‘It’s just pride on your part. The match is right. Forget other women.’ Rania thought for a moment, then added, ‘Do you know what I’m talking about?’
Mengliu’s angry exit from the house brought an end to their unpleasant conversation, but an hour later, when his feelings had calmed, he found that Rania’s attitude had also changed. She was respectful towards him now, and more careful with her words, and even her silences expressed a more reverential obedience. She referred to him as Master Yuan, and she looked like a perfectly submissive wife and a good mother.
‘I think I offended you earlier. Never mind if you write poetry or not, I should still show you the respect I would a poet. I have not done so, but now I know what I should do.’ Rania offered him a pile of clothing, and a scarlet mandarin robe, its collar and cuffs embroidered with birds and flowers. On its hem, the swans were so finely sewn that the wings looked alive. She held up the new robe, and Mengliu involuntarily opened his arms and slipped them into the sleeves. As she helped him dress she said, ‘This was made especially for you, a combination of styles befitting the Head of a Hundred Households, and a bridegroom. You don’t know this, but the position is only given to those who are highly respected, so it’s an honour. I believe you will be able to take the lead in dutifully doing good deeds.’
As if under a strange hypnosis, Mengliu began to feel a little smug. He looked at Rania as she buttoned his robe. As she clasped the next to last button she squatted down, and her breasts swelled as her knees pressed against them. When she finished, she twitched the hem and stroked the birds that were embroidered there. Perhaps because she had squatted down, and her blood flow had been blocked, her pale face was flushed. Her hair was flowing. A red shell hung between her breasts.
Mengliu stepped back, spread out his arms and looked down at himself. His body was covered with birds with strange eyes and gloriously overlapping feathers. It was like a magical robe, and as he wore it, he felt a burning sensation in his chest. His mind was in chaos, and his legs seemed to float, as if he were in the clouds.
‘Tonight at the bonfire party we are to take the lead. We need to arrive on time.’ Rania’s expression was submissive, like a humble wife’s, a lowly sort of humility.
Once it was dark, she was a different person again. She wore a white wool dress, spread her wings and flew out the door, bouncing like a Mona Lisa and singing the wedding march in a shrill voice. He did not know this dance of hers, whether it was tap dancing, or a tango, or line dancing. It was a bit like all of them, and also unlike each. It was dissipated and yet restrained. It stopped as it reached a frenzy. It was a rhythmic pulsing, like waves of flesh. She danced wildly all the way, bringing Mengliu to the square.
There was a lot of people there. The fire had been lit and the drums were beating. It was a masquerade, many of the people were dressed like savages and wore animal masks. Women suddenly exposed their flesh, draping branches over themselves, leaves dangling as they shook their breasts, twisting their bodies in madness and desire. Some people were using metal skewers to roast rabbits, seasoning them with marinade or sprinkling them with herbs. They were also cooking squid, chicken wings, pig hearts, potatoes, onions, cabbages, sending up fragrant aromas.
Mengliu spotted Juli. Even though she was wearing a vulture mask, her eyes were uncovered, and dazzling. Her hair fell like a waterfall, and her painted body was glittering in the light of the fire. Her breasts were clasped in two melon shells, and she wore a string of red cherries around her neck. Her lower body was wrapped in a skirt of corn husks, and her legs were smooth and as sinuous as a swimming dragon. Earlier, when Rania had told him that at parties of this kind the Swanese people were allowed to abandon all modesty and engage in wild pleasure, he did not expect to see such scenes. He wondered what a carnival amongst these aesthetes, the Swanese, would really be like and what the limits of their revelry would be. The beauty of the women and the smell of the food stimulated him. The music was lively, the drums and flutes were playing with abandon. Men and women alike were stirred into action, whipped to intensity, their legs flailing and hips gyrating in a danse macabre. They leapt into any space that became vacant, rubbing hips and shoulders against one another in play that was rough and wanton, full of provocation and seduction, like a grand orgy.
‘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.