Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

‘Head of a Hundred Households, today is a double celebration. Why are you looking so glum?’ Esteban pulled off his tusked mask. His lower body was encircled by a leopard skin, and he carried a spear.

‘I am appreciating it.’ Dressed in his official robes, Mengliu replied briefly. ‘What is this dance?’

‘The Infinite Dance. It was invented by the Chinese. During the Spring and Autumn period, when the Emperor Chu died, his disciples wanted to pursue his woman, and they invented this dance to tempt her.’

‘Oh, so that’s the Infinite Dance. I’ve heard of people dressing beautifully for it, and eating elegant food to make them radiant… but with you this is…’

‘Yes, the food must be elegant, and the clothing beautiful.’ Esteban gave him an arrogant smile. ‘But to the Swanese, clothing would only cover our perfect bodies.’

As the pair was talking, Darae came over carrying a metal skewer with a roasted animal on it, saying, ‘Mr Yuan, this is the rabbit king. Yesterday, it bit off the water buffalo’s neck, and a hundred rabbits devoured the buffalo.’

Lions that ate grass, squids that ate people, rabbits killing and eating a buffalo. These unusual things in Swan Valley no longer seemed strange to Mengliu.

‘Mr Yuan, Darae’s cooking skills are superb, just like his sculpting skills. Why don’t we watch him use his knife on the rabbit. Esteban waved his hand toward the square, exclaiming, ‘Please play “The Mulberry Song”. Everyone continue dancing!’

Darae took the roasted rabbit off the skewer and sat at the communal table, on which there were laid out knives of various sizes. He took one and applied it to the meat. It was as if his actions were a dance timed to the music. The petals of meat flew in the air like plum blossoms, and their aroma lingered. He paused, changed knives, then took up the dance again, cutting through the muscles and dismembering the animal. Mengliu heard the tearing of the flesh as it was stripped from the bone. The rabbit meat was oily, with a strong taste. With the last note Darae gracefully put the knife down, the process of butchering the rabbit and the song ending together.

‘Ah, that’s amazing. There’s nothing better than watching a skilful butcher dismembering an ox.’ Mengliu was filled with wonder. ‘How have you mastered such skills?’

‘Darae holds in high esteem the chef who butchered oxen for King Hui of Liang,’ Esteban said, smiling. ‘Everything is an art. Does its beauty match that of a good poem?’

Mengliu rubbed his hands, trying to restrain his excitement. But Esteban had mentioned poetry again, and this spoiled the mood a little for him.

Rania, having had enough of dancing, was like a bun that had just come out of the steamer. Her expression showed that she was enjoying herself. She stood to one side, her eyes filled with pride.

Someone brought lotus-leaf cakes, cucumbers, garlic, sweet sauces, hot pepper rings and carrot sticks, placing them in a huge circle on the table. ‘Will you please, together with your wife, taste the rabbit,’ Darae said respectfully, not at all carrying himself like a great artist.

Feeling himself like an emperor in his robes, Mengliu involuntarily fixed a more dignified expression on his face. As he chewed the delicious rabbit meat, his face remained ridiculously stiff.

‘In another forty minutes, the couple will enter the bridal chamber.’ Esteban ate a few cakes then got up and left his seat. ‘Someone will bring you to the hospital. Everything has been set up.’

‘Hospital?’ Mengliu swallowed the last slice of meat. ‘But why should we go to the hospital?’

‘Artificial insemination,’ Esteban said, without looking back.

Mengliu felt like the chair had been kicked out from under him. His face fell.

‘You really don’t know much,’ Rania added. ‘That’s the regulation.’

9

The light of the sun rising in the east fell diagonally across the fence and into the garden. With the fresh seed growing in her body, Rania had the look of a new wife. She was like a pregnant cat, and seemed even more elegant when she walked. The old rebellious, naughty, mean edginess had disappeared. She had begun to tend the plants in the garden as she waited for the seed in her body to germinate in the sun, to flower and bear fruit. Mengliu felt it was a dream. His feelings for her had grown even stranger to him. He had no idea what she was thinking, and feared he would never figure it out. He felt the people of Swan Valley were like robots running on a program. In the face of instruction they offered unconditional obedience. And yet it was as if everyone here was a philosopher, denying personal desire with their lofty spirits and the depth of their insights about life.

The wound on Mengliu’s leg had still not healed. In fact, it was just as they had said, regressing again after it had begun to improve.

Now that she was Mengliu’s wife under the law, Rania used a mysterious potion every day to clean his wound, murmuring as she did so, as if she was saying a prayer before a meal. Since the absurdity of their wedding night, Mengliu had continued to struggle. All the way to the hospital he vowed not to submit to their arrangements, even to die fighting them. Upon reaching the hospital, he and Rania had been separated, and he was brought to a secret chamber with warm lighting and mural-covered walls. The elaborate frescoes with their quasi-religious symbolism moved him greatly. He skirted around green and red mountains, meandering rivers, plains, hills and forests, and a barefoot flying god. Above the giant lotus blossoms men and women engaged in intercourse, employing all kinds of positions. As the light shifted, they seemed to move in a very lifelike way. Meanwhile members of the hospital staff stood in a corner playing sensual tunes on reed flutes, while a woman chanted passages from a book, as if calling him enticingly to bed. Obscene sounds seemed to come from the people in the pictures. Under such stimulation, poor Mengliu’s resolve and dignity crumbled together. A young nurse, smiling with admiration, brought a glass bottle over, and he was happy to pay his debt in pent-up seed. They planned to use an instrument to inject the fresh sperm into Rania. Now he saw that the figures on the lotus were the Hindu god Shiva and his wife. They weren’t moving after all. Perhaps the obscene images had been the product of his own imagination. The last image he saw was of a woman, upside down and with legs spread apart, a plant growing out of her womb.

Rania was a woman who was easily managed now. After marriage, she was idle and dull, brightening her days by sipping fermented tea, cleansing her organs along with her libido. All distractions had been washed away. She had become as pure and innocent as a baby, her mind a vast empty space. Touched by the orange of the sun, Rania’s sunflower-like face looked eastward, filling her fertile body with the sun’s warmth. Mengliu saw the germinating sprout pushing her belly outward. A strange tenderness filled him, brief but sweet. In a way, this unexpected family life had struck a chord in his instincts, as if a candle had been lit in a dark chamber, allowing him to study himself. He was still unable to find clarity — without poetry, his former life had collapsed. It was past. He had often thought about how, in this morass, he could rebuild his world, but it was all in vain. The whole world had caved in.

Mengliu felt a little fondness for the serenity before him. A woman he had never touched, pregnant with his child. He hardly knew her. Her civility towards him gave him a sense of dignity and self-worth. He could appreciate the simplicity and perfection of this kind of relationship, like prescribing the right medicine for a specific illness. Sometimes he missed Juli acutely, and the distant Suitang, and Qizi, though he did not know whether she was still alive. Rania did not mind his moodiness at such times. She gave all his belongings a good cleaning, even destroying his wallet — credit cards and all — without his permission. She said it was all rubbish, not needed by the Swanese, and therefore cumbersome. The spirit could not be measured in Arabic numerals. People could not live by figures alone. It was a waste of time to fight for worldly possessions. She said the spring has flowers while the autumn has the moon, summer has breezes and winter snow. Having nothing to do is the best season. You could write poetry, study or meditate, with nothing confusing or surprising happening, no improper thoughts, you needed only to feel cheerful, because the family and the nation were prospering. She related everything to the politics of the nation, turning a flea into an elephant with her descriptions, or a crocodile into a gecko. It was her responsibility to assist Mengliu fully in his role as Head of a Hundred Households, and possibly even as the future Head of a Thousand Households. A dutiful wife should naturally push her husband forward in this way.