Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

The letter had been sent from a prison in the outer provinces. The envelope was postmarked with a date six months earlier.

So Shunyu’s father was the chuixun player his mother had met beside the river…Every time Mengliu thought of this, he felt suffocated and could not speak.

When your innocent relatives were killed by the guns of the nation, your own life had been taken over too. You were no longer yourself.

His voice softened. It was no longer so self-righteous. He did not want to go back to Beiping, but he was filled with a disgust that he could not quite understand. It didn’t matter if the robot of Swan Valley could capture the thoughts of people and understand a person’s past and future, the spiritual leader’s words still needed to be considered. What man did not want to possess power, status, and prestige? He would hold to his sense of dignity though.

‘Don’t try to tamper with my emotions. Even more, don’t slander my brothers and sisters. Whom you choose to breed with whom is your business. All I want is my freedom.’

‘You do go on and on! Today’s conversation ends here. Goodbye.’

The robot was annoyed. With a crackling sound, the machine ground to a halt. Then all was silent.

2

On Saturday mornings, there was usually a public academic report, followed by an open salon, where everyone could listen or speak as they pleased. Mengliu surprised himself by showing up at the event. He was in a daze and did not remember how he got there. He recalled what seemed to be a conversation with a robot, but could not figure out if it was real or a dream. He saw a flat space hewn out of the mountain, and on it an oval table encircled by bamboo chairs. Many young people were sitting there, and some he knew, like Esteban and Juli. They had serious expressions on their faces, which were as hard and cold as stones in winter. He noticed several girls of about sixteen or seventeen, including one with blonde hair and pink skin, a full figure, and long eyebrows above her wide eyes. She wore an indifferent, proud expression. There was also a handsome, elegant-looking young man. His facial features were perfect, delicate and gentle, with idealism flashing in his eyes. They called him Darae, and from time to time, he cast an appreciative glance at the blonde-haired girl.

The mountain breeze blew gently through the leaves on the trees along the slopes, making them sway, with the birds bobbing up and down on their branches. A mighty burst of drums sounded, as Darae presided over the reading of the conclusions of the academic report. The contents were in praise of the beauty of Swan Valley, though there was also mention of a handful of cases of theft, adultery, fornication, and other immoral actions.

‘These came about because people were unwilling to change their bloody values, and some even treated gold or diamonds as treasure. Such decadent ideas would seriously affect the development of civilisation in Swan Valley, hindering it in its quest to become the world’s most ideal place to live.

‘In some countries, there are fucking awesome princes, gold-dealers and loan sharks, and those who do not think of the good of the country or have any sense of crisis, and they all live an aimless, useless, bloody extravagant life. The wealthy all work hand in glove, making unauthorised use of the name of the state for their own bloody profit and enrichment. They exploit the poor, and the labourers and the carpenters and the farmers all have to toil endlessly. They are like bloody beasts of burden, barely making enough money to make ends meet. Their lives are a fucking misery. They suffer worse treatment than animals, but without their labour the country couldn’t survive. Even the beasts of burden are given a time of rest. They need not worry about the future. And what about the humans who are worse off than bloody animals? They labour and suffer, gaining nothing, and have to suffer pain and poverty in old age. But fucking hell, Swan Valley will never repeat those mistakes. Everything the government does is for the citizens of Swan Valley, for the citizen’s fucking lives, to do good, be optimistic and proud of the knowledge we possess. As long as everyone is pure and perfect in his or her spiritual life, this poetic lifestyle will be a reality in Swan Valley.’

‘Fucking’ and ‘bloody’ — such words kept popping up in the academic report, and Mengliu was stunned to hear them, even though he could not help but nod, the smile of a sleepwalker fixed on his face. He observed the others carefully, his eyes finally falling on Su Juli. She always looked grim, but at that moment even her hair was shining with the glory of idealism. He felt that on some nights her body must have trembled with wild joy, and that however sated she was on polite conversation, she too earnestly looked forward to the coming of midnight to lie with a man. On those hidden occasions her face shone with the elixir of love. Her hair was as smooth as silk. She would have taken off her lip ring way ahead of time, in preparation. As he thought of her warm moist lips, his body stiffened, but he immediately broke free of his absurd imagining.

Esteban seemed to have grown thinner, and looked slightly worn out, but was still in high spirits.

Like Darae he was filled with all the arrogance in the world.

The green-haired monster emerged in Mengliu’s mind, along with the robot, and the metallic flavour of that place. ‘I saw a green-haired monster,’ he confided in Esteban.

‘What …monster?’ Esteban asked.

‘A green-haired monster. Your spiritual leader.’

The academic report had ended. It was time for a short break.

On the round table sat a teapot with a spout that resembled the male genitalia. The golden glasses had long stems inlaid with diamonds, and mouths which resembled female genitalia.

The blonde girl picked up the teapot and appeared to pour out a stream of pearls. All that could be heard was a shrill tinkling sound.

Mengliu was thirsty, as if his whole body was on fire.

Before the start of the discussion, Esteban introduced Mengliu to the gathering, calling him a poet. He made particular mention of the fact that he was a carrier of excellent genes.

Still in a daze, Mengliu learned that the blonde girl’s name was Rania, and that she was one of Juli’s students.

Esteban finally introduced Darae, as the young artist who had crafted the naked sculpture of the spiritual leader.

Mengliu shook hands with Darae and was secretly amazed at how soft and smooth his hand was.

In a flash, he thought of Hei Chun, Bai Qiu, the years they had shared together, and the girls.

He sat down, feeling shaken.

‘Mr Yuan, you don’t look well. It seems you need a rest,’ Rania said. The syllables blew from her teeth and lips like a breeze over the valley. Behind her, the blue sea sparkled.

‘It’s like you’ve not quite woken up.’ Darae’s tone was suspicious.

Juli’s face was impassive as she looked at the bundle of papers in her hand, occasionally correcting a line with her pen. She appeared quite confident.

‘Let’s continue with the discussion,’ said Esteban. ‘As for crime, let’s say someone goes into another person’s garden and steals some peaches, or chickens, or perhaps even kills a person. Everyone would agree that these are crimes, and that the criminal should be punished. But when one country invades another, destroying their ancestral temples, snatching treasures, and killing millions of people, it is not considered a crime. On the contrary, it is celebrated. But the nature of these two acts is exactly the same. Both are unjust, both are crimes…’

‘Only people who are dissatisfied with the status quo are eager to rebel, and then dispossessed people make trouble, taking every opportunity to gain something from the chaos,’ Darae interjected. ‘Some governments will try to suppress the confusion by using torture, plundering and kidnapping, thereby reducing the people to beggars. If all the people in the country are beggars, then the whole nation becomes the private property of a small group or elite, much to the sorrow of the people.’