‘Mr Yuan, you really shouldn’t say anything.’ It was the robotic voice again, languid, full of disdain and mockery. ‘You are the one our machine searched out, the man with the highest quality of genes. Of course, you can be suspicious of anyone, but you have to trust science, and you have to trust the machine.’
Mengliu assumed the robot would give him the periscope, as it had done before. He really wanted to have a better look at the woman with green hair. But apparently the robot did not plan to do so. ‘That can’t be right,’ he replied. ‘There must be a problem with the machine. Someone like me is just rubbish, not even worth mentioning.’
‘Ha! Mr Yuan, you were born a Swanese. Humble, low-key, with the virtue of not being proud of your special talent. You can win a much better reputation and status…’
‘I don’t need it. You can’t possibly know what it is people need!’ Mengliu shouted, his voice lingering.
‘Don’t worry about that. I know exactly what the people of Swan Valley need. We won’t be tarnished by the modern pleasures of life, the decay, the erosion of principle, the moral turpitude, the spiritual emptiness…human life is limited. We won’t create waste or let crises brew. Our practice is to allow each individual to be innately elite, genetically so. We must improve the quality of the human race.’
‘That’s just subjective fantasy. Winston Churchill said that Western society has two things that were least flawed. One is democracy and the other is a market economy. From what I have seen, Swan Valley has two things that are most flawed.’
‘Oh? May I ask which two?’
‘Abstinence and politically arranged marriages. Since ancient times, humans have seasoned food with spices to satisfy their taste, used the fragrance of flowers and grass to cultivate their sense of smell, and created art to satisfy our eye for beauty — but you want to put restrictions on all human feelings and imprison people in their bodies. And as for excellent genes…’
‘Mr Yuan, you greatly underestimate an elite race’s tenacity of will. Immorality caused the death of nations even in ancient times. Lowly personal desires only exist in vulgar people. The citizens of Swan Valley are broad-minded, they hold manners and virtues in high esteem and focus on noble spiritual pursuits, so how…’ The robot was talking slowly.
‘This is a perverted illusion of peace. I know that not long ago there was a man who went missing. And a girl committed suicide — she was forced to death by what you think of as nobility, but others call insanity. You lied and said the man lost his mind and fell into the river and was eaten by squid. The girl who committed suicide was just following her own beliefs…’
‘For maintaining the normal social order and institutional dignity, death is the most common deterrent.’
‘That is a fallacy. It is disregard for human life,’ Mengliu interrupted.
‘Wrong. Your mind is overgrown with weeds. You need to cleanse your brain, clear away anything that hinders the operation of the machine. But then again, you are doing a good job with the forums. Evaluating the psychological state of the people, and reporting on their thoughts — very impressive. You have ambition, and you know how to use power to serve the people. This is an excellent quality.’ The robot took a deep breath. ‘The direction of all human activity, whether political, economic or cultural, is not something that can be decided by individual intuition or feeling. A machine is selfless, it pays attention to data…Oh by the way, let me congratulate you. You are going to be a father. The government will send a professional to take care of the expecting mother. The food has been arranged scientifically to ensure good nutrition.’
Mengliu wasn’t listening to the robot. He noticed the fluorescent blink and alternating colours on the machine nearest to him. There were oddly shaped controls that made clicking sounds. He reached out and pressed a purple switch with his finger. The lights faltered in a drunken chaos. He began moving both hands frantically over the machine, as if playing an instrument. All he could see was a crackling burst of fiery light, as all the machines began to shake, and then to roar like frightened, crazed beasts. Their parts jostled, and there was a great confusion of noise, as if he were in a huge workshop. The robot’s angry voice mixed with the cacophony. ‘Ruined! You’ve broken the machines! You’ve dared to destroy the machines, and you will be hanged, fed to the squid…The machines are failing. The information is confused! The data is incorrect…You’ve acted in ignorant recklessness. It will lead to numerous miscarriages of justice.’
The temperature in the room had suddenly increased. Sure enough, the machine in front of him was manically producing statistics, filtering data, creating analogues and clicking away like a typewriter. The data printed out continuously, faster than a newspaper press. It piled up, full of strange hieroglyphics. Mengliu found himself blocked in. He climbed over the stack of paper, intending to flee, when he saw a sheet headed ‘A Comprehensive Report on the Swan Valley Mind, and Spirit Data Chart Statistics’. Printed in red were the names of people with mental defects and other diseases. His name was there, like a centipede, bloated with blood, crimson and plump, wriggling its numerous feet. It suddenly turned into a huge monster, its mouth open to bite him. Mengliu went limp and fell to the ground.
11
The officially-brewed recipes for pregnant women gave special attention to nutrition. There were three vegetables dishes, one or two meat dishes, and a soup, and in addition to these regular meals, there was a flexible supply of extras. If the pregnant woman vomited, complementary foods were to be taken immediately, and it was considered a traitorous act for an expecting mother to refuse food. Noble dedication would quickly overcome the symptoms of morning sickness, and the pale-faced Rania, each time she vomited, placidly ate another meal, only to expel it again in an ongoing cycle of eating and vomiting. She remained calm and maintained her appetite. She no longer minded the sounds or uncomfortable poses that her retching produced, she acted like a filter. Food and fresh fruit juice went into her mouth, and were deposited in the golden toilet bowl very soon after.
She lost weight very quickly, and her face grew sharp and her shoulders narrow, like the Mona Lisa morphing into Lin Daiyu, the willowy heroine of the sentimental tragedy The Dream of the Red Chamber. Her pale skin was suffused with green, her plumpness disappeared, a gaunt look took its place. The poor girl suffered the sacrificial pains of motherhood, she underwent a severe testing of her patriotic doctrines. Mengliu did not bother about any of this. He was immersed in his musings about the robot, and whether it was a dream or a real place he had visited. Perhaps his auditory hallucinations, or his perceptual problems, had become more serious. He was always in a daze, unable to recall even the names of Hei Chun and Bai Qiu, much less a line of their poetry. His permanent place was beside the window where he could see the mountains and the river and the herds grazing on the slopes, and hear the playful voices of the people floating by, as if he were seeing characters taken right out of the Old Testament. They had land and cattle, and God was always with them. He longed to talk to God.
The government and the scientists were very concerned about whether Mengliu and Rania’s offspring would be a genetic wonder. They took great pains to provide the necessary culinary and nutritional care, assigning Darae to be Rania’s nutritionist. When the weather was bad and there were no meetings, Mengliu was surrounded by an unshakeable sense of melancholy. Darae was the only friend he could talk to. Every time he saw him, it was like grasping at a lifesaver. Darae brought Rania his newly created dishes: Snow Fox (fried pieces of squid), Battle of Bosnia (cabbage and black mushrooms), Running My Fingers through Your Hair (pig trotters stewed with seaweed), and Small City, Unique Talent (a mixed salad). Mengliu said that the mix of hot and cold in this menu, eroticism and war, was not a bad combination. Darae thought that eating was an art, requiring a certain level of genius when it concerned the appetite of a pregnant woman. Mengliu was shocked to hear Darae’s view of Rania’s pregnancy. He said that depriving a young girl of her vitality and making her conceive was inhumane and, to put it more seriously, was almost equivalent to raping her. He had been naive not to have anticipated this sort of thing. He asked if there was a girl Darae fancied. Darae remained completely silent for a long while before he finally said no.