Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

Mengliu’s mind was a little foggy. ‘You are all the private property of the green-haired monster!’

Rania hesitated for a moment, but did not alter the course of the discussion. ‘If the country is private property, it is an autocracy, like a person running his or her private business. No matter how many workers he has, the benefits all go to the business owner, and the workers are under the supervision of the owner alone. But if you look at it another way, it’s like a joint venture, and the people are the shareholders. As the company suffers losses or gains profits, the shareholders will be affected. Everyone has a right to have a say in the company’s operations, and everyone has the obligation to give to the company.’

‘You are all the private property of the green-haired monster. She told me so herself!’

Esteban suddenly turned to address Mengliu. ‘I hear that the crime rate in some of your cities is particularly high because of social dissatisfaction and hatred. What do you think of this situation?’

It seemed no one had heard what Mengliu had said. But he was still thinking of the green-haired monster.

‘Do you have hatred in your heart, Mr Yuan?’ Esteban asked, one hand playing with his teacup.

‘What hatred?’ asked Mengliu.

‘Maybe toward women, such as…’

‘No.’

‘I heard that your people like fancy clothes and elaborate dressing, but that very few think of their spiritual adornment. They never look up at the sun or moon or stars, but are entranced by the sparkle of jewels. Do you think this makes people more noble, Mr Yuan?’ Esteban continued.

As he listened to Esteban’s undisguised sarcasm, Mengliu’s blood was stirred.

‘Of course not. I don’t deny that there are a few who live in great luxury. We can’t expect everyone to live on bread and water. Since you find it impossible to see nobility in outer displays, then what does it matter if some dress freshly and brightly? You can wrap the same body in linen or silk, but it won’t change the spirit of the person. For me, I think a life written in blood is the most noble. Perhaps you want to say that people taking off their hats or bowing to you can’t really make you happy. They can’t cure rheumatism or correct vision either, but I think no one is really all that concerned about who wears a fur, or how they kneel before a diamond. After all, it is the person wearing these things that they pay respect to.’

He spoke quickly, like a burst of machine-gun fire. He suddenly felt that his own words were fresh, and nicely expressive of his thoughts. Because of the pleasure his own remarks gave him, he no longer felt that this sort of discussion was as ridiculous as talking about poetry in a meeting of doctors.

Esteban was very gentlemanly, but his words were oppressive. ‘When the state is rich, there are massive construction projects everywhere, money is spent, and things get done. The government has shown results, but poor taste. To put it plainly, the emphasis is on showing off wealth. If the whole country is this way, no wonder the people…’

‘There is indeed a phenomenon of the sort you speak of, but you shouldn’t generalise. In any case, the government is always there to serve the people, for the benefit of the people…’ Having said this, Mengliu’s voice grew noticeably weaker.

‘Serve the people?’ Rania laughed, leaning her head over. ‘Will those in power serve as nannies to the people? Do you really believe such a childish pack of lies?’

‘Mr Yuan, I’m also inclined to think you are joking,’ Darae said confidently, touching the buttons on his cuffs. ‘In democratic countries, you shouldn’t have to wash the people’s diapers.’

‘I think that the type of government should suit the type of citizens in a country,’ Esteban said.

Rania retorted, ‘No. The type of government determines what type of citizens a country has. What type of chicken you have determines what sort of eggs you’ll get.’

‘That’s also not necessarily the case. An ugly chicken may lay double-yolked eggs. Some chickens have beautiful feathers, are gorgeous and elegant, but they still lay small ugly eggs.’ Darae laughed smugly at his own development of the metaphor.

A small bird landed on the table and began combing its feathers with its beak. It hopped happily a couple of times, then flew onto Juli’s shoulder.

3

At night when he thought of the crime he planned to commit after stripping Su Juli of her clothes, Mengliu’s body felt engorged, as if all its energy were gathered in the root of his manhood. That part of his body was a restless little beast. Fattening itself up with loneliness, now it was robust, protein-rich and ready for action. He was not sure when it had grown so fat. This newly-gained power was inconsistent with the psychological sluggishness he was experiencing. His body was betraying him, was filled with a vengeful desire. He was a stocky, well-nourished, middle-class man with a sparkle in his dark eyes. The scars of history had faded from his gaze, replaced by the charming moderation of Swan Valley.

Like a tree that grows and flowers that bloom, Mengliu opened himself up to enjoy the morning light. He was wearing a navy-blue robe. He stood up from where he was seated and, walking with an easy stride, saw Juli tending the garden, picking off dead leaves, loosening the soil and watering it. He could recognise some of the plants — Holsts Snapweed, spotted leaves of Chimaphila, single-flowered wintergreen grass, calyx, purple loosestrife, willow herbs, hickory grass, hibiscus, mock strawberry, butterfly beans… He thought that this woman with no sex life could only pass the time by tending her flowers — not unlike a widow scattering and gathering coins in the middle of the night — the various heights and different colours of flowers, growing in the ground or hanging from supports, with the wind blowing casually over them as they climbed, as if struggling and full of pain.

‘What is this flower?’ Mengliu pointed to a snowy-white blossom, making idle conversation.

‘Camellias. Boy-faced camellias…Unfortunately, when they’re most beautiful, they fall.’ Juli’s expression was simple and natural as she said this.

‘Not fall , they wither, or die, or fade. You can say that when a woman passes the age of beauty her breasts and buttocks fall,’ Mengliu teased cautiously.

‘…Can people also be said to fade?’ Juli did not understand what he implied.

‘Yes. For example, a woman dies, like a wilting flower. You can say she has faded.’

‘Esteban is waiting for your poem.’ Juli did not smile, nor did her voice become more gentle. ‘He thinks highly of you.’

‘I’m a doctor. I stopped writing poetry long ago.’

‘You can write any time. It’s not difficult for you to do.’

‘I don’t want to write.’

‘Why?’

‘What use is poetry?’ His eyes suddenly grew dark, as if darkness had fallen over the garden. Juli frowned, unsure how to answer.

‘Juli, can I ask you a question?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Throughout the long night…do you ever want that kind of thing? Do you want…to know what it’s like?’

‘What?’ Juli still did not understand what he was getting at.

‘…Have you seen the current spiritual leader?’ Mengliu reined in the hints, fearing he might annoy her.

‘Yes,’ she said, her brows still knitted.

‘With your own eyes?’

‘On the electronic screen. She used to appear once a week. Sometimes she talks with the leading scholars about science and poetry, and sometimes she chats with people about domestic issues.’

‘Is she pretty?’ Mengliu asked.

‘Maybe. She isn’t tall, and she likes to wear veils of different colours.’