Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

Mengliu thought it was a sealed egg, but then he found that the inside of the egg was brighter and more spacious than he had thought. He could not figure out where the light came from.

The huge space had been constructed out of many scattered pieces, and light broke at various angles through these pieces. There were various types of paintings, sculptures, photographs, and craft…some pieces hung, some floated, and there was space for animations, films and videos. His attention was captured by a cluster of oil paintings. On the canvasses were pictures of a snowy scene with a dilapidated old factory, cold chimneys, a steel ladder, and footprints across the quiet depressed landscape, the traces of poor, humble lives. The strings of steel between the trees were laden with tattered children’s clothing blowing in the wind. Amidst the abandoned train tracks, rusty ventilation pipes and boundless snow, he seemed to be able to see things beyond the canvas. He felt he had been in this remote town, perhaps in his youth or childhood, perhaps in a dream. Anyway, he was familiar with the scene, and his heart was touched. He wanted to say something. There were people around him who likewise stood in melancholy silence for a moment before the group of paintings, then moved on with blank expressions. They had no desire to speak. There was no Hei Chun here, no Bai Qiu, Qizi or Shunyu …The wound on Mengliu’s leg started aching again. He leaned over and checked with his hand to see if the area around the wound was swelling. The skin was very hot to the touch. At this point two pairs of feet stopped in front of him, and their owners held a whispered conversation.

‘Darae, if pigs take an interest in art, how interesting can it be?’

‘From a philosophical perspective pigs do not think, but if you want to know whether pigs think, maybe you should ask a pig…’

‘Hi, Mr Yuan!’ The toes turned toward Mengliu. He straightened up, his head almost bumping against the girl’s chest. It was she again! ‘What a coincidence. Do you think…a pig can take an interest in art?’ Rania smiled as she spoke. Her fertile body crowded his space, and he felt himself being pressed into a corner. He didn’t retreat. It was his first close-up view of the contours of the girl’s face. It looked like it had been carved out of dough. The eyes were light blue amber and the lips red and sexy, and naturally a little mocking. Darae was positioned between Mengliu and Rania, forming the third side of an equilateral triangle. He obviously did not know where ‘the pig’ had come from. The two men shook hands, maintaining the distance between them.

Mengliu still had not spoken. Juli and Esteban suddenly appeared from behind another screen.

‘I heard your leg was injured. Are you all right?’ Esteban wore a brown robe with a straight, standing collar. He had shaved his head, leaving only a short beard encircling his mouth.

‘Never mind. It’s much better now,’ Mengliu said. Seeing Juli and Esteban appear together, he was filled with a wave of jealousy, yet he could not help admiring the way Esteban spoke so compellingly, with a gentle suggestion of arrogance. Mengliu praised Esteban in his heart, but at the same time felt that he had endured some sort of invisible persecution at his hand. Esteban was a man with a burning purpose. Like a candle in the dark, he would turn everything around him into shadows.

Not wanting to be made a shadow, Mengliu turned and continued viewing the exhibition on his own.

‘Mr Yuan, seeing these pieces of the students’ art, you must have an opinion, no?’

Esteban walked a few steps with him. ‘Would you be willing to be interviewed, or perhaps write some articles on the works?’

‘Thanks, but I am just a doctor. I know nothing about art,’ Mengliu waved his hand. ‘I am just filling in time, and casually browsing…’ He paused, then continued, ‘Señor Esteban, may I venture a question? Do you feel that Swan Valley is perfect?’

‘If you would write a long poem, that would be perfect.’ It was as if Esteban had not heard a thing he said. ‘That is what we lack, good poetry, and a great poet.’

Mengliu eyed Juli, and she raised her chin slightly, as if sensing rain falling upon it.

‘I always have a hard time believing the great poet’s background.’ Rania put her hands in the pockets of her fancy dress, as nonchalant as a cat after a meal. ‘People in shackles can only write shackled poetry.’

‘Chaos isn’t freedom. Freedom comes from order,’ Darae interjected.

Esteban turned his back to a snowy scene three or four metres long. His brown robe was silhouetted against the white snow. ‘I think that a great poet’s drive should come from a noble, pure spirit. You know, people are like trees in a forest. They need each other so that they can get air and sunshine. Then each tree can grow up straight and beautiful.’ His mouth flicked to the right, like a breeze blowing the flame on a candle, revealing the trace of a smile. ‘Those trees that are separated from one another grow up crooked and tangled.’

Mengliu glanced at Juli again. He did not want to talk about poetry. He wanted to escape from such conversations.

‘You and Darae go and have a look at the sculpture exhibition. There are a few parts of it that need to be tweaked,’ Juli said to Rania, and the two young people bustled off. ‘Would either of you object to a drink at the café?’

‘Good idea. I am a little tired.’ Mengliu raised his injured leg.

They passed through a maze of corridors. The café seemed to float in the air. Beyond it, the vast expanse of golden wheat spread to the horizon, meeting the sky in the distance. Clouds were scattered overhead.

A waitress with a flower-trimmed apron served them onion rings, French fries, corn-breaded calamari and coffee.

‘Of course, human nature, this crooked piece of wood. It is impossible for us to make anything absolutely straight.’ It seemed that Esteban wouldn’t eat anything until he had finished speaking. He crossed his legs, stretched his hands along his robe, smoothing it out, and looked toward Juli.

Juli took a book of poetry from her bag, saying that such fine weather and such a perfect moment would be ideal for reading. Opening the book, she slowly read, ‘“When I think of the things I regret in life, plum blossoms fall, like seeing her swim across the river, or climbing to the top of a pinewood ladder…”’

Each time she read to this point, she went back and started again. After reading it several times more, just as she was about to reach her momentary pause, Mengliu blurted out, ‘Dangerous things are sure to be beautiful. It is better to see her riding back…’ He seemed to be possessed and continued reciting without taking a breath, his face turning red and his eyes ablaze. He stood up, faced the endless wheat fields, and recited the final lines, ‘“I need only think of the things I regret most in life, and the plum blossoms will fall on the southern slopes’’.’ Tears welled up in his eyes amidst the silence of the abrupt ending. When he turned back, his face was pale again, and the light had gone from his eyes. The three of them stared at each other.

‘Your voice proves that you are still a good poet. You have a very strong feeling for language.’ Esteban was excited, and it broke his usual calm, arrogant demeanour.

‘Esteban is right. Maybe you are not even aware of it, but your appeal just now…’ Juli’s two chocolate eyes stared at Mengliu. Her speech betrayed an obvious lack of confidence.

‘They eat human flesh, but in the end, they will be eaten by humans.’ Mengliu picked up a piece of squid from the bamboo basket, sniffed it, and put it back again. ‘I am a doctor. I recommend that you all eat a healthy diet.’