Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

Squinting, she said deliberately, ‘Hei Chun — right now he’s out there charging the enemy lines! He’s not spineless!’

‘Are you calling me a coward?’ Mengliu was getting worked up. ‘Qizi, you need to be clear about this. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have gone on an outing at this time, and I wouldn’t be sitting here like a pansy drinking wine now.’

‘I admit I’ve played some part in it, but you’re giving me too much credit. You’re making me the scapegoat for the sake of your own ego. You only care about your own future.’

‘Do you really think so? Have you no conscience?’ This was going too far, and it stoked an alcohol-fueled fury in Mengliu. ‘You object to me joining the party, but then ridicule me when I sit here drinking. One minute you say this, the next that. I’ve been listening to you too much, going wherever you pointed, allowing you to weaken my will and disgrace me in front of everyone! And your father, that trump card, haven’t you played that too? You tell me, at the end of the day, what the fuck am I supposed to do?’

‘Stop pushing the blame onto me! In the final analysis, it’s your personality that’s the problem. You’re indecisive and dependent.’ Qizi was disgusted with him for swearing. She had begun by wondering whether he could withstand her assault, but she became angrier with each word and, throwing caution to the wind, she continued, ‘You’re a selfish prick. You live in the fantasy world of poetry. You are complacent, weak and without any vision. You have no ambition. You’re a hero in your own verse, but in real life, you’re just mediocre.’

Throughout Qizi’s harsh speech Mengliu’s pupils dilated until they were like flowers in full bloom. As the flowers reached the zenith of their life, there was a pause for several seconds, then they gradually turned dim and faded, shrivelled, withered. He lowered his eyes to the empty wineglass, as if he had drained the wine with his gaze. Then he calmly stood up, negotiated his way past the chairs, and flew out through the door of the bar like a flurry of fallen leaves in a cold wind.

Mengliu walked sluggishly beside his bicycle with his head slumped forward. Drunk, he could neither see nor hear a thing. He bumped into people and trees intermittently, until finally he staggered back to the West Wing. He flung the bike carelessly against a wall, went inside, and plopped down onto his bed. As soon as he fell asleep, he began to dream. He was being chased by a biomechanical monster. He tried frantically to escape, but his legs were limp and he could not run. Eventually he took flight, but the monster turned into a huge bat with eyes as red and round as lanterns. It opened its ferocious mouth in hot pursuit. Just as the bat was about to catch him, Mengliu woke up, his body on fire and his heart heavy.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a while. The cracks that spread over it made it look like a traffic map, with lines for highways, railways, and airlines winding here and there. He felt dizzy. Suddenly his whole life had become a mess.

Qizi’s words echoed in his mind like a knife scraping against glass, grating on his ego.

He applied psychoanalysis to his wounds for a while and felt better. After a little longer he felt quite good about himself, confident he could carry on with his normal life. But soon the cold reality returned and he felt a terrible pain. He cursed the alcohol, blaming it for starting him off on the trashy talk. He wanted to apologise to Qizi and tell her he loved her very much.

Just as he was filled with tender feelings, he felt the sting of her remarks all over again. His heart hardened, and he thought she should be the one to apologise to him. He would not forgive her if she did not take back her harsh judgement of him. Instead he waited all night, hoping Qizi would suddenly appear, laughing and ready to bury the hatchet. But all he heard was the wind in the locust tree, the cat in the rafters, and the endless flow of the lonely night. He had a splitting headache, and only when morning came did his state of confusion pass.

The radio next door chimed 11am, then began presenting the news. It reported an important meeting, saying it had been convened for the purpose of re-examining the faeces. The issue would be researched and discussed, and a vote taken. Those who attended the meeting had a long list of impressive titles, which was read out in its entirety in the report. It went on to talk in detail about how they made their entrance to the meeting, the suits they wore, their expressions, the colour of their ties, and emphasised the ‘thunderous applause’ that had greeted them. Only at the end was mention made of an illegal gathering of people who had attempted to take the opportunity to cause trouble, and made a negative impact on the smooth running of the conference.

‘In addition, at the entrance to the Catholic Church on Liuli Street, a young man claimed to have acquired some gorilla faeces and ate them in front of the crowd, using this to incite the masses to gather at Round Square and support the sit-in. After this, a violent confrontation erupted, two people were seriously hurt and had to be rushed to the hospital for treatment.’

Mengliu got out of bed and washed himself. The radio was now playing ads for laundry detergent. He went out and looked at the trees and the sky, and his spirits were revived slightly. He went to his landlord’s shop for a drink of warm milk and a snack, and to chat with the elderly man as usual. But the old man, buried in his own business, ignored Mengliu.

He left the shop feeling awkward. Seeing a trishaw parked on the roadside, he climbed into it.

‘Where to?’

‘Didn’t I say to Round Square?’ He saw that it was the same dark, thin fellow he had met when he went to the square before.

‘You didn’t say anything when you got in. Am I supposed to read your mind?’ the skinny fellow said as he pedalled, the tassels around the roof of the trishaw trembling. ‘I can only take you to the top of Liuli Street. You’ll have to walk from Beiping Street to the square.’

When he arrived, he saw Hei Chun and a crowd of people gathered in a circle, their expressions serious as they discussed things. They were all very pleased when they saw him. Hungover, Mengliu looked at them without any interest.

‘Why isn’t Qizi here?’ Hei Chun asked.

‘Qizi? She…’

‘Where is she?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You had a fight?’

‘Sort of…’

‘Revolution always comes with the low tides. We have to be able to withstand the most severe tests.’

‘Yeah.’

‘A breakup is one way to prompt deeper feelings.’

‘That’s easy for you to say.’

‘Women are like a strangely tangled knot. The more you struggle with them, the tighter they bind you. They only know they want this or that, but they don’t understand what a man needs.’ Hei Chun was pulling him into the gathering. ‘Put aside your troubles with women and come, share some ideas.’

19

From his long experience, Mengliu was aware that different types of women had to be handled in different ways. It wasn’t wise to approach a woman carelessly without first understanding her history, education, habits, position, and other matters related to her background. If you didn’t, you stood no chance of managing her. Up until this point in his stay with her at Swan Valley, Mengliu hadn’t been able to figure Juli out. She was like a cluster of clouds he couldn’t quite grasp. She changed shape as winds of unknown origin blew on her — becoming dog, horse, fish, lamb — sometimes singly, sometimes in a group. In an instant she would change into a plant, a tree, a spreading branch or a flowering twig, and even the most solicitous bird couldn’t destroy her peace. But relying on his instincts about women Mengliu sensed that, deep inside, Juli harboured a suppressed assertiveness and lust. Moreover, he was sure that her lust had something to do with him, and with this thought he spent the whole night in a stimulated state, a torrent of heat flowing unceasingly through his body.