Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

‘I thought the squid must certainly have eaten you this time. I didn’t think you’d survived,’ Juli said, with barely enough strength to smile. ‘It’s a miracle.’

Hearing her speak, Mengliu was very happy. ‘What would you like to drink? Tea? Milk? Or rice wine?’

‘Give me a cup of warm milk. If you can add a couple of eggs, all the better,’ she said bluntly. Of course, since this was her house, there was no need for formalities. She spoke lightly, but it still knocked him senseless.

‘Actually…I’m pregnant,’ she said.

He had just turned around to prepare the milk. He spun back to face her, and stood mutely for a moment. Finding nothing to say, he went back to boiling the milk. A few minutes later, carrying it over in a pot, he said, ‘Your husband?’

She did not say anything.

‘Your government made you undergo artificial insemination?’

She shook her head.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘You acted freely…adulterously…and are in big trouble.’

Her expression surprised him. She was smiling. ‘I won’t die. Esteban surrendered himself, so at least the child can be born.’

Mengliu suddenly thought of Esteban in golden chains, but his consternation was only momentary. His attention was completely focused on the child. ‘Oh…if it is allowed to be born…then it’s not all that bad,’ he said mechanically.

‘Yes. It’s not that bad…but I have to comply with the National Planned Parenthood Non-Matching Data Policy…this will determine whether the child will be allowed to live, but first it must pass a test, and be soaked in alcohol for half an hour.’

‘What? Soaked in alcohol for half an hour? Isn’t that infanticide? They might as well do it as quickly as possible…’ Mengliu lost control of his voice, and was unconsciously shaking the pot in his hands.

‘No, Shanlai also survived this test. When he was a year old, people found his mother’s body next to the river, her lower half eaten by squids. A poor Cuban woman.’

In his mind, Mengliu reached out for the wound in his own leg. ‘You mean you are not his…?’

‘I brought him up…I like children, and I definitely don’t want an abortion.’ She paused, then said, ‘What’s more, this is love…’

Love. She was talking about love. That was fresh! Now he was really uncomfortable. He would prefer to think it had been a moment of passion, so he could tell her that losing control was a virtue, that he was glad her body was awakening to the freedom to be used as she chose, that he liked her courage to resist in secret, and that her suffering now would be his, he would bear the burden for her. But she insisted it was love, and moreover, it was Esteban she loved. He did not believe she knew what love was. A citizen who allowed the government to decide his or her marriage did not have the capacity for love, because love required freedom, and freedom came at a cost. He thought, What was all that ambiguity in her conduct with me? That night in her bedroom, and later in the forest? Wasn’t that almost ‘love’? He wanted to slap her ‘love’ a few times, yet he was grateful for this moment. They were talking deeply for the first time, almost like good friends.

She ate the milk and eggs as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

The house was surprisingly bright. He thought hard, looking for something to say, like a fly searching for a crack on an eggshell. But even though he crawled over the surface several times, he couldn’t find a suitable opening.

‘You know Yuyue, right?’ He knew this was rather roundabout.

‘Yes. She has very exotic genes. The government can’t find a match for her genetic data.’

‘Her mother went into the nursing home a few years ago, and she has never gone to visit her. She said her mother often writes…’ He frowned, remembering the white smoke from the chimney. ‘I wonder if she didn’t die long ago.’

‘Hm. There are all sorts of talented people there, so it’s entirely possible there are ghostwriters too. But from such attention to detail, you can see that the nursing home must be a warm, humane place.’

He had no answer for that, given that her thinking and his on this issue were so much at odds. But he wanted to continue talking, and felt obliged to engage her, to clarify the situation for himself.

‘You remember the waste disposal site?’

She finished the milk, her expression showing that she was satisfied now and ready for battle. ‘All the flawed, rejected babies are discarded there…’

Though her words only confirmed what he already suspected, they made his heart thump. ‘I understand now, altering the quality of people by starting with the genes…I just don’t know what to say…’ He reached into his pocket. Perhaps it was time to talk to her about what was in the letter.

‘He will hold on.’ She patted her stomach optimistically.

‘I want to show you a letter,’ Mengliu said. ‘Maybe you will feel it is all nonsense…’

‘If you’ve got something to say, go ahead. Why did you have to write?’ Her tone indicated that she was thinking, There’s nothing new under the sun.

‘I didn’t write it. I don’t even know the person who did. He died recently.’

‘You think reading a letter from a dead person you didn’t know is good for the baby?’ She was a little harsh, as if she didn’t care about anything except what she carried in her belly.

Hesitatingly, he took his hand out of his pocket. He thought she had a point. Sharing the contents of the letter, which had nothing to do with her child, with a pregnant woman, could be a bit dangerous and might be met with disdain. From his experience with Rania, he knew that pregnancy could make a woman a little slow, mentally, as if she had turned into a primitive female animal.

‘Well…okay,’ he said. ‘I will make an exception and read a poem for him instead…it was written in Round Square a long time ago by my friend Hei Chun.’

The fire crackled busily. He reached out his hand, warming it for a moment in front of the fire. He noticed that her eyes had suddenly lit up.

Standing by the fireside, he recited the poem.

autumn has come

I am in this wheat field

and you are in that

the poor children are looking for fruit

the fields are covered with scars

inflicted by their torturer

I have brought a porcelain bowl

to collect the blood that won’t sleep

I believe only in the night

the sins of darkness and its wounds

unhealed, even after many years

a child wanders on the outside

waiting for the snow to melt

from his mother’s forehead

he drives his dagger into the salt

you live at the bottom of a stagnant lake

I have come to the end of my journey

while you smile, guarding the fire

in a time of confusion, let me die as I wish

in a sweet embrace

leaving a black seed behind

18

Mengliu went to see Yuyue to get her input on the question of soaking a child in alcohol and its surviving. As she skipped a piece of ice across the surface of the river, she answered him, saying that it was something no one could answer with any certainty. In short, she was not very optimistic. The ice danced on the surface of the water twice before disappearing. Yuyue said his question had compromised her level of effectiveness. He then asked for examples of survivors. Having already chosen a better-shaped piece of ice, she faced the river and arced her arm overhead. The ice hit the water with a dink dink dink dink, creating a row of ripples. She gave herself a thumbs up, in celebration of the joy of victory. She criticised him for sticking his nose in other people’s affairs, and asked what business it was of his whether other people’s children survived. When she finished, she glanced at him contemptuously and said, ‘You don’t have that kind of courage!’