Zero and Other Fictions Page 7

  “So Mr. Xie is an atomic bomb-phobe,” said Miss Chen.

  “How amusing,” said Miss Ma.

  As could be expected, the outcome was that Miss Ma consented to help me find an answer to my above-mentioned query as well as hinting at the possibility of further developing a friendship. I, however, actually felt depressed, extremely depressed. Good Lord! What had happened? What was wrong? Originally I had brought along my picture to help explain, but I had made a simple matter overly complicated, even deviating from my main purpose. It was the same as when I wrote that sci-fi story titled “The Eight-Limbed Alien.” On account of a few technical errors, neither readers nor author could tell which was hand and which was foot.

  Well, what eventually happened to those two young ladies? I’m sure a number of readers will be interested in learning if I became friends with one of them or if we fell in love.

  I won’t say yes and I won’t say no.

  My answer is that the future developments with the two young ladies have nothing to do with this story. They returned to their real lives. Like you, as far as they were concerned, this matter was simply one of those occasional variables in life.

  As you read this story, you also are “involved in” the story; it’s just that the way you enter the story is completely different from the way those two young ladies entered.

  The difference is that “you” are not a specific, well-defined object. But if you read this story in the morning paper one day, and before finishing the piece, you contact me at once, then in that case you might really set foot in my story.

  But given the present circumstances, this might be hard to achieve in terms of technique, unless, that is, the way literary supplements do things changes completely. (For example, a short story appears in its entirety in one month, publishing just once a week, or you change your conception of the integrity of a work of fiction.)

  For this reason, the two young ladies must exit the stage. They nearly dragged me off track. So I called and told them that the matter of measuring the width of a ditch had been nothing but a big joke.

  6

  Allow me to record the following passage:

  We understand the outer world through our senses. When we perceive some phenomena, we sometimes endow certain of them with special significance as a result of how our senses function and how our brain processes stimuli. There is an extremely important feature to this process: we fragment the gestalt of the time-space continuum surrounding us and for this reason perceive our environment as being composed of distinct categories of objects as well as breaking the flow of time into a series of discrete units.

  After going through the unexpected twists and turns between fiction and reality, we feel a bit more courageous and intelligent when it comes to facing the actual events that occurred on May 30, 1960.

  The Truth

  May 30, 1960.

  By the time we reached the big ditch, there were only four of us left. (Chen Jinde had returned home at the last minute.)

  Lai Xiaosheng, Zeng Yiping, Lu Fang, and I.

  The four of us lay facedown on the concrete bank of the ditch, looking down at the reflections in the water. Actually the sky was very clear, and the water flowed clear, making the surface a mirror.

  “I can see the future,” I said to my friends.

  “Then tell us our fates,” said Lai Xiaosheng.

  “Lai Xiaosheng, you will mail me a postcard in 1975,” I said. “Zeng Yiping, you and I will lose contact.”

  “And me?” asked Lu Fang.

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “Tell us, tell us, tell us.”

  “You guys are forcing me—I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

  “Tell us.”

  “Lu Fang, you will die in a traffic accident in 1976.”

  “What nonsense!”

  “What about you?” asked Zeng Yiping.

  “In 1985, I will write a piece titled ‘How to Measure the Width of a Ditch.’”

  “What! You’re saying that you are going to measure the width of a ditch in the future?” asked Zeng Yiping.

  “Right!”

  “Why don’t we try now? There’s no need to wait that long,” said Lai Xiaosheng.

  “Okay, but how do you propose to do it?”

  The four of us sat beside the ditch, devoting a good deal of gray matter to the problem. Night found us still there, unable to figure out a way to accomplish it.

  Translated by John Balcom

  zero

  Yes, we are about to make history. We—you and I—the members of the committee, now find ourselves at a turning point in history. Beyond this point lies what our ancestors extolled—that transcendent and sacred Golden Age, perfect in every way.

  Yes, members of the committee, we shall never forget the last century, a benighted century shrouded in darkness and destruction, a century in which human beings dragged out their animal-like existences, a century that our textbooks refer to as the “Dark Ages.”

  I believe that at this moment, all of you, like me, are taking part in this committee meeting with profound gratitude and humility. This meeting is unlike all previous annual meetings in that everything we say, every word we speak, shall be recorded in the annals of history so that posterity might savor our accomplishments and discuss the great success of this meeting with relish. Like the number zero, it marks an end as well as a beginning.

  Allow me to express my gratitude to Nanning and to Mr. Max Kristen, as well as the committee members, who, over the years, through their contributions, have provided the perfect environment in which to begin this unprecedented plan that will allow humanity to advance to the highest stage of evolution in the universe as well as attain and enjoy the supreme happiness bestowed by Nanning.

  CHAIRMAN OF THE SECOND NANNING COMMITTEE

  1

  After emptying the last canister of growth formula into his field, Xi Jin patted his hands and prepared to knock off after a day’s work.

  At that moment a strange occurrence on the northern horizon attracted his attention. He looked up, fixed his gaze on the horizon line, and watched the gradual appearance of several silver flying objects. The small, saucer-shaped objects glowed and seemed to appear and disappear amid the evening clouds filling the sky. Xi Jin concentrated his gaze for a while. How he wished he could ride in one of those saucers, even if just for a minute. But he was a farmer, and according to the professional caste classification, he belonged to the irreplaceable forty-fifth level. Short of a miracle, he was destined to be a farmer his entire life.

  Considering this, Xi Jin couldn’t help but sigh. The strange occurrence on the horizon had vanished—no doubt the flying machines had penetrated the ozone layer and were headed for some destination in the vast universe. It was nearly dark. Xi Jin turned on the farm’s sunlamps. Brilliant green plants appeared immediately before him. He set off in the direction of his house.

  Strangely, there was no one at home. Xi Jin turned on all the lights. Where could she have gone? He paced and thought. Where could his wife be if she were not in the kitchen getting dinner? He sat down on the living room sofa, lit a cigarette, and stared blankly at the television screen on the wall.

  “Xi Jin! Xi Jin!” He opened his eyes at the sound of a woman’s voice.

  “Oh, you’re back,” said Xi Jin. “I must have dozed off.”

  “You’ll never guess where I’ve been, never.”

  She was an ordinary-looking middle-aged woman with a pair of warm, dark eyes. Her thin face was red with excitement.

  “Let me guess, you went to the commissary to buy something?”

  “Wrong, wrong.”

  “Then you must have gone to Yidong’s place to play video games.”

  “Wrong again. I’ll tell you. I went to the Ministry of Domestic Affairs.”

  “Ministry of Domestic Affairs! What were you doing there?”

  “Listen to me, Xi Jin. What is it that you have wanted more than anything else
in life?”

  Xi Jin sat up straight and looked at his wife next to him as she tried to control her excitement. They had lived together for twenty years, but she had never been able to open that secret compartment deep in his heart. At that moment, a silver flying saucer filled his mind; there it was, free from all constraints, performing all sorts of maneuvers—rising, diving, looping, rolling.…

  “What have I wanted more than anything else?”

  “A child,” shouted his wife, unable to control herself any longer. “Xi Jin, we’re going to have a child of our own, a precious, cute, lively, bouncing baby.”

  “Good lord, what are you saying?”

  “This afternoon I received notification from the Ministry of Domestic Affairs,” she said, out of breath. “They told me that the application for a child we’ve made for the last twenty years had finally been granted. Think about it—we’ve waited twenty years for a child of our own.”

  2

  A year later, Xi Jin’s baby was finally born. It was on the very day of the Global United Memorial Day, and every city in the world was holding various activities to celebrate, including garden parties, parades with floats, and robot exhibitions. At night, the streets were filled with people setting off fireworks. The flying saucers changed colors and performed all sorts of maneuvers in formation.

  United Memorial Day was held to commemorate a great individual of the last century—Max Kristen. At the time, under his leadership, a laboratory code-named Giant Star miraculously developed a mysterious element known as Nanning that was capable of neutralizing all forms of nuclear weapons. The element had unlimited power and could consume all other forms of energy. On account of this, it wasn’t long before the entire world united under the name of Nanning, and Max Kristen along with a number of other national leaders organized a transnational committee. The committee was successful in channeling everything related to politics, the economy, the military, manpower, and the distribution and scientific development of resources from all parts of the world into the Nanning administrative system. Universally praised, Max Kristen was honored by being appointed the first chairman of the committee. It was said that because his ancestors were from Switzerland, peace was in his blood. Under Max Kristen’s leadership and that of succeeding committee chairmen, a series of reforms were completed. Owing to the beneficent power of Nanning, traditional weapons were scrapped; oil fields were shut down (Nanning is vastly superior to oil); polluted rivers, lakes, and forests were reinvigorated; billions of inferior people from Africa, the Americas, and Asia mysteriously vanished; and the acquisition and allocation of resources was strictly controlled. Once the objectives for the material environment were achieved, the committee put its hand to an unprecedented plan, and on United Memorial Day, the second committee chairman solemnly announced via the global communications network that humanity was on the verge of a new age, an age of peace without conflicting views or disputes.

  3

  When the doctor entered the waiting room, it was already dark outside. Xi Jin stood at the window, staring out, lost in thought. Crowds thronged the boulevard as the rich and colorful celebrations took place.

  “Xi Jin,” said the doctor from behind, “congratulations.”

  “Huh? What?” Xi Jin turned as if on a spring.

  “Congratulations. Mother and child are doing fine—and it’s a boy,” said the doctor. “However, some minor surgery will be required, just standard procedure. You’ll have to wait till tomorrow to see him.”

  Shortly thereafter, Xi Jin sat down beside his wife’s hospital bed and, holding her hand, gently said, “Thank you. It’s a boy.”

  “But we can’t see him till tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay. Let’s think of a name for him first.”

  “You decide,” his wife said tenderly. “You’re his father.”

  “Xi De, yes, let’s call our son Xi De.”

  A week later, Xi Jin brought mother and child home from the hospital, and they resumed their ordinary and invariable farm life.

  Xi Jin, like all fathers, placed all his hopes in his son, his only descendant. He hoped that Xi De might someday become an interstellar flying saucer pilot. It looked as if he wouldn’t be disappointed. When the boy was six years old, he passed the Ministry of Education’s Uniform Qualifications Inspection and Approval and was “qualified to receive a first-class education,” meaning he would have the opportunity to become an elite administrator under the committee and work as an engineer, doctor, flying saucer pilot, electronics specialist, or department head. Therefore, little Xi De was enrolled in the Central Superior Academy by order of the Ministry of Education, where he received systematic training and education.

  The Central Academy was located on the outskirts of Central City amid beautiful surroundings with a pleasant climate. From the school dormitory on the mountain slope, one could see the city buildings shining under the sun. All students, regardless of age, were required to reside on campus. Xi Jin and his wife took their son to the academy and were reluctant to part. Then they waited with great anticipation for the one day each month they could visit him.

  There were 1,500 students at the academy, divided into 20 grades based on age. Those students who completed all 20 grades were guaranteed a meteoric rise in their chosen profession. All high-ranking members of the regional committee had been just such brilliant students. Every year at the time of the High-Ranking Administrators Holiday you would see the school pins flashing on the lapels of all VIPs in the waiting room at the Central Airport.

  And so, in this perfect educational environment, little Xi De received the first-class education of a future outstanding administrator. With the precision provided by a computer, his knowledge and physical ability progressed at an astonishing speed.

  Ten years passed in the blink of an eye. During that time, the Supreme Committee announced a number of accomplishments, including the establishment of the People’s Database. A supercomputer at the Ministry of Security stored information on every citizen in every region of the new world, and information from train stations, bars, stores, and scenic vacation spots was continuously entered in regional computers. After being organized, classified, and deleted where necessary, the information was finally sent to the Central Ministry of Security. In short, with the establishment of the People’s Database, the traditional census became a thing of the past.

  Sixteen-year-old Xi De learned of this reform from the news. Two weeks later an “executive group” visited the academy. While there, they marked the back of his hand with the number AH5481. In a procedure much like that used by a plastic surgeon, a square silver tab was implanted flawlessly as if it were a new piece of skin on the back of the hand. Three months later, the committee announced the elimination of the currency system. When making a purchase or traveling, all one had to do was touch the ID Confirmation Scanner with the back of one’s hand and it was done without the inconvenience of counting out money or making change.

  Naturally, a whole series of reforms followed that abolished the limited trade system and a certain amount of licensed small private enterprise; and measures were taken to centralize the management of all service industries. All of this led to unrest in many regions, which was quickly suppressed by the security police. Around that time, a secret anti-Nanning organization started to become active.

  4

  Stooped over, Professor Kang Zaoshi swayed as he walked up the flight of steps to the classroom building. Behind him lay a well-manicured lawn embellished with a host of strangely shaped metal sculptures. Halfway up, he halted and heaved a sigh as he felt a stabbing pain in the joints of his feet. This was, of course, quite natural for someone of his age—he was eighty-seven and had been teaching at the academy for forty years. It was hard to imagine someone remaining in the same place for forty years. With this thought, he sighed softly, turned, and proceeded up the flight of steps.

  The classroom building was a large brown structure of five stories. The walls of each
classroom were covered with metal soundproofing and painted brown as well.

  The door opened automatically as the professor entered the classroom. He placed the book under his arm beside the terminal at the master console, looked up, and said,

  “Good morning, students.”

  “Good morning, Professor,” the five students replied in unison.

  Then the professor took his seat and hit a key on the keyboard in front of him. Immediately, a colorful image appeared on the screen behind him.

  “Professor!” shouted one of the students. “That is the homework from two days ago.”

  “What’s the date today?” asked the professor.

  “The eighteenth.”

  “Ah!” The professor hit the key again, changing the image on the screen. “It’s age. My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “In our last class, we discussed the social structure of the late twentieth century,” he began. “In those days you could say it was a time of chaos, great and utter chaos.”

  Xi De sat in the second row, his chin in his hand, listening intently. For some reason he was fascinated by his class on the modern history of the world. He had never missed a class and on a number of occasions he had returned to the classroom alone to review and enjoy the day’s video-taped lesson.

  “During the great chaos, there were thirty-four individual schools of philosophy, including pragmatism, analytical philosophy, existentialism, socialism, and communism; there were sixty-four large international organizations, including the United Nations, the Warsaw Pact, NATO, OPEC, and ASEAN, among others; there were also various forms of government—around fifty in all—including democracy, partial democracy, constitutional monarchy, totalitarianism, communism, and mixed communism and capitalism.”