He leaned against a tree and closed his eyes.
‘Hi! Wake up, Mr Yuan. What are you doing snoozing here?’ a girl’s voice asked. As if in a trance, Mengliu found himself still sitting by the road, facing a seemingly boundless wheat field, leaning back against a birch tree that had been stripped of its bark. An ant was walking in circles on his sleeve.
‘Oh, it’s you…’ He stood up, a little embarrassed because he could not recall the girl’s name.
‘I’m going to the art museum. Would you like a ride?’ Her hair was golden and her skin pink, and her dress a little unconventional. She straddled her bike, balancing her toes on the ground. She had a wicker basket full of scrolls. Her elongated features wore an expression of sneaky arrogance.
‘No, it’s all right. Thanks,’ Mengliu said. A plump girl, he thought.
‘You seemed to be brooding…’ The girl cocked her head to one side in a way that made her look like a fat bird. A cloud of curls was flying around her. ‘Are you cooking up a poem or something?’
‘No, no.’ Mengliu did not want to discuss anything related to writing poetry.
‘God, you mean sitting across from such fine scenery, you’re really just sleeping by the roadside?’ The girl straightened her head and peered at Mengliu.
‘Being able to sleep any time, anywhere, means you were good in a past life and have no regrets.’
‘Sounds like you’re talking about a pig,’ she said bluntly.
Mengliu looked at her carefully. ‘More or less.’ He didn’t want her to go on.
‘That’s right. I see that you aren’t like a poet anyway.’ The girl snorted, threw him a contemptuous look and, with a whoosh, the bike was gone.
As if someone had slapped him, Mengliu sat stunned for a while. Using the force of his back against the tree, he pushed himself up and the friction rubbed off some debris. He wanted to scold the girl, but the view of her riding off on the path between the mountain and the wheat field stopped him from doing so. The girl was nothing like Qizi. He had only to see a girl on a bike to think of her though. Sometimes when he saw a bike, or any turning wheels, he would think of her. All young girls would make him think of her.
He lowered his head as he walked, as if he were looking for something on the ground. After a while he came upon an electric vehicle, which was enveloped in youthful laughter. He remembered then that the girl who looked like a fat bird was Juli’s student Rania. She had a sharp tongue, and enjoyed bandying about all sorts of political rhetoric. Mengliu had a very bad impression of such women. It could even be said that he hated them.
Seen from a distance, the Swan Valley Art Museum looked like an egg sitting horizontally, a grey stone shell wrapped around it, free of all attachments, making it seem aloof. The square outside was full of nude sculptures of strange shapes and sizes, and both sides of the path leading to the museum were lined with national flags. It was noiseless, so silent that even the sound of footsteps was swallowed up. Mengliu sat on a wood-coloured bench. The wound on his leg was hurting, and he began to worry that it would continue to rot, right through the flesh, leaving only a skeleton’s leg. Bai Qiu had long ago turned to a skeleton in the earth. His poems had been authorised and published. People read his poetry, but no one questioned why he had died. Mengliu smelled the mixture of sunshine and fresh grass and felt confused by his own presence at this place. Groups of gorgeous men and women walked into the art museum. Some of them waved, seeming to recognise Mengliu, but he ignored them, immersed in his own emotions. When a colourful bird descended with a screech and perched on a statue’s head, he remembered that he had followed Juli here. He stretched his legs and stood up. All of Swan Valley’s exhibition halls were free of charge and open to the public, so he went straight down the promenade covered with a red carpet that led to the museum. There was applause, as the opening ceremony was just ending, and the crowd began to disperse in an orderly way.
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.