by Huang Fan
10
It gradually grew dark. The overwhelming scene began to reveal a gentle, yielding, and calm side as the veil of night descended all around. Sitting beside the well, Xi De gently clasped the book, immersing himself in the magical moment as day gave way to night.
The vacuum left in his soul after such a great shock slowly receded, but fear, confusion, and uneasiness swept in to replace it. His first thought was that if the book wasn’t a plot of some sort, it must have been scribbled by a madman. There was just no way that the new world, perfect and filled with hope as it was, could be the result of a mad and bloody plot as described by Winston. Winston had to be a lunatic, bored or delusional.
Xi De stood up, exhaled, and set off toward home.
“Xi De,” said his father at the dinner table with a note of concern, “aren’t you feeling well?”
“I’m fine,” he replied.
Unable to sleep, Xi De got out of bed around midnight. His mind was running wild like a three-ring circus—a form of amusement from the old society that no longer existed. You learned of these things by finding them mentioned in books or seeing them in old movies. Of course other things had disappeared too, such as the nonsense about which Winston had written. Why? Because the new society was filled with so many rational, wise, and useful things. And people? What had happened to 90 percent of the population? Those billions of people just like you with a brain, two eyes, and a pair of ears—what happened to them? Winston offered an explanation; the textbooks offered a different explanation. Winston offered a nonsensical explanation, while the textbooks offered a rational explanation with proof. No! Not an explanation, but rather the truth. But there has to be a reason for someone to go to so much trouble to write this book and then come to tell me about it a half century later in a dream.
Xi De sat at his desk facing the book, mulling over this mysterious and incomprehensible matter. After fifteen minutes, he just had to open the book.
Winston followed with an extremely detailed description of his major works on the committee. At the same time, he provided numbers that only reinforced the veracity of the book. Winston mentioned a small island called Light of the Pacific, which was the previous name of the tenth regional committee under which Xi De served. Sixty or seventy years earlier, after Nanning had obliterated everything on the island, a reconstruction project was drafted. The plan proposed the establishment of five industrial cities and three agricultural cities (in this he was correct). But then it was possible to forge things simply by altering the dates. This was an important point of doubt. As Xi De read, he noted the dubious points on a piece of paper. He simply noted them without knowing how he was going to handle them. There were several other points of doubt: Was the unusual dream that summoned him a plot on someone’s part? If that was indeed the case, then why seek out someone as insignificant as himself? And what was the point of it all? How could a denouncement transcend time and space and occur in his head?
Following this, Winston mentioned how Max Kristen became a global superstar by handling most of Russia and part of the United States. The destructive character of Nanning began to undergo a change as well— another of its functions was its ability to quickly eliminate atomic fallout and provide once again a piece of virgin land unsullied by human hands. And so Max Kristen and his working group would appear at the “land of miracles” like Moses in Exodus. Finally, one day, a transnational committee was born, either because it was needed to help the work group accomplish its goals or because those who had survived the catastrophe needed a model spiritual symbol. Max Kristen, of course, was honored with appointment as first chairman.
The last few sections of the book described Winston’s family and his road to enlightenment. On the last page of the book, Winston penned one line: “In my soul, I humbly pray for the forgiveness of humankind.”
Soft music floated from the home computer. Xi De knew that a new day had dawned. He left his desk and pulled open the curtains. The gentle light of the sun pierced his tired eyes. He hadn’t slept all night.
11
As always, the machines in the Bureau of Resource Analysis were functioning smoothly. But Xi De’s heart had undergone a change of sorts. He had departed from the perfect work life that had been arranged for him. He had begun to make contact with the outside world in a spirit of curiosity, uncertainty, and alertness.
One Sunday afternoon, Xi De set off for the Central Academy he had long since left. The chaste and elegant dorms, the refreshing gardens, and the students who held themselves aloof from the world all stirred warm memories.
Professor Kang Zaoshi opened the door and, startled, looked upon this student who had long since grown up.
“Professor,” said Xi De in that old-style living room, “I’ve missed you.”
The old man nodded and poured him a cup of tea. Xi De noticed his trembling, age-spotted hands.
“You have grown up. How are you doing?”
“That’s hard to say—there are still many things I have not experienced.”
“Don’t be in any hurry,” said the professor, sitting opposite him, looking him over with his kind eyes. “How’s your job?”
Xi De then began to tell him about his work at the Bureau of Resource Analysis. The old man nodded from time to time.
After Xi De finished speaking, the old man smiled by way of conclusion. Then he stood up and invited Xi De to accompany him to the garden to look at his flowers.
“One day, these beautiful plants will disappear without a trace,” said the old man as he walked.
“Why is that?”
“The concept of beauty is in the process of changing. In the future, people will only have eyes for space or the products of science and technology.”
“Oh.”
They paused before a rose in full bloom.
“Look at how touching these flowers are,” said the old man. “I’ve devoted so much time and energy to growing them.”
“Professor, why not just use a growth formula? In a matter of weeks you’d have a garden filled with roses.”
“That’s not the same. These flowers, like people, have lives. Do you understand, Xi De? You can’t rush a living organism to make it grow faster.”
“Why not? There are limits to a person’s life. Why waste so much time on education?”
“When you reach my age, you’ll understand. Sometimes I regret missing many things because I was in such a hurry.”
Xi De grunted noncommittally. They resumed walking. The professor paused beneath an oddly shaped pine tree.
“Xi De, you didn’t come here to chat, did you?”
Xi De shook his head. Then he began to relate the recent series of events, beginning with the dream he’d had three days in a row and leading to his uncertainties. He poured out his heart to the professor without leaving out a detail, great or small.
The minutes passed as Xi De told his story. The professor listened intently and when the story ended, he whispered to Xi De, “Let’s go inside.”
The slanting rays of the setting sun poured through the living room window. In all seriousness, the old professor fixed his eyes on the pure and puzzled face of the young man and said, “It’s hard to believe that you actually ran into this sort of thing in this age, this century. If there were such a thing as fate, then you’d have been duped by it. There is no reason that the violent changes of the last century should have anything to do with you. Your class origin, your own background, in fact nothing about you should obviate Winston from choosing you. That is, if Winston really existed. He’s a complete bungler if he throws everything into crossing space and time looking for someone to redeem him and then manages to find a big child like you, so pure and innocent. It’s a bad joke.
“I have not heard about most of the things Winston describes. However, the truthfulness of some of what he says I can confirm, based on my own experience. This ought to be of use to you, but how much I can’t say. Perhaps the whole thing is nothing but a ha
rmless prank or nothing more than a history lesson. People these days are not interested in history mainly because it has already taken shape. In a civilization that has taken shape and is heading for its zenith, history has nothing of interest to offer, and no one has time to look at the past, especially in today’s age of superscience and technology. The issues faced by 99 percent of people these days will not be resolved by looking at the past. The challenges of the future transcend the sum total of a few thousand years of human history. At the beginning of the twentieth century, when Henry Ford produced his first Model T, the cave paintings of primitive man were nothing more than a topic for an interesting chat. Likewise, Marx’s political theories, when run through our computers today, will be seen as no more than childish scrawl. The study of history has evolved into what it is not because of the shortcomings of certain individuals but because it has become a kind of mechanically applied specialized jargon, a ‘historical necessity.’ After teaching history for forty years in the academy, I have come to one conclusion: it has less practical value than literature. And what is the fate of literature these days? But this has nothing to do with what we are talking about. I want to tell you my personal experience. It might help to explain some of what has happened to you.
“Sixty years ago—a long, long time ago—when I was only twenty-seven, I was studying at Harvard University. I was in the middle of preparing for my Ph.D. exams. It was a terribly arduous process and the homework scarcely allowed me time to breathe; I had no free time for anything outside of school. On occasion, I would learn something of what was happening in the world. I knew that it was becoming extremely chaotic and people were agitated. Many professors and students had already left school, and nothing more was heard from them. Overnight, some students lost contact with their homelands and wept in the dormitory. Under those uncertain circumstances, the school authorities urged the foreign students to stick calmly to our schoolwork. At that time, the United States had not been affected. So it was in those chaotic times I passed my Ph.D. exams, after which I was offered a job as an assistant professor in the history department.
“The teaching load of an assistant professor was very light, more like a form of practice. As a result, I had more time to find out about what was happening outside. At that time, the world had reached a point from which there was no turning back. From the perspective of history—my field—the complete collapse of civilization was approaching. The world had gone mad; chaos, disaster, and mass hysteria reigned; over a hundred strange cults appeared overnight, and the streets were filled with people shouldering crosses and fanatical believers carrying religious images. And invariably in the middle of the night someone was heard shouting: ‘The end of the world is upon us; the end of the world is upon us!’ A single religious meeting would attract tens of thousands. The preachers, who beat their breasts and stamped their feet, would work them into a state of hysteria—many would immolate themselves and many would have themselves crucified. At the same time, hedonism became all the rage, attracting ever greater numbers of people. Soon licentiousness, immorality, and even incest had become widespread. As the world was on the brink of going to hell, I was conscripted by the Nanning Committee. They informed me that my homeland, the small island that had been named the Light of the Pacific, had been obliterated. I and a few other fortunate survivors were charged with the difficult task of rebuilding our homeland. We would all receive the technical training necessary for the reconstruction. A few days later, I reported to a place that was like a military base. Tens of thousands of my compatriots were already there—they were the cream of my people. Actually, they were the only ones with the wherewithal to flee the disaster area. In addition to diplomats and immigrants, there were overseas students, military officers, government officials, scientists, engineers, doctors, lawyers, professors, wealthy people, movie stars, and some sailors.
“Afterward, little by little, we were deported to our homeland. I was enlisted in the last group to be sent back. When I landed, there were already a number of crude and simple buildings on the island. The vanguard of the new society, filled with energy and hope, hastened between the cranes and the concrete pipes. The adherents to the new faith, filled with hope and religious fervor, buried themselves in a myriad of plans and charts. I was assigned to the dam construction and engineering section, which had nothing whatsoever to do with what I had studied. Like others at the time, I had no complaints—our minds were filled with our work, the rebuilding of our home. Actually, the world was still in the midst of a cataclysm; on this point, Winston is perhaps correct, but as far as we were concerned, the catastrophe had passed. The only thing that lay ahead of us was a series of challenges, nothing else.”
The professor had scarcely taken a breath as he spoke and halted here, his cheeks red and throat parched; his age demanded calm. Xi De had listened intently and was totally unaware that it was completely dark outside.
“Then you are saying, Professor, that Winston’s accusations regarding Max Kristen are quite plausible.”
The professor picked up his teacup and sipped slowly. After a while, he replied:
“Quite plausible. In those days there were a number of opinions, some of which were preposterous in the extreme. Some people felt he was the devil incarnate; others thought he was Christ come again for the last judgment at the end of days. It was the opinion of several friends of mine—all internationally recognized scholars—that the dramatic change seemed to possess a kind of causality all its own; in other words, that there was a discernible plan behind it all. Explosions in the Northern Hemisphere followed immediately upon the heels of those in the Southern Hemisphere. It was plain that a series of explosions in one area would severely disrupt the ecological balance of the globe. But all we did was talk; no one actually set out to thoroughly investigate the situation. I was busily engaged in the construction of the first modern dam here. Although I was in no way an expert, I learned from my colleagues that the design of the dam represented a new page in history. The other construction projects were basically the same. In that way, I devoted twenty years to such construction projects. Only when the work on all the cities—one administrative center, the five industrial cities, and the three agricultural cities—was nearly completed did they think of me and my educational background. When I say ‘they,’ I mean the regional committee, 90 percent of whom had been dispatched by the Nanning headquarters. At that time, the population of the island had reached about one million. Many compatriots had returned from various parts of the world because the violent changes had nearly come to an end. The schools once again had students, and I resumed my teaching career, teaching history at the Central Academy. I soon discovered that the field of history was not taken very seriously. This was not simply a case of the students being unwilling to slightly open the gates of memory due to lingering shock or fear after the catastrophe; even the committee was intentionally neglecting it. At any rate, after a number of years, few students elected to study the subject. The students were fixated in an unprecedented way on their major courses, owing to the specific way they were taught and the equipment available to them. A number of new discoveries and creations had received the painstaking encouragement and promotion of the authorities: the smallest success in outer space was met with the most enthusiastic response from the people. However, at the beginning of this extreme specialization, a group of generalists got together and asked me to join them. But I refused. I did so because I understood the inevitability of evolution and knew that there was no stopping change. They organized an underground group and even acquired weapons and issued a slogan, ‘Hoodwinking the masses through specialization.’ Unfortunately, by that time, most people had lost interest in revolution, struggle, and debate. They were willing, however, to go see a sci-fi flick by the title of The Magellan Nebula or to recline in a massaging chair. No one was willing to hear speeches on topics like “regaining the spiritual life” and “people cannot become like bees.” For this reason, the revolutio
n was soon stamped out, and some people fled to the mountains. The committee didn’t bother to go after the fish that had slipped through the net. Instead, they put all their efforts into hastening the development of the new society. Twenty years ago, when the Third Committee announced the success of the election, the world’s ten regional committees were on track, and no one would ever threaten such a tight, scientific, and effective organization again.”
