by Can Xue
“It’s dark outside. Where can you go?” Bai E’s voice turned eerie.
Zhou Yizhen stopped struggling and calmed down. A minute later, her eyes closed heavily. She felt a quilt being put over her. She could faintly hear Bai E arguing with someone outside.
When Zhou Yizhen awakened, it was daylight. She saw her former workmate Bai E sitting beside the bed, quietly watching her; she looked fascinated. Zhou Yizhen blushed; she wasn’t accustomed to people looking at her so closely.
“Yizhen, we’ve finally met,” she said.
“Yes. Finally,” Zhou Yizhen responded in kind.
“I thought I wouldn’t be able to wait for this day.”
“Everything depends on luck,” Zhou Yizhen said.
“No! That’s wrong!”
Bai E stood up angrily, and began pacing back and forth in the room. She was agitated.
Zhou Yizhen made the bed, whisking the dust from the quilt. She waited for Bai E to explode.
But Bai E didn’t lose her temper. Her anger was suddenly replaced by happiness, and she whispered, “I know you came over from Zhu Mei’s place. As soon as you arrived at her home yesterday, everyone from the plant knew. Everyone was eager to see you. I got to you before anyone else!”
“If that’s the way all of you felt, then why did everyone pretend not to know me in the small shops? I saw several of my former workmates,” Zhou Yizhen said.
“Everyone was keeping an eye on everyone else. We had to pretend not to know you. We had to wait until night to take you by surprise and get hold of you. It’s the way things are done here. I did it just like that, didn’t I? All these years, we were curious. Everyone wanted to know how you had survived. You were everyone’s hope.”
After Zhou Yizhen washed her face and brushed her teeth, she sat down and ate breakfast with Bai E. Noticing that Bai E kept looking her up and down, she asked with a smile, “Is there something nice-looking about me?” “I’m not looking at you, I’m looking at myself. When you left, you took my soul with you. I’ve been thinking all along, People say that Zhou Yizhen didn’t die; she survived. What happened? I have to see her again. Last night, my dream came true.”
Zhou Yizhen felt inspired by these words. She got up and made a few birdlike motions. And then she was a little embarrassed again and said to Bai E, “If someone as inconspicuous as I am can get a new lease on life, then the rest of you surely can! I want to tell you that everyone can experience a turn for the better. But now I have to leave you. Zhu Mei must be waiting for me. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Good luck, Yizhen. And thank you for keeping me company. The scenery last night was beautiful. The deer ran so fast.”
Bai E’s gaze fell. She stared, dazed, at an oil stain on the tablecloth. She forgot all about Zhou Yizhen.
Not until Zhou Yizhen left Bai E’s home did she realize that Bai E’s home was on a quiet street. It was two blocks from Jixiang Lane. She intended to go there and say good-bye to Zhu Mei before going home. She felt happy and a little puzzled. She thought that she wouldn’t be able to put her thoughts in order until she got home. She had come to her old house and had encountered some novel things. The thing that surprised her most was that the people here all considered her one of them, as though she—Zhou Yizhen—had lived among them all this time. Even the customers in the chinaware shop didn’t consider her any different from them. What on earth was the reason for this? Hadn’t she vanished from here twenty years ago?
In the daytime, Jixiang Lane looked tumbledown again. The courtyard houses she had seen yesterday were once more invisible. Piles and piles of detritus and sand were everywhere, as if the path were going to be repaired. A large pile of coal was in the middle of the lane. She had to walk around it, and her shoes got dirty. Zhou Yizhen thought that Jixiang Lane was disgusting now. No one was in the courtyard of her old home. Probably everyone was at work. Zhu Mei and the woman shopkeeper from last night were sitting in the doorway, not at all surprised to see Zhou Yizhen. It seemed the two of them had spent the night in Zhu Mei’s home.
“I put all the money for purchases in the drawer under the counter,” Zhou Yizhen said. “I didn’t dare do anything on my own in helping you with your business.”
“It’s all right! Never mind!” the woman interrupted Zhou Yizhen. “Your showing up was a pleasant surprise for us. Zhu Mei and I spent the whole night talking about you!”
“Talking about me?”
“Yes. You caused quite a stir in our circle. I’m leaving. Take good care of yourself! Bye!”
Zhu Mei and Zhou Yizhen watched her disappear into the courtyard.
“Zhu Mei, I’ve come to say good-bye. Visiting my old home has made me feel great, and it has enriched me, too. But—I don’t know how to put it—it seems I experienced everything here through a layer of gauze. Nothing was very clear. Now I feel excited, but I don’t know how to explain that. Can you understand what I’m feeling?”
Zhu Mei stared straight at Zhou Yizhen, then nodded and said, “I understand you, Zhou Yizhen. If I didn’t, then who would? I invited you to come, and you came. This was telepathy, wasn’t it? Twenty years ago, I thought I could live as you did. Now the facts prove that I wasn’t wrong. Let me see you off.”
When they walked out of the courtyard, Zhu Mei said, “Your shoes are dirty. You must have taken the main road over here. Actually, there’s a side path you could have taken.”
“Oh, I see! No wonder I didn’t see the courtyard houses. How could I get lost in my former neighborhood?”
“Of course that can happen. Come this way!”
Zhu Mei pulled Zhou Yizhen over, and the two of them went to the forked road. The courtyard houses appeared, and the main entrances stood open as they had the night before. Zhou Yizhen saw again the scene in the lane from last night. This was really a quiet little lane! When had it been built? She hadn’t seen these courtyard houses before, and yet they looked rather old. Where had they come from? Noticing Zhou Yizhen’s puzzled expression, Zhu Mei began to laugh.
“Zhou Yizhen, you rescued me back then, and I’ve always wanted to repay you. After you left, I waited year after year for you to return, and now you have. Tell me: What is your impression of your old home?”
“I feel that both the people and the view have totally changed. This place used to be rather depressing. But I’m not very sure about this impression. Maybe I’m the one that used to be depressing. Since I came back yesterday, I’ve been constantly excited. People here have been so warm to me. But I can’t understand them, even though I was with them every day in the past. Zhu Mei, can you tell me how to understand my former workmates?”
“You don’t need to fully understand us. All you need is to feel our love, that’s enough.”
Zhu Mei had no sooner said this than the bus arrived. They embraced and said good-bye.
When the bus started, Zhu Mei waved to Zhou Yizhen.
“Come back often!” she shouted.
Zhou Yizhen was dazed as she stood in the bus. Right up until the bus stopped at the street corner and she got off and bought some vegetables at a nearby vegetable plot on the way home, her train of thought was stuck in her old house. She resolved to gradually disengage from any curiosity about that old home.
I AM A WILLOW TREE
1.
I’m withering by the day. My old leaves are drooping, and I’m not interested in growing new ones. My bark is dried up and cracking. The day before yesterday, five more of my leaves turned yellow. I can tell that even sparrows and magpies consider me a dead tree from the infrequency of their stopping on my branches. In the past, I was full of delicate new leaves that attracted worms, and so the birds loved to come and catch the worms. Jumping back and forth, they chattered and argued excitedly, as if they were in a meeting. Now they just regard me as nothing more than a rest stop. When they tire from flying, they nap for a while on my branches, and then fly away again. This is because I can’t grow fresh leaves, and without fresh leaves
the cute little worms have nothing to eat. I’ve become inessential.
Dusk is the most difficult time. The sun has not completely set behind the mountain. The garden is quiet. Outside the fence, the silhouette of an old farmer occasionally drifts by. The words “Rose Garden” flicker eerily on the garden gate. If I pay close attention, I can hear elegies. In the sky, on the mountains, in the little rivers, underground: singing is everywhere. These elegies are for me. I don’t like listening to them, but the male voice in the distance is never willing to let go of me. He’s really discourteous. Even if it’s my fate, it’s pointless for him to sing for me every day. Or perhaps he’s actually singing for himself. He’s still being rude in letting his songs travel so far, so widely. When the songs of sorrow begin, I have to be tolerant. I have to be patient until night falls and the person stops singing.
It’s the actions of the gardener that created my current condition. Last spring, when I was a year-old sapling, he planted me in this grassy plot. As soon as I was put into the earth, I knew that the rose garden’s soil was barren. It was mainly sand that could hold neither water nor fertilizer. The gardener simply spread a thin layer of rich soil on the surface and scattered some fertilizer. So though in the garden the flowers and plants looked luxuriant, this was a false impression that could vanish in the blink of an eye. The gardener also took care of me. He gave me some basic fertilizer, and watered me every other day. I adopted an attitude of muddling along. Back then, I still hadn’t realized how painful it was to be a plant predestined to stay where you were planted. When he appeared at the garden gate carrying a bucket of water, I grew excited. My branches swayed, and I couldn’t stand up straight. That was the water of life. The more I absorbed, the better I felt, and I grew more readily. It rains only two or three times a year here. When Mother Nature is not dependable, one can only depend on the gardener. We willow trees rely on the nutrition provided by water. I couldn’t figure out why the gardener had to move me to this sandy land, and sometimes I imagined that this was a scheme of his.
The gardener’s face was expressionless. None of us could figure out what was going on in his mind. The grass, flowers, and shrubs all had a high opinion of this man. I was the only one whose views about him wavered. For example, one day when he was near me he suddenly brandished a hoe and excavated. He dug deeper and deeper. With one blow, he chopped off part of my roots. I shook violently from the pain. Guess what he did next? He filled in the hole he had dug and evened it out, and then went elsewhere to dig. He often engaged in this puzzling excavation. Not only did he injure me, he also hurt other plants in the rose garden. The strange thing was that as far as I could tell, none of the other plants complained about him. Rather, they considered their injuries badges of glory. I heard all kinds of comments at night.
Taiwan grass: We generally don’t know how our inner system operates. Although we’re curious, we haven’t received any information about this. It’s the gardener who satisfies our curiosity. Even if we pay a high price for communicating with him, we’re quite happy to do that.
Date tree: I greatly appreciate the way the gardener brandishes his hoe. In fact, he’s much like one of my forefathers whom I haven’t seen. Every day, I tried hard to imagine how he would look. Often at daybreak, I came close to succeeding, but in the end I didn’t. The gardener has remarkable ability. As soon as he wields the hoe, I can see my forefather’s fertile image against the backdrop of the boundless starlit sky. One time, he cut my taproot. That’s when I was happiest. I greeted his hoe with my roots, as if it were my forefather.
Indian azalea: He’s attractive when he carries water. He has aspirations. Otherwise, why would he choose the rose garden as our home?
Dandelion: This is an arid area. Every day I dream of pails of water. It’s when I dream that my fine hair grows. The gardener is so kind. His two big water buckets lead me to dream constantly. Sometimes, I wish he would dig me up with his hoe and throw me into his empty bucket. I hear passersby on the road say that I have a lot of hair. They say I’m not like dandelions in the sand. They don’t know that my luxuriant hair is related to the water buckets.
Wisteria: The gardener is brilliant! Although I don’t love him, I think of him every day. Each time I start thinking of him, my pigment is enhanced, and I become quite beautiful. Some nice-looking people have also appeared here, but I’ve never seen anyone as perfect as the gardener. I’m always wondering how to attract his attention; I’ve never been successful, not even once. It doesn’t matter how ugly I am, or how pretty, he pays no attention to me.
Sorrel: In general, we can’t live in this kind of dry sandy land. But for some reason, ever since the gardener had us put down roots here, we felt that this was the most suitable home for us. The infertility of the soil is good for our species. Why? Because the feeling of being on the edge of death gives our internal being the power to grow again. We hear that those who live in humid areas don’t have nearly as much vitality as we do. The profile of his steady back always gives us strength. He’s our angel. I should say that he’s the one who chose this garden for us. And so sometimes, when we hear rumors that a mysterious sect built our garden, we’re furious!
There are also some faint humming, groaning sounds; I have no way to figure out where they’re coming from. But those sounds are even more meaningful; they make me even more uneasy and curious. It’s fair to say that these hidden inhabitants are the ones who maintain my interest in life. Even if the gardener hasn’t watered me for a long time, and even if I’m dispirited in the state of being more dead than alive, I need only hear that humming and groaning and the shadows within me shrink and all kinds of desires are revived. It’s hard to say exactly what kind of voice this is. Mostly, it’s a kind of narration without a specific audience, but someone can sense a provocative element in the strange tone. Anyhow, I did.
I couldn’t see any logic to the gardener’s cutting off my water. My roots were still shallow, merely inserted in the layer of sand. I had heard there was good-quality black soil beneath the sandy layer, but it was in a very deep place. Even after growing for ten years, our roots would not reach down that far. Of course the gardener had this much common sense. So did his actions indicate that he had abandoned me? If so, then why did he move me here in the first place? When I was in the nursery, I had no anxiety! Back then, we were ambitious and looked forward to realizing our aspirations after being moved here. In the misty starlight, I saw my destiny clearly many times. Back then, I didn’t yet know it was my destiny; I thought it was merely a dark shadow. Then the gardener came, twice altogether. He was a remarkable person who didn’t talk much. There was a black badge on his shirt, but I couldn’t see the dark pattern very well. I felt strongly attracted to him: the moment he set eyes on me, I swayed wildly. You can imagine the result.
After being moved here and planted along with everyone else, I didn’t change my soaring ambitions. I hoped that I would become the legendary towering tree, a big tree that could invite the stars to dream among my branches. In the nursery where I previously lived, there was an old willow tree like this. His branches and leaves fluttered in midair, covering the entire nursery. The workers in the nursery said they’d never seen such a large tree. They called it the “king of trees.” Back then, whenever I looked up, I saw him. I modeled my future plans after him. I believed he was my future. The gardener smashed my hopes. At first, he placed me in the barren sandy ground, thus slowing my maturation. Luckily, he was still watering me. While he was doing this, I didn’t grow terribly slowly. Probably it was my longing for growth that helped. After leaving the nursery, I concentrated more on the speed of my maturation. Later, he abruptly stopped watering me: there wasn’t even a transition.
I still remember the first night of hardships. Because of the hopes I harbored, every moment and every second turned into torment. I thought he would remember this during the night and give me some water. A terrible thirst thrust me into a state between sleep and wakefulness. A person came
and went. This person wore a long gown with huge pockets. Each of the two pockets held a bottle of water. When he moved, the bottled water gurgled. Was this the gardener? I could never be sure. The second night wasn’t much better. The infinite quiet caused me to think even more about water. I almost went crazy. The moonlight made me jumpy, as if I had seen a ghost. The other plants in the garden were sound asleep. I was the only one who was awake. For some reason, I felt I wouldn’t die, and the idea that I wouldn’t die terrified me. When I was young, the king of trees told me a story about a tree that walked. I recalled this story, and so I tried to shift my root—the one on my left. I immediately fainted from the pain. When I awakened, it was light.
After those two pivotal nights, my restlessness gradually subsided, and I was kind of resigned to destiny. This didn’t mean that I gave up trying hard to change my circumstances. It was to say, rather, that I did not again entrust my hopes for the future to the gardener’s mercy. I believed that he would not treat me mercifully. He was impassive as he went past me, and his head drooped. His body language said that he felt it was no longer necessary to help me. I should support myself and rely on my own struggle to go on living. Was this possible? We plants could not live without water, and we couldn’t obtain water from the air, either. We could only rely on irrigation. Of course I wanted to become the legendary tree that walked. I tried that three times, each time failing shamefully. How should I struggle? I became confused, as if a hammer were incessantly pounding on me. I saw the gardener carrying clean water from the little river and watering those who were grateful to him (they all worshipped him), while my leaves turned pale because of my terror. Without water, I had only death ahead of me. Of course I was scared.
While waiting for death, I fell unconscious. One morning, an old sparrow awakened me.
I was incredibly surprised that I was still alive. Hardly any water was left in my roots, and most of my leaves had dropped off. The leaves that hadn’t fallen were yellowing in rapid succession. When dizziness surged up like waves, I felt that once I passed out I wouldn’t wake up again. But I was wrong. Not only did I awaken, but I was particularly clear-headed. My perceptions were much sharper than before. On a fresh summer morning like this, a sparrow on my branch kept shouting to her lost child: What could be more moving? I don’t know how she lost her child, but that monotonous sound of complaint that was unique to sparrows struck me as the world’s most sorrowful dirge! What I thought was, Ah, I’m still alive! Only living things can experience this kind of emotion. As I was thinking this, I nearly turned into a sparrow. Each time she called out, my branch vibrated in concert with her, and I saw the image of a small sparrow in her mind.