Butterfly Tears
Page 19
“Will, you must be hungry. I’ve picked some fresh chanterelles,” said the woman.
“My story is almost done…” replied the man.
***
“Mom, Daddy!” Jing awoke finally, but she did not understand why she was in the hospital. “I wanna go home.”
“Oh, my baby! We’re going home soon,” answered her mother, tears in her eyes.
A doctor entered the ward and spoke to Jing’s father, “Your daughter’s fine now. You can take her home.”
Her father asked, “Could you please tell me why she fell ill?”
Hesitating for an instant, the doctor said, “It might be a case of food poisoning.”
“Impossible,” said her father, “I do research on plants. The chanterelle we eat is a high quality, edible mushroom.”
“I can’t be certain. We can’t use the lab right now due to frequent power blackouts. Anyway, your daughter has recovered. But be careful about her food.”
The summer was over and the mosquito population eventually decreased. The tree and lawn insecticide sprayings in the city became fewer. Jing’s father stood by the window wondering as he watched the pest controller walk away.
***
That same autumn, William Watts, a writer of children’s books, sat in his forest cabin in New Brunswick, Canada, reading a letter from Environment Canada.
“I can’t believe my eyes, Sheila.” William handed the letter to his wife. “It says there have been no observed or reported cases of illness among people here that could be attributed to the use of poison spray. They say fenitrothion is still the best product to use in curtailing the spread of spruce budworms.”
William recalled his symptoms after recently falling ill. He disagreed with Environment Canada’s conclusions. A few months before, out on a walk with his wife, he heard the spray plane humming in the air nearby. They fell sick that same day.
“Will, we should keep reporting on the incident, about what happened to us,” said Sheila, who placed the letter on the table. She remembered the day their lungs became inflamed and their eyes burned. Meanwhile, their noses were runny from a bout of the flu.
“We won’t stop,” William responded. He could not believe that the fiddleheads they ate a few weeks ago were responsible for causing severe stomach pain, headaches, and dizziness. They had also felt restless and anxious.
William said, “In the 1950s, DDT was said to be harmless to humans. Without the publication of Silent Spring by Rachel Carson in 1962, chemists wouldn’t have realized that modern insecticides have a harmful impact on human beings.”
He picked up a magazine from a pile of journals on the table. “You’ve read this article discussing the use of DDT in Northern New Brunswick, right?”
Sheila nodded. “Yes. I remember that according to the studies, in the 1950s, 50 to 98 percent of young salmon were in danger, depending on the size of the fish and the manner of spraying. DDT was also thought to cause liver cancer.”
“That’s why phosphamidon replaced DDT in 1968.” William took some paper clippings from a folder and scanned them. “Then fenitrothion took over because phosphamidon was less safe. How can anyone guarantee that fenitrothion isn’t harmful to human beings?”
“You know, if we don’t obey the laws of nature, our world will face some serious problems.” Sheila pulled a bunch of papers out of the pile and sorted through them. “Here’s the article.”
“You’re enlightening.” William took hold of his wife’s hand. “We should continue digging up more information about this. We don’t want any children suffering from the effects of the spray.”
“You could write a piece about it.” Sheila nodded.
In November 1971, William’s article, “You Are a Worm,” was published in The Mysterious East. It challenged the existing conclusion that fenitrothion was not harmlful to humans.
***
In 1983, Jing was an eleventh grader. One day, she saw her mother open a package postmarked Canada.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A collection of short fiction from my friend.”
“May I have a look?” Jing took the book and read, “The Oldest Man and other Timeless Stories by William Watts.”
“My friend said William is a writer of children’s books. If you want to read it I can help you. You can also use my English dictionary.”
“Okay, my teacher, Mother.” Jing stood up straight and raised her right hand to the side of her head in a military salute.
With the assistance of her mother, Jing finished reading her first book in English. One of the stories was about a butterfly collector who did not know if he was a man or a butterfly. Another story explored the thought of the famous ancient Chinese philosopher, Zhuang Zi. Jing enjoyed these fabulous stories, because each took her to a wonderful fantasy world.
Two years later, Jing attended the biology program at Beijing University. That same year, William published his thirty-second book for children.
***
On a June morning in 2003, in Guangzhou, the fragrance of the locust blossom wafted in the air under the warm sunlight after a rain. In a corner of South Paradise Park, a two-year-old boy climbed up the ladder to the slide under an aged locust tree, joyful but unsure of his footing. Jing, the child’s mother, noticed there were hundreds of tiny caterpillars on the stair handrail. She looked up at the tree and saw a net hanging off some branches. Clinging to each net-thread was a caterpillar, reminding her of that article, “You Are a Worm,” she had read so many years before. The breeze blew through the branches, and she seemed to hear all the worms chant, “I am a worm. You are a worm.”
That same afternoon in Fredericton, New Brunswick, the delicate scent of tulips could be detected before sunset. It had just stopped raining. Alongside a path, rows of spruce trees seemed to get greener with each second that passed. Millions of spruce budworms that had survived several insecticides over numerous generations grew tougher and tougher. It seemed as though all the caterpillars were having a get-together under the trees. Pesticide spraying had decreased over the years. So the worms were able to enjoy the peace gained by the sacrifice of older generations.
The worms, hanging from thousands of threads, swung with the breeze beneath the branches. They dreamt of changing into moths. They could hear chants from a far-away land. Cheerfully, they began to sing the following choruses:
Breezes blow in spring
Spruce trees are green
Up and down with the wind
We are singing on swings.
You are humans
We are worms
We are both living things
Insecticides harm all beings.
We have survived
The deadly spraying
After the rain
Let’s dance and sing.
A rainbow arched in the clear sky shimmering rays of pale blue, green, red, and gold. Children laughed excitedly, pointing at the rainbow as they ran and played in the park. Their cheers joined the song of the worms that basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Acknowledgements
I AM MOST GRATEFUL to Luciana Ricciutelli, my editor at Inanna Publications and Education Inc. This short fiction collection could not have been published without her interest in my writing, her editing skills, and her insightful comments.
I also wish to thank the Toronto Arts Council for its grant assistance to my writing.
My thanks also go to my critique pals: Marlene Ritchie, Manda Djinn, Penni Stuart, and Cora J. Morace, who read all the stories in their earlier versions and provided me with their honest and useful feedback. Thank you as well to Kenneth A. MacKinnon and Li Zeng who also read some of these stories in the very early stages and encouraged me to continue writing.
Last, but certainly not least, I am grateful to my husband, Jean-Marc,
and to my son, Shu, for their patience and unfailing support of my work.
Photo: Rosalind Song
Born in China, Zoë S. Roy was an eyewitness to the red terror under Mao’s regime. Her short fiction has appeared in Canadian Stories and Thought Magazine. She holds an M.Ed. in Adult Education and an M.A. in Atlantic Canada Studies from the University of New Brunswick and Saint Mary’s University. She currently lives in Toronto where she works as an adult educator. Butterfly Tears is her first published book.