BYE BYE

ZHU YUE

朱 岳

BYE BYE

Innovative flash fiction from up-and-comer Zhu Yue

稀奇古怪的人，子虛烏有的事－－歡迎來到小說家朱岳光怪陸離的異想世界

ZHU YUE

朱 岳

Zhu Yue, born in 1977, a lawyer turned writer and editor, has published three short story collections: The Blindfolded Traveler 〔《蒙著眼睛的旅行者》〕, The Sleep Master 〔《睡覺大師》〕, and Chaos of Fiction 〔《說部之亂》〕. A philosophy enthusiast,

Zhu published “Random Thoughts of Philosophy”, collected in Diversification: 2010 Analytic Philosophy 〔《多元: 2010 分析哲學(xué)卷》〕.

THE SON

A woman gave birth to a son. When the son grew to be ten years old he wanted to study sword fighting, so his mother found a way to get pregnant and secretly gave birth to a little man. The man matured with speed, became a master swordfighter and the son’s sword fighting instructor. Once the son had learned to be a brilliant swordfighter he said goodbye to his teacher and in an instant the instructor aged and died.

Not too long after this, the king went to war with the Persians. The son wanted to join the king’s army. The mother asked him to wait briefly. She secretly got pregnant and gave birth to a mare. It grew quickly into a big and tall horse. Then she gave birth to two warriors to be her son’s guards. Right before her son left, she gave him a precious sword. The sword was also produced by her.

The war continued for years. Eventually the king’s army was defeated by the Persians. The son survived under the protection of his guards. He sent them home and went off to explore the kingdoms. On their journey home the two guards instantly turned into skeletons on horseback.

The son drifted. He felt lonely. His mother was pregnant again. She gave birth to a little girl. The little girl immediately matured into a pretty young woman. Soon the son and the girl met and fell in love. But on the night of their wedding, when the girl removed her clothes and lay down on the bed, she melted into a puddle of sludge. Holding the goop in his hands, the son gawped at it in confusion. From then on he became odd and reclusive. His spirit withered and died and he decided to become a monk. But no monastery would take him. They said he carried an air of evil.

This time his mother gave birth to a friar. This friar was a master theologian and he soon built a monastery and appointed himself director. The son was accepted and earned a stay. He locked himself in a dark stone room. He saw no one and said nothing. He ate little food and drank little water.

Decades passed. The son was confused as to why he had not died. So the mother gave birth to a small black shadow. A whirlwind swept passed and the shadow grew. It grew into Death balancing a sickle on its shoulder. When the director of the monastery saw Death he turned into dust. Ever since, Death has knocked on the stone room door.

EYES

There is a world divided between spaciousness and density. Some say that long ago the dense area was a dot and subsequently the things that had concentrated there—mountains, water, plants, animals and people—gradually dispersed into open space. But the diffusion was slow and the things stayed tangled in a lump.

Within this tangled mess a man was born. His two eyes were two birds. His eye sockets, of course, were birds’ nests. The two birds flew toward the distant openness and the man chased his two eyes on a horse. When the birds tired they returned to the eye sockets to rest and the man would stop and wait for the mountains, water, animals, plants, and people to approach him. But before they could surround him the birds would take off from their nests again.

One time, the birds flew off again toward the openness and he again chased them on horseback. But after chasing them for a distance the birds did not return. Suddenly, he was thrust into darkness. He thought his eyes must have died somewhere in that open space.

He reined in his horse and tilted his head to listen. All was still. There was no sound. The things behind him did not approach and the openness before him was infinite. Sitting on the horse he dropped his head and never moved again.

FlSH RESCUE

An old rider passed through a small a town to visit an old friend he had not seen in many years. The old friend was even older than him. The old rider sat in the room regretting this decision； his old friend was lying in bed taking his last breaths. It was a long time until the friend woke from his lethargic sleep, but it was already time for the old rider to leave.

“You came?”

“I did. I was passing through and came to see you, old buddy.”

“I’m almost done for. I’d say I’ve got a day or two left...”

“Hey, don’t talk like that. You’re in fine shape.”

“Hmm...since you’re here, there’s something I want to tell you, let’s call it a story. I haven’t told anyone else, so let me tell it to you, there won’t be another chance.” The old rider frowned. He didn’t have time to listen to a story, but didn’t know how to break it to his old friend.

“Back then I was still young. I was strong, I was a beast.”

“Nobody was as strong as you.”

“That’s right. I was strong but I had a good heart. And I loved going out to sea to fish. I was great in the water.”

“I can attest to that. But are you just bragging? I...”“No, it was a thing. A thing happened. One day I was at sea. It was still dark but would be daylight, it would be daylight—” The old man started coughing.

“Okay there old pal?”

“It’s fine, let me continue. Not far from my boat, I saw something rise out of the water. Looking closely, I saw that it was the shadow of a man. It was hazy, but it looked like he was raising his hands for help. Now I don’t know if it’s because I have a good heart or because I always had that impulse to jump into water, but anyways, I dived into a black patch of ocean. The water was cold. I swam to the shadow and grabbed him. I had his arm. He didn’t struggle. Supporting his head I pulled him toward the beach. We weren’t far from the shore. It would be easy enough to get him there. But right then more shadows surfaced around me. They were also raising their arms. A ship must have capsized nearby. I hauled the first man to the shallows, pushed him forwards as far as I could, and turned around to rescue others. And so one after the other, I rescued a whole crowd of people. I didn’t count them. All I can remember is that I was charged with vitality and it took no effort at all for me to save them.”

“Sorry old buddy, I have no time to listen to youbrag, I have more important things to take care of. Time’s running short, I should go.” The old rider stood up, put on his hat and walked out of the room.

“Can’t you let him finish? He is...almost dead,”the old friend’s wife followed.

“Sorry, I’m truly sorry, but I have something urgent to handle. He’ll get better, trust me.”

The old rider stepped out the door, straddled his horse and rode off.

He rode for a day and a night without stopping to rest. Eventually he reached a fork in the road.

He squinted up at the sun； he wasn’t late. The landscape was barren and few travelled that way. He guided his horse to halt in front of a bush by the side of the road and waited in silence. At dusk, a horse cart came hurtling down the road. The old rider nudged his horse into a stealthy pursuit. He gradually built speed and pulled alongside the cart.

Drawing his pistol, he aimed directly at the driver and pulled the trigger. The shot sounded and the driver tumbled out of his seat. The cart’s horse was spooked and galloped wildly, but the old rider was fast enough to grab its reins and pull it to a halt.

He turned around and examined the car for movement. Nobody came out. He jumped from the saddle and, holding out his gun, walked toward the car and threw open the door.

Indeed, sitting inside was the man with the figure eight mustache, and a scar across his face—his nemesis: Bazihu. He had the cold-blooded bastard now.

“Hands behind your head and get out of the car. Slowly now. Don’t try any funny stuff.”

Bazihu obeyed. Holding his head he exited the car and stood with his back to his opponent. The old rider patted him down, found no weapons and ordered him to walk ahead. They were soon deep in the wilderness.

“Kneel, halfbreed.”

Bazihu kneeled. The old rider pointed his gun at the back of his prisoner’s head. Night had fallen and a crescent moon hung from the sky, offering its pitiful light.

“Do you have anything left to say?”

Just then, Bazihu began to speak. His voice was even.

“It was full daylight by the time I had them all on shore. I could now stop and take a careful look. I couldn’t believe it. They had no legs.

They had fish tails instead. That’s right, they weren’t humans. They were merpeople. They had long disheveled hair and were naked from the waist up. Everywhere I looked they were hunched over on the beach. They looked like they were waiting to die. Their faces were shriveled, just like old people—ugly. Hell, I had no idea what to do with the damned monsters. Should I throw them back in the water? I couldn’t find the strength or the will； they belonged to me now. I paced the beach looking at them all. There was no one else on the shore that day, only those freaks and I. At noon, I began to notice waves of stench. They were beginning to rot. It looked as though they were melting. Their flesh was falling off in chunks. In less than half an hour they were reduced to mounds of skeletons. All that was left of them was the clammy hair dangling from their skulls.”

BYE BYE

They are in a spacious room. Sunlight splashes into every corner.

Mister Soc is looking at Miss Plat who is bent over her desk.

He says to her, “BYE BYE.”

Plat raises her head and looks at Soc and says,“BYE BYE.”

This is followed by a long silence.

Soc tidies the documents on his desk and adds,

“BYE BYE.”

Plat puts down her work and pulls her face into a look that suggests she needs to have a word with Soc.

She says, “BYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE.”Soc immediately responds, “BYE

BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE.”

Now, someone knocks on the door.

Plat screams, “BYE BYE!”

Soc thinks, “BYE BYE.”

The door opens and Mister Perm enters the room. He is shimmering with glee and shouts at Soc and Plat, “BYE BYE!”

Plat stands and spreads open her arms, “BYE BYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE.”

Soc is deflated, “BYE BYE, BYE BYE,” he mumbles to himself.

Perm turns his head to glance at Soc. He shrugs his shoulders and says to Plat, “BYE BYEBYEBYE,” and makes a funny face. Plat

begins to laugh.

Soc is thinking, “BYE BYE, BYE BYEBYEBYE.”Plat shoves Soc and continues to listen to Perm:“BYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE.”She thinks, “BYE BYEBYEBYE.”

Suddenly Soc cuts in. He says, “BYE BYE.”

Plat looks at Soc with surprise and says, “BYE

BYEBYEBYE?”

But Perm only chuckles and whispers, “BYE BYE.”

Soc stands up and moves towards the door. He is walking and saying, “BYE BYE.”

“BYE BYE !” Plat chases him. She is chasing and screaming, “BYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYE...”

But Soc is walking quickly. He pushes the door and exits the room. In a roll of the eye he has disappeared into the corridor.

“BYE BYE...” Plat says quietly.

Perm sits at Soc’s desk. Laughing, he shouts, “BYE BYEBYEBYE!”

Plat returns to her desk and stands in front it and with a heavy spirit she says, “BYE

BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE.”

At that moment Soc is walking alone to the agora. There is ample sunlight but the weather continues to chill. “BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYE,” Soc is thinking, “BYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYEBYE BYEBYEBYEBYEBYE !”

- TRANSlATED BY NlCHOlAS RlCHARDS 〔芮尼克〕

Author’s Note: My fiction confuses many readers, probably because I see the world as a grand enigma. When I straighten my clothes and sit upright trying to solve it, I keep failing, not sensing a single clue. But in some rare moments, it flits through my heart, startles and unsettles me. It is perhaps what Aristotle called “wonder”. Fiction writing can be a way to get a handle on the enigma or imitate the enigma. It is not to“gain knowledge of the world”, but to experience the world as a riddle. It is not a method of expressing the riddle as a concrete problem, nor a solution to it. I write only to experience deeper bewilderment, through which some relief may be gained.