105: Chapter 105 The Dream of the Wall

Lin Xiaohe discovered that the wall could dream on a windy night. She couldn't sleep that day and was lying on the windowsill, looking outside. The moon was huge, illuminating the church roof until it turned white. The wind blew, the church door creaked open, then creaked shut. She stared at that door for a long time. Then she put on her shoes and snuck out.

The church door wasn't locked. She pushed it open and walked in. Moonlight shone through the stained-glass windows, falling on that wall. Those letters trembled gently in the wind, as if turning over in their sleep. Those cassette tapes swayed slightly, as if nodding. Those hot water bottles huddled together, as if keeping warm. Those bottles reflected the moonlight, flashing on and off, as if blinking.

She crouched at the base of the wall, watching it. She remembered that during the day, those letters had warmth and scent. Now they were quiet, as if asleep. She asked softly: "Wall, are you asleep?" The wall didn't answer. The wind blew, and the letters rustled, as if talking in their sleep. She listened for a while and could tell that some sleep-talk was long, some was short, some was urgent, and some was slow. She didn't know what they were saying, but she knew they were dreaming.

She crouched there and listened all night. When dawn was about to break, she stood up, ran to the door, and pushed it open. The moon had set, the sun hadn't risen yet, and the sky was gray. She stood there and looked back one last time. That wall was still there, those letters were still there, those cassette tapes were still there, those hot water bottles were still there, those bottles were still there. She smiled. The wall had dreamt. She had heard it.

The next day, she ran to tell Jenny. "The wall can dream."

Jenny was organizing bottles and looked up. "What kind of dream?"

Lin Xiaohe took her hand and walked to the front of the wall. "Last night, I heard it. They were talking in their sleep. Some were long, some were short, some were urgent, some were slow." Jenny crouched down, pressed her Ear against the wall, and listened for a while. She didn't hear anything. She looked at Lin Xiaohe. "What did you hear?" Lin Xiaohe thought for a moment. "Someone is walking. They have walked a very long way. The soles of their shoes are worn out, but they are still walking. Someone is singing. They are singing very slowly, often stopping, but they keep singing. Someone is writing a letter. They are writing very slowly, and every word takes a long time to think of. Someone is laughing. It's very far away, coming from the base of the wall."

Jenny listened for a long time but didn't hear anything. But she nodded. "It's good that you heard it."

When the news reached the farm, George was picking mushrooms. Sarah ran in and said that Lin Xiaohe heard the wall dreaming, that the wall was talking in its sleep. George put down the mushrooms, stood up, and walked to the church door. The door was open, the wind blew, and the letters rustled. He walked in, crouched at the base of the wall, and pressed his Ear against it. He didn't hear anything. He listened for a long time, but heard nothing. He stood up and walked to the door. That bicycle was still there, with the red cloth strip on the handlebars fluttering in the wind. He watched it for a long time, then walked back, took a letter out of his pocket, and stuck it on the wall. The letter was very short, only a few lines:

"My name is George. I am seventy-three years old. Today I heard that the wall can dream. Someone heard it. She is seven years old. Her name is Lin Xiaohe. She said someone is walking, someone is singing, someone is writing a letter, someone is laughing. Thank her for listening."

After that letter was stuck up, more people came to the church to listen to the wall dream. They weren't coming to read the letters; they were coming to listen. Some stood to listen, some crouched to listen, some pressed their Ears against the wall to listen. They listened to those letters, those cassette tapes, those drawings, those hot water bottles, those bottles. Some people heard something, and some heard nothing at all. Those who heard didn't speak, and those who didn't hear didn't speak either. They stood there, listening for an entire afternoon.

Lin Xiaohe came every day. She crouched at the base of the wall, pressed her Ear against it, and listened to those sleep-talks. She could tell that some sleep-talk was white, some was black, and some was colorful. She didn't know why this was, but she knew those dreams were glowing.

One day, she brought a notebook. The notebook was blank, taken from school. She crouched at the base of the wall, opened the notebook, and placed it on her knees. She wrote while she listened. She wrote very slowly, needing a long time to think of every word. She wrote: "The wall dreams that someone is walking. The soles of their shoes are worn out, but they are still walking. The wall dreams that someone is singing. They are singing very slowly, often stopping, but they keep singing. The wall dreams that someone is writing a letter. They are writing very slowly, and every word takes a long time to think of. The wall dreams that someone is laughing. It's very far away, coming from the base of the wall."

After she finished writing, she stuck the notebook on the wall. It was next to the letters. The notebook was white, blank, and different from those letters. But it was there, together with those letters. She looked at it and reached out to touch it. It was soft and warm, just like the letters. She felt that it, like those letters, was recording dreams.

When the news reached the Coffee Shop, Molly was wiping cups. Someone ran in and said that Lin Xiaohe had written down the wall's dreams and stuck them in a notebook. Molly put down the cup and ran to the church. Lin Xiaohe was crouching at the base of the wall, the notebook stuck to the wall, white and blank. She crouched beside her, opened the notebook, and looked at the words. The handwriting was crooked, like a child who had just learned to write. She looked at it for a long time, then stood up, walked to the door, and pushed it open. That bicycle was still there, the red cloth strip on the handlebars fluttering in the wind. She stood there and watched for a while, then walked back, took a letter out of his pocket, and stuck it on the wall. The letter was very short, only a few lines:

"My name is Molly. I am twelve years old. Today I saw a child write down the wall's dreams. She is seven years old. Her name is Lin Xiaohe. She wrote that the wall dreams of someone walking, someone singing, someone writing a letter, someone laughing. Thank her for writing."

After that notebook was stuck up, more people came to the church to write down the wall's dreams. They weren't coming to listen to dreams; they were coming to write them. Some wrote about the dreams they heard, some wrote about their own dreams, some wrote about the dreams they imagined. They wrote on paper, on cloth, on leaves, on their palms. They stuck paper on the wall, hung cloth on thumbtacks, stuffed leaves into crevices, and pressed their palms against the cassette tapes.

The dreams on the wall became more and more numerous—white, black, colorful. Those letters were still there, those cassette tapes were still there, those drawings were still there, those hot water bottles were still there, those bottles were still there, and those dreams were still there too. They were all together. Old ones, new ones, yellow, white, black, bright, red, blue, green, patterned, transparent, white, brown, black, empty, full, dreamt—they were all there.

Jenny came to the church every day to stick those dreams on the wall. She didn't stick them by color or size, but by sound. Whichever dream was loud, she stuck in a prominent place. Whichever dream was soft, she stuck in a corner. Whichever dream was distant, she stuck at the base of the wall. She stuck them very slowly, listening to each dream for a long time, as if telling a story to the wall.

That night, Sam came to the church carrying his guitar. He sat in front of the wall and gently plucked the strings. He wasn't playing a song; he was talking to the wall's dreams. The strings rang out, and the wall's dreams rang out too. He played very slowly, waiting for the wall's dreams to speak first for every string. Lin Xiaohe crouched beside him, listening. She could tell that the wall's dreams were answering. The string rang once, and the dream rang once. The string rang twice, and the dream rang twice. When the string didn't ring, the dream waited. She listened for a long time, then stood up, ran to the door, and pushed it open. Moonlight shone on the ground, bright white, like a river. She stood there and listened for a while, then ran back and crouched beside Sam.

"The wall's dreams can sing," she said.

Sam stopped. "You heard it?"

She nodded. "I heard it. They are singing. Singing along with your strings."

Sam closed his eyes and listened for a while. The strings were still vibrating, and the wall's dreams were still ringing. He listened for a long time, then opened his eyes. "I heard it too." She smiled. "I'm not the only one who heard it."

That night, Lin Feng was crouching under the old locust tree. Margaret came over with a plate of mushrooms and crouched beside him.

"Lin Feng, Lin Xiaohe said the wall's dreams can sing."

Lin Feng nodded.

Margaret asked: "Did you hear it?"

Lin Feng shook his head. "No."

Lin Feng thought for a moment, then added: "Those dreams belong to the wall. They aren't mine."

The next morning, Old Zhou came to deliver mail. He parked his bike at the church door and pushed the door open. There were many more dreams on the wall—white, black, colorful—together with those letters. He stood in front of them for a long time. He remembered when he had his first dream, he was about that age. What he dreamt, he had forgotten. But he remembered that he had dreamt. He stood for a long time, then turned and pushed the door open into the morning light.

The bicycle was still at the door, creaking, and he rode it and slowly moved forward. The road wound off into the distance, and the wind blew, messing up his hair. He rode very slowly, but very steadily. He thought of those letters, those drawings, those cassette tapes, those shadows, those hot water bottles, those bottles, those dreams. And that child who listened to the wall dream. She heard it, and she wrote it down. She said the wall's dreams could sing. Now people were bringing dreams and sticking them on the wall. For the wall to listen. And for those who couldn't hear to listen. He smiled, and continued riding forward. He rode very slowly, but very steadily.

[Chapter 105 End]