109: Chapter 109 The Wall's Listening

The church was exceptionally quiet in the evening. Lin Xiaohe was squatting at the base of the wall, staring blankly at the letters, when she suddenly heard someone speaking—the voice was very soft, as if afraid of being overheard. She turned her head, but there was nothing behind her. Listening again, the sound was coming from the other side of the wall. She walked around to the outside of the church; there was only a bare wooden wall, no letters, no paintings, nothing at all. But the sound was indeed emanating from there. She pressed her Ear against it, and it was a woman's voice, very slow, as if chatting with someone.

...I went to see you again today. The roses you planted have bloomed, red and very large. I picked one and placed it in front of your photo. Did you see it...'

The woman said a lot: what she ate today, how nice the weather was, and how much she missed him. After speaking, she was quiet for a while, then the sound of footsteps faded. Lin Xiaohe squatted in front of the empty wall, and one thing became clear to her—the other side of the wall was covered in letters, this side had nothing, but someone was talking to it. It heard.

She ran to find Jenny, pulling her outside. "Listen." Jenny pressed her Ear against the wooden board, but heard nothing. She listened for a long time, then looked at Lin Xiaohe in confusion. "What did you hear?" "A woman. She's talking to someone. That person isn't here anymore, but she's still talking. The wall heard." Jenny paused. She remembered the letters on the wall inside the church—those were also people's words, written to those not around, to strangers, to their future selves. There were no letters on the other side of the wall, but someone was speaking. The wall heard it all.

The news reached the farm, and George put down his mushrooms and walked outside the church. He stood in front of the empty wall and looked for a long time. The wooden boards were old, the paint had peeled, and cracks had formed. He remembered that when he built the wall, he only thought of giving the letters a place to be posted, never imagining that twenty years later, someone would be speaking on the other side of the wall. He reached out and touched the wooden board; it was cool and rough, just like the one inside. He walked back and posted a letter: "Today I learned that the wall listens to people. Someone is on the other side of the wall, talking to those who are no longer here. The wall heard. Thank you to the child who heard. She is seven years old and named Lin Xiaohe."

After that letter was posted, more people came to speak outside the church. Some stood and spoke, some squatted and spoke, some pressed their faces against the wall and spoke. They spoke to deceased husbands, children who had left, and their past selves. Some cried as they spoke, some laughed, and some fell silent.

Lin Xiaohe came every day, pressing her Ear against the wooden board to listen. She could tell that some people's voices were loud, some were soft; some spoke a lot, some spoke little; some stopped mid-sentence and resumed after a long pause. She didn't know who those people were, but she knew the wall heard.

One day, she brought a white chalk and wrote a character on the wooden board—"Listen." Each stroke was crooked. She didn't know why she wrote this character, but she felt the wall should know. Jenny walked over and asked what she was doing. "Telling the wall that I'm listening." Jenny looked at the character for a long time, then reached out and touched it. "It will know."

After Molly heard about it, she ran outside the church. She squatted beside Lin Xiaohe, looking at the character "Listen." Then she stood up and walked inside the church—on the wall covered with letters, there was also a "Listen" character, which Lin Xiaohe had written before, hidden among the letters. Two "Listen" characters, one on each side. The wall was in the middle. She stood for a long time, then walked back and posted a letter: "Today I saw a child write the character 'Listen' on the other side of the wall. She is seven years old and named Lin Xiaohe. There is also a 'Listen' character inside the wall. Two 'Listen' characters, one on each side. The wall is in the middle. Thank her for writing it."

After that "Listen" character was written, more people came to write on the outside of the church. Some wrote "Miss," some wrote "Remember," some wrote "I'm sorry," some wrote "Thank you." They wrote with chalk, carved with stones, and traced with their fingers. The characters on the wall grew more numerous, white, black, deep, shallow. Letters, cassette tapes, paintings, hot water bottles, bottles, dreams, greeting cards, gifts, patches, records—they were squeezed inside the wall; characters were squeezed outside the wall. The wall was in the middle, and it heard it all.

Jenny came every day to look at those characters, not by size or shade, but by sound. She would look longer at a character with a loud sound, longer at one with a soft sound, and also at one with no sound. She looked very slowly, at each character for a long time, as if listening to someone speak.

That night, Sam sat outside the church with his guitar. He gently plucked the strings, not playing a song, but talking to the characters on the wall. Each note had to wait for a character to answer. Lin Xiaohe squatted beside him, listening. She heard the characters answering—one pluck, one character resonated; two plucks, two characters resonated; after a song, many characters resonated. She listened for a long time, then stood up and ran to the doorway. The moonlight shone on the ground, bright white, like a river. She ran back and squatted beside Sam.

"The wall said it remembered," she said. Sam stopped. "You heard it?" "I heard it. It said it remembered the people who spoke, the characters, the sounds." Sam closed his eyes and listened for a while; the strings still vibrated, the characters still resonated. He opened his eyes. "I heard it too." She smiled. "I'm not the only one who heard."

That night, Lin Feng squatted under the old locust tree. Margaret came over with mushrooms and squatted beside him.

"Lin Feng, Lin Xiaohe said the wall remembered."

Lin Feng nodded.

"Did you remember?" He shook his head.

"Why not remember?" He thought for a moment. "The wall remembered, that's enough. I don't need to remember."

Margaret looked at him for a long time and smiled. "When did you learn to say things like that?" "When I was biting the straw."

Early the next morning, Old Zhou came to deliver letters. He parked his car at the church entrance but didn't go in; instead, he walked outside the church. The empty wall had many new characters, white, black, deep, shallow. He stood in front of it and looked for a long time. He remembered the first time he wrote on the wall—what he wrote, he had forgotten. But he remembered that he wrote it. He stood for a long time, then turned and pushed open the door, walking into the morning light.

The bicycle creaked as he slowly rode forward. The winding road stretched into the distance, and the wind ruffled his hair. He rode slowly but steadily. He thought of those letters, paintings, cassette tapes, shadows, hot water bottles, bottles, dreams, greeting cards, gifts, patches, records, characters, and the child who wrote "Listen" on the wall. She wrote a "Listen," and there was also a "Listen" inside the wall. Two "Listen" characters, one on each side. The wall was in the middle. Now people wrote characters on the wall, for the wall to see, and also for those who couldn't see the characters. He smiled and continued to ride forward. He rode slowly but steadily.

[End of Chapter 109]