三味書屋

Jia Liyuan （賈立元）， pen name Fei Dao （飛氘）， has had scholarly papers published in The？Contemporary Writers Review （《當(dāng)代作家評論》D`ngd3i Zu7ji` P！ngln），？Southern Cultural Forum （《南方文談》N1nf`ng W9nt1n）， and？Dushu（《讀書》）. His works include the short story collections Innocence and What It Fabricates （《純真及其所編造的》Ch%nzh8n J！q！ Su6 Bi`nz3o de， 2011） and The Storytelling Robot （ 《講故事的機(jī)器人》Ji2ng Gshi de J～q#r9n， 2012）. His short story “A Story of the End of the World” （《一個(gè)末世的故事》Y！ G- M7sh# de Gshi， 2006） has been translated into Italian and published in ALIA （2011）， an annual anthology of international science fiction. Translations into English include “The Butterfly Effect” （in Chutzpah） and “The Demon’s Head” （in Renditions， Volume 77/78）， His script “A Long Journey to Death” （《去死的漫漫旅途》Q S@ de M3nm3n L）t%）， adapted from his own eponymous story， won the second Young Script-writers’ Support Program award in 2009. Fei Dao is currently a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Chinese Language and Literature at Tsinghua University.

He wore glasses with a silver frame， very refined， and， at first sight， I took him for a con artist. Despite that， I decided to take him seriously. Anyone else would have just thought he was crazy.“Is this place safe？” He was a little nervous.“As the head of the National Security Bureau， I guarantee our conversation will not be overheard，” I assured the stranger. He nodded， leaned forward， and raised one eyebrow： “Tell me， why did the dinosaurs disappear？”I stared at him for no less than 30 seconds， and—besides the sound of the persistent “tick tock” of the wall clock—everything in the room was silent.

His eyes were full of temptation and excitement， with a certain mischief to them； he licked his lips and asked： “Where did the Mayans go？”I was fully aware of the gravity of the situation. I put on a serious face and told him： “Go on.”

We spent half an hour in that room， full of his nervous narration and the persistent ticking of the wall clock. Thirty more seconds of silence.“Let me get this straight，” I said， breaking the silence. “On Pluto， there are intelligent beings called ‘cleaners’. They consider themselves to be the supervisors of civilizations in the universe. That is to say， whenever a certain civilization on a certain planet develop to the extent that they become a danger to civilization as a whole—for example， resource exhaustion or environmental pollution—they intervene. Dinosaurs became too prosperous， so the cleaners decided to redesign them into…kangaroos. As for the Mayans， the cleaners changed them into ants…Did I understand all of that correctly？”

“Right.” He appeared elated that I was accepting such an absurd story and answering in such a serious manner. Having deemed me worthy， he decided to reveal more：“As far as I know the pyramids were built by cockroaches； as for the mice， do you know the statues on Easter Island？”

In that moment， I realized he was saying that all of the great wonders of the world were built by the filthy creatures all around us. I had goose pimples， but I suppressed my indignation. Feigning nonchalance， I asked： “So， do you mean to say that it’s the humans’turn？”

“That’s right.” His expression became serious； he wasn’t stringing me along anymore. “Maybe you don’t believe it， but it doesn’t matter how vast the universe is. The cleaners’ spies exist anywhere there is civilization. Earth is no exception. These spies masquerade as common people， they observe human activity， and report back to Pluto frequently for them to evaluate the situation. They believe that human civilization has lost control， that humans can’t fix the current crisis by themselves. The situation could bring problems for Pluto. For this reason， it is necessary to intervene personally. Now， on Pluto， the cleaners are arguing without rest； they will vote to decide what they will change humans into.”

“They have a democracy on Pluto？” I asked curiously.“Democracy？” His face flashed with contempt： “Heh， they are just thugs， arrogant， conceited， moody people. They say that the people on Earth hate each other， they kill each other， and human civilization is about to collapse. They have rated earth as a second-class ecological contamination and decided to exterminate the infestation. Some have suggested reducing humans to gregarious insects similar to ants. They say this would solve the problem of natural resources and would be beneficial to solidarity and friendship among them. Also， it would put human beings on a rung in the food chain that won’t threaten the survival of Earth anymore.”

I was secretly shocked： “Do they really believe that？”

“It’s a pretext，” he said， waving his hand dismissively.“Every time they start a raid， there’s always some highminded reason， but， really， they don’t care whether the civilization is a problem or not. They change things because they don’t like it. This time， it’s pure revenge.”

I was amazed by his answer： “Revenge？ What did the people of Earth ever do to Pluto？”

Smiling， he answered， “Isn’t it true that Earth decided a while ago that Pluto should not be considered a planet？”“Just for that？ That was done by a few astronomers on a whim.” I was transfixed.

“But that’s what the cleaners are like. They’re very vain， and they don’t take disrespect lightly.”

The thought of these extraterrestrials being so narrowminded gave me pause. I thought for a while before my next question. “So， how did dinosaurs offend these aliens？”

Impatience was written all over his face： “They say it was because of RB music. Dinosaurs invented it and loved it， but the cleaners hated that lowbrow music. Now look， you don’t need to keep asking about all this boring old news. You are facing a catastrophe； I’m on a special trip to inform you. I hope you can rid yourself of your doubts and report all of this to a higher authority as soon as possible.”

His seriousness again aroused my curiosity. “So， are you from Pluto？”

Smith nodded. I locked up my drawer and took the key with me， putting on my coat and heading outside. “But， in the future if you find people like this again who want to see me， please let them in. I still want to talk with them. Even if they’re nuts， one of them might have something useful to say.”

I walked out of the office and into the sun. It didn’t look like the world was ending. In the street there were people of every shade and description， gentlemen， gangsters， celebrities， politicians and beggars， each with their own 1 notions and ideas. Nobody cares if Earth is permeated with fatal toxins， if millions suffer from hunger， if millions of species go extinct. Would they even care if they knew that there is a group of catfish-like aliens on Pluto who want to turn human kind into ant-like insects？ Or of the existence of conspiracies and legends from 10 thousand years ago—a hundred thousand years ago？ What they need now is the warm sunlight that guides their short， gloomy existence. It doesn’t matter if we let them die in ignorance.

At home， I was met by my dog， Bread， as he heard me opening the door. He ran up to me， rubbing my knee on his head. I locked the door and sank into the sofa. What an exciting day. I could finally breathe free.

There’s a lot of work to do， work that I can do much better than those barbarians from Mount Olympus. Those impulsive savages can’t do anything right. They are disgusting and they deserved their punishment from those catfish aliens on Pluto.

It’s not just Gods and cleaners who can do the spying. My people also have extraordinary talents. When the time is right， the world will be back in our hands. The kangaroos will rise again. We will defeat our enemies and take back our kingdom from these barbaric， blockheaded humans.

Bread barked at me twice， I smiled and gave him two doggy treats. He chewed happily as I patted his soft ears， humming some soft RB to myself.