Sheng Keyi - Death Fugue

It was a harmonious society of beasts.

Mengliu suddenly felt that everything was going to be just fine. He picked fruit from the trees and quickly filled his stomach. At a small brook, he washed his unshaven face. He wove a pair of sandals from grass and, leaning on a walking stick that he had made from a fallen branch, set out on a journey that would last several days.

It was not an easy forest for a hike. Sometimes he climbed like an ape, sometimes he rolled down, and sometimes he had to swim. He came to a strange place that seemed to have been burned. There was no flora or fauna, and no wildlife. All around were scattered hideous-looking glossy black stones, and the land was dry and desolate. The mountain peaks in the distance formed the jagged lines of a country mapped against the sky. One stone was particularly striking for its gigantic size. Its porous surface seemed to have retained warmth, and was emitting an infernal gaseous substance.

He lay down to sleep. Before long, ants woke him up, and he found himself covered with countless red blisters. He got back on the track.

Ahead there was only one path to follow, through a weird crevice in the cliff like a huge wound that had scabbed over. He fumbled along, following the foot-wide trail along the edge of the cliff for a few dozen metres. He reached the crevice, and the path became even narrower. He eased himself forward. His skinny shrunken frame seemed to be tailor-made for the narrow space. He smelled moss, followed by an occasional burst of floral perfume. He heard the sound of a spring, bubbling with girlish laughter. From its initial merriment, it grew more melodious. Suddenly, as if a car window had been thrown open, there was a sound like that of a beast’s low threatening roar. Before he could distinguish what it was, there was another roar and it leapt on him — a huge waterfall, seeming to fall from the sky, crashing down to the base of the cliff. Flowers grew wild on the rocky face, soaking up the spray from the waterfall.

He stepped forward, and his foot found only empty space. He plunged headlong into the pool below. The surface of the water was covered by large peonies. He felt that he had been dropped into a pot of hot dumplings. The waves buffeted him, and the spray from the waterfall hit him like tiny stone missiles, momentarily stunning him.

The grass looked soft. The sun lightly covered his body. The birdsong grew to a crescendo. Mengliu waded over to the bank and fell to the ground. He lay there motionless. Weak and somewhat dazed, he saw a beautiful girl walking toward him, her long hair hanging loose around her naked body, which was heavy with fruit like coconuts on a tree. She looked like Suitang at first, but as she drew nearer, she looked more like Qizi. The girl bent over him…

In his exhaustion, Mengliu had an erotic dream. When he woke, he thought of the vision of Qizi he’d seen in his dream. It had been over twenty years, but her likeness was engraved on his heart. It had not gathered any dust, nor had his love for her subsided in the least. He would never know such love again. Back in those days, Qizi and another girl called Shunyu had frequently made appearances in his diary. After the Tower Incident, Qizi had gradually come to play the central role. Mengliu visited the cinemas, shopping malls and eateries in Beiping with the wealthy little princess Shunyu. Shunyu was infatuated with his friend Hei Chun, and Mengliu had fallen for Qizi, so the two had banded together for mutual entertainment and consolation.

The photo of the Three Musketeers he had kept, depicted them as being full of vigor, self-confidence, and idealism. One look at Hei Chun’s hardened eyes was enough to convince anyone of his influence. Bai Qiu’s shoulder-length hair, full and ready to take flight, made him look romantic and elegant. Mengliu was the perfect image of a frail scholar, cool and reserved with his Adam’s apple protruding above the neckline of his white shirt, hands held low and clasped in front of his body. The timid rabbit-like expression he wore demonstrated his trust in and love for a peaceful society. He always thought he should have put his hand on Hei Chun’s shoulder, or perhaps slipped both hands into his pockets, rather than letting them hang low, tightly clasped together, as if he were a football player afraid he was about to be kicked in the nuts.

The background in the photo was the double-tracked wall outside the Wisdom Bureau. The wall was covered with posters, all of which had later disappeared. The photo had faded, turning yellow and wrinkled. It was becoming more distinctly representative of its era. No one wore that expression anymore. It was the special property of the 60s generation.

This photo was a cherished memorial to his poetic past. He regretted keeping it, because of the memories it evoked. Yet, he was glad too, as it retained signs of the romantic youth he had experienced. If anyone thought a rift had developed between him and Hei Chun because of a girl, it definitely wasn’t a crack in their relationship. No, it was more like a line of poetry. Thinking it over carefully so many years later, he still held the same opinion. Back then, the country was unsteady, dealing with economic decline, disorder, and rife with government corruption. The fate of both nation and individuals were uncertain.

Shunyu was a big-eyed, shy girl who could set off a storm with a furtive glance, but Hei Chun remained unmoved. Shunyu was worth remembering. In the end, she had been hit by a stray bullet in the middle of the chaos. As she waited in the long queue outside the hospital door, she died slowly from loss of blood. She died beneath the flag of Dayang, fluttering in the wind overhead.

Startled out of his reverie, Mengliu sat up. The sound of the water falling from that terrible height reminded him of the rumble of the tanks as they lumbered toward him.

6

The April following the Tower Incident, the flowers were in bloom, but remained smothered under a layer of snow. The old acacia tree was covered in leafy green, its sharp points rising out from under its thin snowy coat, bringing a cold hint of spring, flowing with life. Mengliu walked beneath the tree and considered going overseas. In an attempt to lure him into staying on board, the Wisdom Bureau had offered him a promotion and, before the venerable leader, he had made a show of being touched. He said he would think about it.

Mengliu pined for Qizi. The love buried deep in his heart flowed continuously like an underground spring. Only when he had written several poems about her could he find any peace of mind. To be fair, Qizi was a good girl, possessing all the beauty and frail delicacy of the women of olden times, just as she was equipped with the cool aloofness typical of the women of Dayang. Her career ambitions were quite exceptional. He felt ashamed when he recalled how he had treated her scientific ideas like crazy talk.

He remembered how she looked — pale, thin, short hair, pert nose, pointed chin, and a distinctive fragrance. Her demeanour as she spoke…

When the joy born of that memory revived, he got a bicycle and raced around the compound at the Wisdom Bureau, his head full of dreams in which he held her and kissed her, running his lips over her responsive breasts. He was pedalling so hard the bike was gasping and moaning, when he unexpectedly came across his friend Bai Qiu near the entrance to the library. He was so startled that his lust fluttered away like a frightened bird.

Bai Qiu was dressed in an oversized military coat, the sleeves so long they hung over his hands. Mengliu slowed down, then put his right foot down to brake. Stopping in front of Bai Qiu, he exhaled heavily. His friend, apparently composing a poem in his head, was so stunned he took a step backward. Seeing it was Mengliu, he smiled as if in a trance but, quickly recovering, he commented that Mengliu’s eyes were glowing so much he looked like a dog in heat. Though Bai Qiu had a keen mind, he appeared so slow that it was hard to believe that harsh words could come off his tongue, or that sharp verses could be penned by his hand.