Mengliu wiped his nose with his index finger. Resuming his posture of hugging himself, he continued to ramble.
‘That was really a super-chaotic time. The greed of the masses was shocking. Toilet paper, batteries, clothing, electrical appliances…everyone was crazy. They hoarded everything at home, some even bought two hundred pounds of salt. How many years would they be eating that? I knew someone who bought eight hundred boxes of matches, and another who stocked up on laundry detergent…The stores did not dare to open for business, they just accepted payments through a gap in the door, exchanging cash for merchandise. While they queued, people cursed each other, some even got into physical altercations…And don’t think I’m just making this stuff up. If you don’t believe me, you can go and ask…er…
‘Anyway, another ten years went by, and public morals were declining each day. I’m pretty clear about the hospital’s business today. Patients should be careful when receiving prescriptions. It’s like a private challenge, different from bargaining for the best price at a farmer’s market. The buyer’s the one taking the initiative there. What you’re looking for, at the hospital, is a speedy and thorough recovery, and what drugs you get depend on the doctor, so you hang on his every word. You need to speak very cautiously, and not have any illusions about the doctor’s kindness or compassion or integrity, or that he holds to some high-sounding code of medical ethics…Public health care has become a business. Individual officers scramble in pursuit of lucrative contracts. Whether through departmental contracting or single commissions, the rebates the doctors get from drug companies go toward their personal wealth. As long as something is profitable, then it’s pretty much “anything goes”. They opt for expensive drugs…meaning that cheaper, more effective treatments are now harder to come by. And then there are the substandard medications, which lead to malpractice. People have lost confidence in medicine. It’s becoming a crisis…’
‘It’s as if you’re saying that the country has gone bad because it’s taken bad medicine,’ the raccoon-like child showed a change in attitude, and seemed to be taking some interest in the conversation now.
Surprised, Mengliu stared at him. He seemed to have just noticed that the boy was there.
‘If everyone is like you, then things will just get sicker,’ the little fellow said earnestly.
As usual, the weather was fine, and they ventured outdoors to enjoy the afternoon sun. The bright-eyed raccoon wore a sapphire blue robe with a standing collar and the sleeves turned up a couple of times. He folded his legs under him on the swing, looking like a cat curled up before the fire and wearing a serious expression, making his fat baby-face look even more childish.
‘Two-thousand six-hundred years ago, there was a ship that met with a storm and it was wrecked on a desert island. People from many races, including Chinese, the non-Han nationalities, the Miaos and the blue-eyed people were washed ashore. Left on the island, they settled and multiplied. These were the ancestors of Swan Valley. Later…’
A young man with teeth as shiny as a steel blade came out from beneath the shadow of the trees, saying, ‘Shanlai, it’s been a long time since I heard you tell these stories.’
Shanlai, as startled as if he had heard a bomb explode nearby, dropped his feet to the ground, stood up, and said politely, ‘Señor Esteban!’
Esteban smiled. He was tall, stately, handsome. His well-proportioned build could stand up under any form of measurement, an impeccable specimen amongst humans, evoking a feeling of profound respect.
Mengliu was as confused as if he had been struck by a surging wave but, not forgetting his manners, he greeted the newcomer. ‘Hello, Esteban. It’s nice to see you again.’
The impeccable specimen conjured up a vague impeccable smile, offering it to Mengliu as if it were a sweet on a plate.
‘Mr Yuan, sir,’ — Mengliu noted the use of ‘sir’, both polite and cold — ‘I hear you are a poet. Poetry is the heart and soul of Swan Valley. It seems, sir, that you have come to the right place.’
Mengliu’s heart, like a sensitive scar registering a change in the weather, began to feel a dull aching soreness. He looked around carefully, noting the dancing vine leaves, the falling pomegranate flowers, and the layer of red that carpeted the grass.
‘It’s more accurate to say that I am a surgeon,’ Mengliu replied, straightening his back. Then, somewhat dramatically, he added, ‘If I reluctantly admit that I was a poet, it is only because I have performed some artistry on the bodies of my patients. But the employment of medical technology does not require the daring application of the imagination.’
‘Between diseases of the flesh and sicknesses of the soul, which do you think is in more urgent need of treatment? Which of the two types of illness does more harm?’ The gentleman seated himself on the swing. He lifted Shanlai, whose ears were pricked up, and seated the child on the swing beside him. With his feet against the ground, he gave the swing a push.
‘Neither is as serious as the sickness that infects the state,’ Mengliu muttered, obviously preferring not to discuss the subject. He crushed the petals on the ground with his foot, watching them turn into powdered soil. Their fragrance blended with the smell of the earth, and rose up in an aromatic blend of fermented grains. He knew Esteban had not come by to wile his time away in idleness. From the first time they had met, he knew this was not a person who could be dealt with easily.
Esteban listened, then put his left foot on the ground, stopping the swing. He seemed surprised by Mengliu’s answer.
‘Surely your own country isn’t terminally ill?’ he asked, sucking in his breath as if dragging on a cigar. The swing started moving again as the child got down to give it another push, then clambered back up onto his perch.
‘That’s right! Their country has taken so much medicine that it has become even sicker,’ Shanlai said, one hand clutching the rope at his side and the other pointing at Mengliu. ‘And he is wallowing in the mud of cowardice!’
‘Shanlai,’ said the gentleman, pulling the child toward him and putting an arm around his shoulder. ‘You need to listen first and only comment later.’
Mengliu felt as if he had turned into a turtle, rolled up in its shell and tossed back and forth between two children. He was annoyed, but controlled his irritation as he replied in his usual prudent tone, ‘There are idle people all over the world who sleep half the day. A lot of people spend their time gambling, visiting places of pleasure, amusing themselves to pass the time, without giving a second thought to society and those less fortunate than themselves. They don’t have pity for their parents or compassion for their siblings. They don’t have a soft heart at all. In their eyes, all that matters is their own gain…’ Then he looked as if he wanted confirmation of his ideas from Esteban and Shanlai. ‘I think human nature is the same everywhere you go, isn’t it?’
‘That’s not necessarily true, Mr Yuan.’ The gentleman put his feet on the ground and steadied the swing again. His bright eyes bore the look of one who loved a good debate. ‘When a nation goes crazy, it wields the scalpel on intellectuals. There will be both natural and man-made disasters, culture will regress…’ He shook his head helplessly, then continued in a despairing tone, ‘Do you know how lethal the Great Famine was, how many people it destroyed? It was the equivalent of more than four hundred and fifty times the number of people killed by the atomic bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki. It was a tragedy far greater than the Second World War. I’m not exaggerating, not at all.’