Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

Mengliu didn’t hear him. He rushed out, dishevelled, and Shunyu’s father grabbed after him. ‘Don’t go back there. They’ve declared martial law.’

‘But no matter what, I need to go and see…there’s still Qizi. God, Qizi! Where are they?’

‘They were the first names on the wanted list,’ said Shunyu’s father heavily.

‘It can’t be. I’ve got to go look for them.’

‘The list is growing, and if your name is on it, it will be too late.’ The old man was filled with anger now. ‘Do you want your father… to bear the pain of losing a son too?’

Mengliu’s heart sustained another heavy blow.

No, it couldn’t be true. It was a dream. He stared at Shunyu’s father, waiting for him to break into a rosy smile. The man couldn’t be angry if he had been playing a cruel joke on him.

But Shunyu’s father stood helpless and sad, his eyes knotted with a scarlet web of blood vessels. He clenched his fist tightly, then quickly went away.

Mengliu was left in a foolish daze, not quite able to come back to reality. In his trance, he saw a touch of red on the rose bush at the window. He rushed over and inspected it. A shy, fiery-red bud peeped at him, like the eye of a sleeping baby. It was the answer to the question he and Qizi had bet on. They had used their bodies as stakes in the wager. She chose red roses, and he white. She said if he won, she would give her body to him, but if she won, he had to give his body to her, with one added condition — he had to remain committed to poetry, no matter what the situation, and never give up writing. At the time he had laughed at her condition, feeling it bore no weight. He was a poet, and it was instinctive for him to write poetry, it was the very meaning of his existence. He looked at the delicate bud and almost laughed. But now the bud looked like it had been dipped in blood, and the colour was spreading. His mind suddenly became exceptionally clear.

He had to find her.

1

They had a good breakfast of preserved meats, pickled vegetables, fried eggs and rice porridge. Mengliu washed the bowls, cups, plates, cutlery and pans, and put everything away. He couldn’t see any change in Juli. The sky outside the window was as blue as before and the birds in the garden still sang as happily. It was only Mengliu’s heart that seemed to be missing a piece, like a hole where the roof tile has broken, allowing the cold wind to enter. He took the diamonds out from under the edge of his bed and held them toward the light, trying to draw some warmth from their glow. He bathed and dried himself, then pressed the green button on the wall and received a spray of perfumed toner. After he had put on a silky white dressing gown, he turned one of the golden taps and filled a glass with beer. With his mouth still full of the taste of malt, he went to the living area and spread himself out on the sofa, his feelings for Juli overflowing. He heard music, and at first thought that he had imagined it. Then he suddenly remembered the cavity in the wall which housed the alarm and realised the music had come from there. The Swanese people listened to the same song all the time. He did not know what else was behind the hole in wall. Listening devices? Monitors? A pair of eyes? The melody was like an eraser, wiping the image of Juli from his mind, turning the vivid thick water colour painting of her into a grey filmy form. Qizi and many other women swirled in his mind, and before long they disappeared too, as if sinking into deep water. Now he was sucked into the moving green waves. Distracted, he lay on the sofa like the man of the house and rested a moment. Then he put on his robe and shoes and went out the door.

On the road, he encountered a funeral procession, The deceased, covered by a white cloth and laid upon a board, was carried by four men in white clothing. There was a musical troupe, priests and a group of sympathetic citizens, and they all sang in a soft chorus a poetic narrative of the life of the deceased. It was a calm, serene song, untouched by sadness. Mengliu watched as the funeral procession started to ascend the hill. He could no longer hear the band playing when they stopped and formed a circle, like a wreath worn on top of the hill. They seemed to be holding some sort of ceremony. The blue sky extended beyond his line of vision.

Mengliu headed east, through the deserted streets, to the foot of the mountain. There he found himself facing a complicated grey building. Two spires were raised like swords toward the sky. The heavy wooden doors were open, and on the arch above them was a carved relief. There was a stained glass window above the arch, with red and blue the dominant colours, and window frames of exquisite craftsmanship. He stepped inside. The hall was bright and spacious, under a cathedral-like dome engraved with an elaborate pattern. Light fell through the stained-glass windows, and the soft glow was reflected on the tiled floor. There was a solemn, religious atmosphere in the building, and a cold, lonely air about the hall. The crude columns were painted with dragons and phoenixes, and the carved images of curly-haired heads were distributed about the four corners of the room. The aisle stretched out straight ahead, as if it were a long tunnel through time and space. Mengliu moved deeper into the hall. The temperature suddenly dropped, and he began to shiver. Gradually, he felt the building changing. His footsteps sounded with a metallic echo, as if he were walking through a tin box. Then he seemed to sink, and the sounds were gone. The light dimmed, his vision blurred, and he was finally plunged into total darkness. The air was filled with a strong taste of the sea. Suddenly he felt dizzy, as if the hall was moving rapidly. This feeling lasted for several seconds, then he bent over and vomited. After what seemed like half an hour, his stomach was completely emptied of its contents. A hole opened up in the wall of darkness. His vision became clear, and a strong light fell on him, as if the sun was shining so brightly it made the surroundings dreadfully pale. His eyes were bursting with pain, and he covered them with his hands to block out the light. He heard the sound of a machine clicking. When he opened his eyes again, he was in a diamond-shaped space. The strength of the light above him had weakened, and turned into the soft light of a blue sky. Music floated like snowflakes through the air.

‘Mr Yuan, we welcome you to Swan Valley,’ said a robotic voice. At the same time a metal pipe with a coin-sized opening projected out from the wall and stopped right in front of Mengliu’s face. ‘You can see me through this periscope.’

Mengliu froze for a moment, then took hold of the metal pipe and peered through it. He saw, as if in a reflection on water, a blurred image of a machine control room. It exuded a charming orange glow, and was filled with green plants. There were buttons on the wall with mysterious writing under them. In the middle of the room was a large desk and what looked like a sofa with a person perched upon it. The person gestured to him, and told him that if he adjusted the dial beneath the periscope, he would see more clearly, and in even more fantastic colours.

As he adjusted the focus, Mengliu saw a figure sitting in a chair, with hair as green as seaweed. A white veil covered half its face. Its body was glistening, as if it was wearing golden armour.

The robot seemed to laugh a little, then reached over and pressed a button. The periscope retracted.

Mengliu heard a whirring sound from the machine as it went through its operations. All around him, various sorts of equipment now began to go into action. The instruments, meters, valves and control panels had all been polished until they shone. Electronic numbers jumped as the red screen flashed, and data was generated. A body of glowing spherical electronic bulbs rotated slowly on a screen, as the robotic voice issued from it.