Butterfly Tears

by Zoë S. Roy

  They spent the night together in Rain’s apartment. Lying in bed, Plum pulled Rain to her. He caressed her smooth body with his hands. But his thoughts were elsewhere. Two images of Brook haunted him. One was from eight years earlier – Brook playing the zither, her long braids dangling two bright red butterflies at their ends. The other was of her cradling her son in her arms earlier that day. Her concerned eyes had quickened his heartbeat.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Plum, shaking her hands in front of Rain’s eyes in an effort to bring him back to the present.

  Rain stretched his body over hers. Forgetting is impossible. Sentiments always remain the same. The lines from another classic Chinese poem popped into his head, and his heart throbbed. Lost in thoughts mixed with poetry and images of Brook, Rain sighed.

  Disappointed, Plum pushed him away and climbed out of the bed.

  ***

  The night after Rain’s visit, Brook had trouble falling asleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, she pictured Rain’s face. She felt as if his eyes were moving over her, touching her face, heart, and body. The melody of “The Moonlight” on clarinet resounded in her mind.

  The following morning, Brook resumed her routine by cleaning up the house after Den went to work and her daughter left for school. After she had her son busy with his favourite toys, she pulled the zither case out from a stack in the storage room. Opening the case carefully, she noticed two of the strings on the zither were broken. She changed the strings and tried to tune them but failed to get the right sounds. She suddenly felt incapable. It was as if, after being speechless for years, and given the opportunity, suddenly, to speak, she did not have the words. Struggling with the pick, Brook played the zither but was unable to complete a composition. She realized that the melodies of several ancient Chinese compositions, such as “Grand North Tribes” and “Phoenix with One Hundred Birds,” like precious pearls, had slid off her necklace and vanished into a bottomless sea. Could she get them back?

  “Mommy!” wailed her son, whose finger was pinched between two Lego blocks.

  Brook got up and went over to soothe him. Gently massaging his finger, she felt tears spill from her eyes. What’s the matter with me?

  In the succeeding days, a pair of eyes that resembled deep wells followed her everywhere. One afternoon, hesitating for only a moment, she dialled Rain’s phone number. Her heart was racing, and the receiver dropped from her hand before she had pressed the last digit. She lost the courage to resume the call though she knew those two wells would follow her for the rest of her life.

  In her dreams, pink blossoms fell off cherry trees in February, carpeting a pathway. As she wandered on that pathway through a moonlit field, the wind blew with the scent of rank petals. Two startled magpies swooped from the trees and disappeared into the night sky. She roamed, sometimes moving quickly, sometimes stumbling. She opened her arms, attempting to grasp at something and almost fell into a running river that suddenly emerged in front of her. Before closing her eyes, she spied a comet fly toward her. When it struck her, she woke from the dream with her arms outstretched to her husband beside her. He pulled her in his arms, his body nestled against hers, but she was restless and felt only the water from those two wells spilling over her body.

  ***

  Rain had felt lost since he met Brook, especially during the lingering rains of March.

  After work one Friday afternoon, Rain went to chauffeur Plum around to various stores, finally dropping her off at her favourite shop. On his way to pick her up, he fiddled with the radio dial in his car and was pleasantly surprised to come upon a channel that was broadcasting some of his favourite Chinese instrumentals: “Spring River and Flowers in the Moonlight” and “Joyful South Yangtze.” He lost himself in the music until he finally pulled over and looked for Plum. He was astonished to find that he had parked in front of Brook’s house. His heart in his throat, he restarted the car and hastily turned around.

  When he finally arrived at the place where he had agreed to pick Plum up, he spotted her sitting on a bench at the far edge of the parking lot. He parked his car and strode purposely toward her, but she turned her head away. “Plum!” he called but did not hear her response. He reached her and touched her shoulder. “Sorry, I’m late,” he mumbled.

  Plum angrily pushed his hand away. “If I knew you were going to be late, I would’ve accepted a ride in someone else’s car.”

  “All right,” he distorted his mouth with a smile. “Go right ahead. There’s a man about to get into a Toyota. Why not join him?” His throat tightened.

  Plum raised her head, glaring at him. She ignored his comment. “How dare you leave me here waiting! You must be on time!”

  “Are we going to Chinatown?” answered Rain, releasing a breath. He was too tired to fight.

  “Of course, but…” She noticed his fatigue and hesitated. “I’d also like to go to the Manhattan Mall, if you don’t mind. There are some new clothing stores I want to check out.”

  “Chinatown, then the Manhattan Mall? No problem,” he responded in what he hoped was a valiant tone.

  Twenty minutes later, Rain parked his car along Worth Street. While Plum went into a grocery store to pick up food for later, Rain went into Chinatown’s largest Chinese bookstore and gift shop. There he scoured the shelves for music. Finally, he found what he was looking for – a few cassettes of traditional Chinese music. He was especially pleased to discover a cassette of folk songs from Northwestern China. Rain smiled as he paid for the music, and kept smiling as he walked over to the grocery store. He met Plum at the checkout and helped her carry the packages out to the car. “Do you mind if we just go somewhere to grab a pizza?” he asked.

  “What? Didn’t we talk about having supper at my place?” A look of displeasure appeared on Plum’s face. “I just bought all this stuff, and you know my housemate is away, and we…”

  “It’s just that I picked up a couple of great tapes of Chinese music and I really want to enjoy them tonight.”

  “What is it, Rain? You’re so absentminded recently,” Plum said. “It seems like you don’t care about our plans or my feelings…”

  “I’m tired,” Rain interrupted her. “We can cook a meal next time. Come on. Let’s go to the Manhattan Mall now.” He walked so fast back to the parking lot that Plum had to hurry after him.

  In the fitting room at the Dragon Lady Fine Clothing store, Plum tried on several different dresses. She adored a lemon yellow V-necked dress with a wide, black belt. With it on, she went to show Rain, who was waiting at the counter. “You look great,” he said.

  “Really?” She whirled around, the silk dress outlining her plump breasts and curvy figure. The silky fabric shimmered under the shop’s pleasant light.

  “You know it does,” he grinned. “You don’t need to ask.”

  “Okay, I’ll take it.” She returned to the fitting room to change, while Rain paid for the dress. Plum was all smiles as she carried the shopping bag with her new dress out of the mall.

  On their way home, Plum looked out the window at the street’s neon lights drizzling blue, pink, and white. She imagined her gorgeous figure in the new dress drifting through the crowd.

  Rain’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead of him, and except for the changing traffic lights, all he could focus on was the rainy, gloomy sky. In this silent world, he heard his heart sigh. Does she want to see me like I want to see her?

  ***

  Weeks later, Brook was rummaging in a kitchen cabinet and found a package of leftover ginkgo nuts, a main ingredient for her sweet summer soup. A memory filled her as she gazed at the cream-coloured, lima-bean-sized nuts. As a child, whenever she saw a street vendor selling fried ginkgo nuts she begged her mother to join the line. She watched the metal spatula go up and down into the huge wok and listened to it clank. When she clutched her package of warm nuts, she forgot her sore legs as t
hey made their way home.

  Several years later, during the Cultural Revolution, she was sent to the countryside like other students. She moved to a village called Dragon Valley, which had a hundred-year-old ginkgo tree. It was a female, but her delicate blossoms never bore fruit as there were no male trees nearby. In the fall, the fan-shaped leaves swirled onto the ground settling into layers that resembled a yellow rug. Brook loved the shape of the leaves and always picked some as they reminded her of home and her childhood.

  One summer evening, Brook carried two bundles of wheat from the field to the barnyard as the last task of her daily chores. When she staggered past the gingko tree, her stomach cramped. She stopped under the tree and sat on one of her bundles. Alone in the dusk, holding her stomach, she felt helpless. A group of crows flew over her head, and she groaned. The pain lessened a bit, and as dusk turned to darkness, she dozed off on her bundle.

  “Hey there! What’s wrong?”

  She awoke to find a young man from the next village standing above her. “I … I have a stomachache,” she stuttered.

  “Can you move? I can carry your bundles,” said the young man. She attempted to rise but failed.

  “I’ll carry you home. You look like you’re really under the weather.”

  “No. I’ll wait a while. I’ll be okay.”

  “Wait? I don’t think so. It’s dark. Let me take you home.” He helped her up. “Tell me where you live,” he insisted politely.

  Finally, Brook agreed and let him carry her home.

  His name was Lu. He was also a student who had been sent from the city to the country for Mao’s “re-education” program. They became fast friends and soon were inseparable. He had many books of literature to share with her, which fascinated Brook and opened a window to a wider world. The books escorted her through many evenings, joined her with Lu, and buoyed both their hopes. She imagined going to university, and he dreamed of being a war reporter like Ernest Hemingway.

  One day, their commune began recruiting young men for Mao’s army. Lu asked her, “Do you think I should apply?”

  “Why not?” answered Brook, though a sense of loss shrivelled her heart. Joining the army was expected for the young men in the countryside and would guarantee a good job in the future.

  “If you want me to stay, I won’t go,” he said, his eyes searching her face for a glimmer of hope.

  But she did not say anything, so Lu joined the army.

  Before he left, they met under the ginkgo tree. He hugged her, his lips seeking hers.When her body weakened against his, she knew she loved him. Gently she pushed his head away. Under Mao, youthful love affairs were a sign of a corrupt lifestyle. In her mind, affection between a man and woman was purely spiritual, and physical desire seemed out of place somehow.

  It was several years before she returned to the city. She had not stopped thinking about Lu, and regretted that she had not tried to keep him from joining the army. Working hard to survive, she kept hoping for a miracle, hoping that Lu might one day come looking for her. She believed that love was a rainbow that would appear at the right time and she felt ready now. Many times, she dreamed of the ginkgo tree in the Dragon Valley. In her dreams, thousands of yellow ginkgo leaves swirled with the wind, blanketing the entire village, but she never saw another human figure in those dreams, let alone Lu. Each time she woke, she felt lost in the past.

  ***

  Now, the package of ginkgo nuts awakened her desire for something more. How had she missed her chance at a life with Lu, someone she had loved deeply? Holding the nuts in her hand, she suddenly thought: Maybe these ginkgo nuts will grow, and I won’t miss anything more in my life.

  She carried all the nuts to the garden outside her house and buried them in the soil underneath the windows. As she watered the earth that covered the ginkgo nuts, she felt herself become a child again. Like sunshine, a smile danced on her face, and she took delight in sowing her dream seeds.

  Brook watered her garden constantly and watched daily for any change. Daffodils, tulips, and irises bloomed in turn, and soon other plants and shrubs sported shiny new leaves and branches. But nothing happened in the soil that held the ginkgo nuts.

  ***

  One Saturday evening, Rain lay in bed, listening to the northwestern Chinese folk songs on the cassette that had become his favourite. The words of a song echoed in the room, taunting him:

  A young singer arises from the mountains

  Nobody has ever heard his voice

  The yellow land wakes from slumber

  The currents of rivers echo his thoughts

  In a wink, thousands of years pass

  The universe is still speechless

  Raindrops can make a loud noise

  The young man has broken the silence

  Rain pictured himself climbing up an eighteen-storey crystal tower. Once on top, a glittering river appeared below him like a graceful green ribbon dotted with red, blue, yellow and white sails flowing languorously like the melody that washed over him in his sleep. Suddenly, he felt his arms become tense and hair sprout from his skin. Soon, he was covered with white feathers. He pinched his ear, and it ached. I’m not in a dream, he told himself.

  “Fly! Fly into the sky. Fly toward the sun.” The words of a song from his childhood arose.

  “Rain! Wait up! I want to fly…” He heard Brook’s voice. “My ginkgo nuts have sprouted!”

  He gripped Brook’s arm and together they sprang into the sky, the crystal tower collapsing below them. Thousands of sparkling pieces of glass flew into the air, then plunged to the ground. Rain rolled over in bed, abruptly falling onto the carpet. In his dream, he was still clinging to Brook’s arm, telling her, “I want to see your ginkgo trees.”

  Rain sat up on the floor, pondering his dream. He did not understand why he dreamt about Brook, but he did remember she had ordered ginkgo nut soup in the Red Bean Teahouse those many years ago.

  He climbed back into bed, but could not get back to sleep. It was then that he resolved to phone her as soon as possible.

  After breakfast, Rain dialled Brook’s phone number. To his surprise, he heard an elderly woman’s voice on the line. She has a guest, he thought and asked, “May I speak to Brook?”

  “Yeah … oh, nah!” The woman exhaled. “Who’s calling?”

  “Rain. Is Brook in?” Impatience and anxiety arose in him.

  “No, she … she is…,” quavered the woman.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, his voice weak, his other hand twisting the phone cord around his wrist.

  “A car accident …,” the woman sobbed. “She is gone.”

  Rain’s hand gripped the phone so hard that it hurt.

  “Her husband’s still at the hospital. I’m here taking care of …”

  Before she could finish, Rain hung up the phone and slumped into the nearest chair. He was flooded with pain, as if he had been stabbed in the heart. He moaned softly, his hands clasping his head.

  He had waited too long to phone, too long to tell her how he really felt. He had missed his chance, again. When Plum walked into the room, he asked her if she thought ginkgo trees could grow in New York.

  Fortune-telling

  SHE FEELS LESS DIZZY AFTER shambling out of the smoke-filled office into the waiting room with one hand on her forehead.

  “Are you okay, Lin?” asks her friend, Joyce, who sits in an armchair and looks at her with concern.

  “Not really. It was strange,” Lin responds and plops down in another armchair.

  “Joyce Parry!” calls out the receptionist at the counter.

  Joyce stands up and walks toward the adjoining office.

  Under her breath, Lin says, “Good luck!”

  Lin stretches out her arms. This is almost the same as fortune-telling in China. Twice, the fortune-teller said I had an ex-lover who
had been difficult, dominating. Was he just guessing? A few days ago, Lin saw an ad for fortune-telling on a bulletin board outside her dorm room and felt curious about it. She had asked Joyce if she had ever been to a fortune-teller.

  “No,” answered Joyce. “But a friend of mine went to this fortune-teller who advertises around campus, and she said he was great. Do you want to go? Next week is reading week. Let’s go, just for fun!”

  This is how they end up in this room.

  Lin met Joyce a year before in a psychology class. Joyce majors in social work, and Lin majors in math. Few of their classes overlap, but since meeting, they have tried to take some of their elective courses together. They both live on campus and often meet in the computer lab to do research or work on their assignments.

  One night Lin worked in the lab until midnight. When she was about to leave, Joyce asked, “Would you mind waiting for me for just a couple of minutes? I’ll be finished soon.”

  “Are you afraid of the dark?” Lin joked on their way to their dorm rooms.

  “Not that,” she said, “but men. Last night this guy and I were left in the lab. He wanted to chat with me, saying he would wait for me till I finished my assignment.”

  “Was he friendly?”

  “Overly friendly. He asked me which dorm I lived in and wanted to walk me back to my room. That really scared me. I made an excuse, saying that I needed to go to the washroom.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Lin.

  “I made like I was going into the washroom, then took an elevator upstairs and left through another exit. I ran all the way back to my dorm. I was afraid he would show up tonight.”

  Since then, Lin and Joyce have always left the computer lab together at night. Sometimes they hold each other’s hand when they walk along the alley through the dim-lit area.

  ***

  Lin picks up a back issue of Canadian Living from the coffee table and flips the pages. She glances at an advertisement for Olay skincare. That’s the product I use, she thinks, tossing the magazine back onto the table. After selecting another glossy magazine, Fashion, she leafs through the pages, catching a glimpse of a bold title that reads, “Change Your Hair Colour as Often as You Wish,” and features a sleek background of red, orange, blonde, silver, and black heads. She fingers her long hair, and tilts her head to look at the page. Black is definitely a beautiful colour, she tells herself. She has no interest in colouring her hair.