. He thought of Hei Chun’s description of an idealised world, and now here it was right under his nose.

‘Yes, the doctors are like our close friends or family. In the hospital, the patient enjoys warmth and care, as if from a member of their family. And the hospital’s food is good too.’

‘You don’t have to go under the table to get that sort of care?’

‘We have state-of-the-art medical equipment. There are always beds and plenty of space.’

‘The key thing is, you don’t have a large population, everybody is healthy and beautiful, and people rarely get sick.’

‘No, the key is that we have good genes.’ Juli stretched and stood up, then said casually, ‘The place Esteban took you to wasn’t too bad, was it? When you got there…were you inspired to write poetry?’

‘No,’ Mengliu answered decisively. ‘If someone’s poetry cells have been burned to death, there’s no way to resurrect them. They won’t come back to life.’

According to what Juli told him, the population of Swan Valley was strictly limited, and not heavily concentrated in the suburbs. The areas lying around the town made provision for only two thousand households, and the number of people who could live in each household was also limited, with the surplus moved to other places to pioneer new developments. For every one hundred people there was a church, its reverend trained from youth by special agencies. He was highly respected. He also held other executive offices, such as Head of a Hundred Households or Head of a Thousand Households. The reverend’s wife had to be one of the outstanding women of Swan Valley. Criminals and the intellectually average were prevented from reproducing. Their propaganda slogans included exhortations like, ‘Ensuring a Quality Population Starts with Good Genes’ or ‘Let the Best Sperm Combine with the Best Egg’.

Now imagine you are an insect, and you fly through a low-rise building to a grove filled with the scent of magnolias. Religious music comes from one of the windows. If you were to say that the scent belongs to the music, or that the melody comes from the scent, you would not be wrong. The streets are exceptionally clean, and there is no smog or noise pollution. The pureness of the air bears with it a trace of sweetness. In a colonnaded ring-shaped square, forty-five degrees to the east, you will see an old tree. It is called the Tree of Beasts, and it is said to be the patron saint of living creatures, and has been standing since ancient times. Its trunk is amazingly thick, and requires dozens of people to encircle it. The bough is wound tightly with dendrites, and the roots are engraved with animal shapes, inlaid with precious stones for eyes. When you see a python with blue eyes sticking out its tongue, there is nothing to fear. It is fake.

You lift your eyes a little and focus on a point two-hundred metres away. There you see one black figure, one white, accompanied by a pair of shadows. It is Yuan Mengliu and Su Juli, walking away along a bridle path on the green slopes.

It was the time to go to church, and Juli was dressed in a sober linen dress, with hem and neckline decorated with colourful feathers. She wore a necklace of exquisite workmanship. Her hair was in braids, coiled on top of her head and clasped with a crescent-shaped comb, so that it resembled a halo atop the Virgin Mary’s head.

Following Juli’s instruction, Mengliu wore a Chinese robe and cloth shoes. This style of dress suited him.

They met others going to church along the way, all wearing sober but kind expressions. They didn’t speak, but nodded to one another or waved.

Mengliu followed Juli closely, asking her questions from time to time in a soft voice. She offered short replies or responded simply with an ‘Ah.’ They looked like a couple after a quarrel. The man spoke carefully, and the woman was not very willing to entertain him.

The two figures made their way up the slope in this fashion. The wind suddenly gained force, and hair and skirts were sent flying wildly. Hiding his warm feelings, Mengliu looked around. The sun was dazzling and the distant stretch of river seemed to have donned a knight’s armour, setting off a metallic glitter. He was not sure if this was the same river he’d seen earlier. A muddy grey wall rose from the ground, stretching for a hundred metres or so between each watchtower or crenellation, like the Great Wall of China. The river ran beside the wall. There were thick bushes growing at its base, with blooms reaching out over the river like they were playing in the water. They seemed to be offering the continuous reminder, unless you are one of the hosts of heaven, you can banish all thoughts of attacking the city, given the defence offered by the river and this wall.

Juli was downwind of him. Her breasts stood out pertly, and even her belly and the space between her legs could be clearly seen in the wind, like a naked body wrapped in a cloak. Her body’s shapely and mysterious terrain was the main cause of the flames warring in Mengliu’s heart.

For a short period of time Mengliu imagined the possible consequences of a surprise frontal attack. He even thought about blaming his actions on the surrounding environment, just as you might excuse killing someone because the hot weather had made you bad-tempered.