112: Chapter 112 The Light of the Wall

Lin Xiaohe discovered that the wall glowed on a moonless night. The church was pitch black, with only a sliver of light from a streetlamp filtering through the doorway. She had already headed home, but halfway there, she remembered she’d forgotten to put away that chair and turned back. The moment she pushed open the door, she froze—several letters on that wall were glowing. It wasn't a blinding light, but a very, very faint one, like fireflies resting on the surface of the paper. She walked closer to look; the glowing letters were all ones that had been exposed to the sun during the day. She reached out to touch them; the paper was cool, but the light remained.

She squatted at the base of the wall, watching those points of light. Some were bright, some dim; some were on letter paper, some on cassette tapes, and some on plasticine patches. She watched for a long time, then ran to find Jenny.

“The wall is glowing,” she said.

Jenny was washing dishes in the kitchen, her hands dripping wet as Lin Xiaohe dragged her toward the church. She stood before the wall, squinting for a long time, but saw nothing. “Where is the light?” Lin Xiaohe pointed at the letters. “Here, here, and here. They shine at night after soaking up the sun during the day. Can’t you see it?”

Jenny looked for a long time more, but still couldn't see it. However, she didn't say she didn't believe her. She squatted down, bringing her face close to the letter Lin Xiaohe was pointing at. The paper was cool, and she felt nothing. But she nodded. “It’s enough that you can see it.”

When the news reached the farm, George was getting ready for bed. Sarah ran in, saying Lin Xiaohe saw the wall glowing—that it would shine at night after being in the sun all day. George threw on his coat and walked to the church entrance. The door was open, and it was pitch black inside. He walked in and stood before the wall, seeing nothing. He squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness for a while, but still saw nothing. He squatted down, bringing his face close to the letters. The paper was cool, and there was nothing on the wooden boards. But he didn't say he didn't believe her. He stood up and walked to the door. Old Zhou's bicycle was parked by the entrance, the red ribbon on the handlebars fluttering slightly in the night breeze. The moonlight was faint, and the red ribbon was almost colorless. He watched for a long time, then walked back, pulled a letter from his pocket, and pasted it on the wall. He wrote very slowly:

“My name is George. I am seventy-three years old. Today I heard that the wall glows. It shines at night after soaking up the sun during the day. Someone saw it. She is seven years old and her name is Lin Xiaohe. I cannot see it, but I believe. Thank you to her for seeing it.”

After that letter was posted, more people began coming to the church to see the light. They didn't come during the day; they came at night. Some brought flashlights, some brought candles, and some brought cell phones. They turned off their lights and stood in the darkness, staring at the wall. Some saw the light, and some saw nothing at all. Those who saw it didn't speak, and those who didn't see it didn't speak either. They just stood there, watching for a long time.

Lin Xiaohe came every day. She would squat at the base of the wall, watching those points of light in the darkness. She could tell that some light came from the letters, some from the tapes, and some from the plasticine. She didn't know why they glowed, but she knew they were what had been saved up during the day.

One day, she brought a small mirror. It was a round mirror she’d taken from home, the one her mother used to do her hair. She stood at the church entrance, angling the mirror toward the sun to reflect the light onto the wall. A patch of light fell on Eric's letter, bright and white like a little flower. She moved the mirror, and the patch of light drifted slowly across the wall, jumping from one letter to another. The letters touched by the light seemed a bit brighter than those next to them. She reflected light all afternoon, as the sun moved from east to west and the light patch drifted from one end of the wall to the other. At dusk, she put the mirror away and squatted at the base of the wall to wait.

When it got dark, she went to look at the letters that had been touched by the light patch. They were slightly brighter than the ones beside them, like ink that had just drunk in the light.

Jenny walked over and squatted beside her. “What are you doing?”

Lin Xiaohe said, “I'm feeding light to the wall.”

Jenny looked at the letters; in the darkness, they truly did look a little different. She couldn't say exactly how, but she felt as if those letters were breathing.

When the news reached the Coffee Shop, Molly was wiping the counter. Someone ran in, saying Lin Xiaohe was using a mirror to feed light to the wall, and the letters touched by the light were brighter at night. Molly put down her rag and ran to the church. It was already dark, and Lin Xiaohe was squatted at the base of the wall; the letters that had been touched by the light patch were indeed a bit brighter than those nearby. It was faint, like a light stroke of a watercolor pen on paper. She squatted beside her and watched for a long time. Then she stood up, walked to the door, and pushed it open. The moonlight was faint. She stood there thinking for a while, then walked back, pulled a letter from her pocket, and pasted it on the wall. She wrote very slowly:

“My name is Molly. I am twelve years old. Today I saw a child feeding light to the wall with a mirror. She is seven years old and her name is Lin Xiaohe. She feeds the sunlight to the wall, and the wall lights up. Thank you to her for feeding it.”

After that little mirror was leaned against the wall, more people began coming to the church to bring light. They didn't come at night to see the light; they came during the day to deliver it. Some brought mirrors, some brought magnifying glasses, some brought crystal balls, and some brought pieces of glass. They reflected light onto the wall, refracted it onto the letters, and focused it onto the tapes. More and more light patches appeared on the wall—round ones, oval ones, fragmented ones, bright ones. The letters were still there, the tapes were still there, the drawings were still there, the hot water bottles were still there, the bottles were still there, the dreams were still there, the greeting cards were still there, the gifts were still there, the patches were still there, the records were still there, the words were still there, the scales were still there, the chairs were still there, and the light patches were there too. They were all together.

Jenny came to the church every day to lean those mirrors against the base of the wall. She didn't arrange them by size or shape, but by brightness. Whichever mirror reflected the strongest light was placed in a prominent spot. Whichever mirror had weak light was placed in a corner. She worked slowly, testing every mirror to see where it could send the light.

That night, Sam came to the church holding his guitar. He didn't play a song, but instead rested the guitar on his knees and sat in the darkness. He faced the wall and saw several points of faint light upon it. They were dim, like candles about to go out. He lightly plucked a string, and a single note drifted through the darkness. The points of light didn't change. He plucked again—still nothing. He plucked a third time, and one point of light trembled slightly, as if touched by the sound.

Lin Xiaohe said, “The wall heard the light.”

Sam stopped. “Light can hear too?”

She nodded. “When the light hears a sound, it trembles. When it trembles, it gets brighter. Listen.”

Sam plucked again, and that point of light trembled once more. When he plucked fast, the light trembled fast; when he plucked slow, it trembled slowly. He played a very light melody, and those points of light on the wall brightened and dimmed with the rhythm, as if they were dancing. When he finished playing, the points of light slowly returned to their original brightness.

He closed his eyes, his fingers resting on the strings. A string trembled on its own, and a point of light trembled along with it. He opened his eyes. “I see it.” Lin Xiaohe smiled. “I'm not the only one who sees it.”

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

“Lin Feng, Lin Xiaohe says the wall glows. She’s even using a mirror to feed light to the wall.”

Lin Feng nodded.

“Have you seen it?” He shook his head.

“Why not go look?” He thought for a moment. “The wall's light is for the wall to see. It’s not for me to see.”

Margaret looked at him for a long time and smiled. “When did you learn to say things like that?” “While biting a straw.”

Early the next morning, Old Zhou came to deliver the mail. He pushed open the door; it was just past dawn, and the church was still dim. He saw several faint points of light on the wall, dim like stars. He stood before them for a long time. He remembered the first time he had seen light; he had been about that same age. He’d forgotten where he saw it. But he remembered that he had seen it. He stood for a long while, then turned and pushed open the door, walking into the morning light.

His bicycle creaked as he mounted it and pedaled slowly forward. The road stretched into the distance, winding and turning, as the wind ruffled his hair. He rode slowly but steadily. He thought of the letters, drawings, tapes, hot water bottles, bottles, dreams, greeting cards, gifts, patches, records, words, scales, chairs, mirrors, and that child who fed light to the wall. She used a mirror to feed the sun's light to the wall, and the wall lit up. She said light trembles when it hears a sound, and when it trembles, it gets brighter. Now people were sending mirrors, leaning them against the base of the wall to feed light to the wall, and to show those who couldn't see the light. He smiled and continued riding. He rode slowly but steadily.

[Chapter 112 End]