104: Chapter 104 The Smell of the Wall
On a spring morning, a crack was left open in the church window. The wind slipped in from outside, carrying the scent of green grass and soil, as well as the dampness of mushrooms from a distant farm. Lin Xiaohe was squatting at the base of the wall when she suddenly sniffed—that scrap of paper had a scent. It wasn't the smell of paper pulp; it was the smell of words. She couldn't say exactly what it was, but she knew it wasn't the smell of the air. She leaned closer to that dried mushroom; its scent was even stronger—dry and hard, like soil baked in the sun.
She went to smell the letters again. Some letters had a scent, while others didn't. Some were fragrant, some astringent, some sweet, and some bitter. She smelled Eric's letter and caught the scent of mushrooms and soil, as well as the smell of school notebook paper. She smelled Martha's letter and caught the wooden scent of a guitar and the scent of the lenses of reading glasses. She smelled George's letter and caught coal ash and sweat. She smelled her way along, from the base of the wall to the top, from the left side to the right. Every letter's scent was different, just as every person's voice was different.
She ran to find Jenny and pulled her by the hand to the front of the wall. "Smell this." Jenny squatted down, smelled Eric's letter, then Martha's, then George's. She smelled one after another, then stood up and dazed for a moment. "Why?" Lin Xiaohe thought for a bit and said, "The people who wrote them had scents on their hands when they wrote. The paper remembered."
George was picking mushrooms when he heard about this. He put down his basket, walked to the church, and squatted down to smell his own letter. Coal ash, mushrooms, sweat—those scents were like a hand, dragging him back to the year he built the wall. He stood up, stayed at the entrance for a while, and then went back to post a letter: "The wall has a scent. The writers wrote their scents into it too. The paper remembered. Thank you to the child who smelled it. Her name is Lin Xiaohe, seven years old."
After that letter was posted, people who came to the church were no longer just there to see the letters. They stood and smelled, squatted and smelled, pressing their noses against the wall to smell. When they smelled something fragrant, they stood a little longer; when they smelled something astringent, they frowned; when they smelled something sweet, they smiled; when they smelled something bitter, they fell silent. Lin Xiaohe came every day, smelling from one end of the wall to the other, from the bottom to the top. She discovered that some letters had a strong fragrance while others were faint, some felt close while others felt distant. Those scents were like voices speaking, only they were heard with the nose.
One day, she brought a glass bottle. The bottle was empty, taken from the kitchen and washed very clean, with no scent at all. She opened the bottle and placed it next to that scrap of paper, wanting to capture the scent of the wall inside. After waiting for a while, she closed the lid, shook it, and opened it to take a sniff—there was nothing. She put it back and waited all afternoon. The sun moved from east to west, and shadows moved from left to right. She picked up the bottle again, shook it, and smelled—still nothing. She squatted there, looking at the bottle, then stood up and ran to the entrance, holding the bottle up to the sunlight. It was transparent and empty. But she felt there was something inside. It was the scent of the wall. It was invisible, but it was there.
She pressed the bottle against the wall, side by side with those letters. The bottle was hard and cold, unlike the letter paper, but she felt it was just like those letters, containing something.
Molly was wiping glasses when she heard about this. She ran to the church, squatted beside Lin Xiaohe, and picked up the bottle to open it and smell. There was nothing. She shook it and smelled again; still nothing. She put the bottle back, stood up, and walked to the entrance, looking at Old Zhou's bicycle. The red ribbon on the handlebars fluttered in the wind. She stood for a while, then went back to post a letter: "Today I saw a child using a bottle to capture the scent of the wall. She is seven years old and named Lin Xiaohe. The bottle is empty. But she feels there is something inside. Thank you to her for capturing it."
After that letter was posted, more people came to the church to bring bottles. Some brought glass bottles, some brought ceramic jars, some brought iron boxes, and some brought wooden chests. They pressed the bottles against the wall, leaned the jars against the base, tucked the iron boxes into the gaps between the letters, and placed the wooden chests next to the cassette tapes. More and more bottles appeared on the wall—transparent, white, brown, black. They were crowded together with the letters, cassettes, drawings, and hot water bottles. Old, new, yellow, white, black, bright, red, blue, green, patterned, transparent, white, brown, black—cold, hot, empty, full, they were all there.
Jenny came every day and posted those bottles according to their scents: transparent ones where it was fragrant, white ones where it was astringent, brown ones where it was sweet, and black ones where it was bitter. She posted them very slowly, smelling every bottle for a long time, as if she were preparing medicine for the wall.
That night, Lin Feng was squatting under the Old Locust Tree. Margaret walked over carrying a plate of mushrooms and squatted beside him. "There are many more bottles on the wall." Lin Feng nodded. "Did you smell them?" "No." "Why not?" Lin Feng thought for a moment. "Those bottles are for capturing the scent of the wall. They weren't meant for me to smell." Margaret looked at him for a long time and smiled. "When did you learn to say things like that?" Lin Feng said, "While biting a straw."
Early the next morning, Old Zhou came to deliver the mail. He pushed open the door and entered; there were many more bottles on the wall—transparent, white, brown, and black. He stood before them and looked for a long time, remembering the first time he had used a bottle—what he had put in it, he had forgotten. But he remembered that he had. He stood for a long time, then turned, pushed open the door, and walked into the morning light. The bicycle creaked as he climbed on and slowly rode forward. The wind tousled his hair; he rode very slowly, but very steadily.
He thought of those letters, drawings, cassettes, shadows, hot water bottles, and bottles, as well as the child who used a bottle to capture the scent of the wall. The bottle was empty, but she felt there was something inside. Now people were bringing bottles and posting them on the wall to capture the scent for the wall, and also for those who couldn't smell it. He smiled and continued riding forward. He rode very slowly, but very steadily.
[Chapter 104 End]