113: Chapter 113 The Breath of the Wall

Lin Xiaohe discovered the wall could breathe on a sweltering afternoon. It was about to rain; the air was damp and heavy, making one's chest feel tight. She crouched at the base of the wall, staring at it. Suddenly, she saw a piece of letter paper move slightly—it wasn't the wind, for there was no wind in the Church. She leaned closer, and the paper moved again, as if pushed from within. She pressed her hand against the wooden boards and felt them rising and falling gently and slowly. Once, twice, like a chest breathing.

She pressed her Ear against it and heard a very, very faint sound from inside the boards, like wind passing through a narrow crack, or water welling up from deep underground. She listened for a long time, then ran to tell Jenny.

"The wall is breathing," she said.

Jenny was gathering those mirrors into the corner and looked up. "What?"

Lin Xiaohe took her hand and led her to the wall. "Touch it. It's moving. One breath, then another, just like it's breathing." Jenny pressed her hand against the wooden boards and closed her eyes. She felt for a long time but sensed nothing. The boards were hard, cold, and perfectly still. She opened her eyes and looked at Lin Xiaohe. "You felt it?" Lin Xiaohe nodded. "It's breathing. Very slowly, very lightly. One breath, then another."

Jenny didn't say she didn't believe her. She pressed her hand against it again and held it there for a long time, but still felt nothing. Yet she nodded. "It's enough that you felt it."

When the news reached the Farm, George was watering mushrooms. Sarah ran in and said Lin Xiaohe had discovered the wall was breathing and could feel the boards rising and falling. George put down the hose and walked to the Church entrance. He went inside, crouched at the base of the wall, and pressed his hand against the boards. Closing his eyes, he waited quietly. One minute, two minutes, five minutes. The boards were perfectly still. He opened his eyes, then closed them again, continuing to wait. Ten minutes passed, and there was nothing. He didn't say he didn't believe it. He stood up, walked to the entrance, and pushed the door open. The sky outside had grown darker; the rain was coming soon. Old Zhou's bicycle was parked by the door, the red cloth strip on the handlebars perfectly still; there was no wind. He watched for a long time, then walked back, pulled a letter from his pocket, and posted it on the wall. He wrote very slowly:

"My name is George. Seventy-three years old. Today I heard that the wall breathes. Someone felt it rising and falling on the wall, one breath after another, like a chest. I cannot feel it, but I believe. Thank you to the person who felt it. She is seven years old. Her name is Lin Xiaohe."

After that letter was posted, more people came to the Church to feel the wall's breath. They didn't come during the day, but before it rained. Some stood and touched it, some crouched and touched it, and some pressed their Ear against the wooden boards to listen. They closed their eyes and waited quietly. Some felt something, while others felt nothing at all. Those who felt it didn't speak, and those who felt nothing didn't speak either. They just stood there, touching it for a long time.

Lin Xiaohe came every day. She would crouch at the base of the wall, press her hand against the wooden boards, close her eyes, and feel that rhythmic rising and falling. She discovered that the rhythm of the wall's breathing was related to the weather—it breathed faster before it rained and slower after the rain stopped. On sunny days, it was almost imperceptible, but if she listened carefully, there was still a very, very faint sound inside the boards. She didn't know why the wall breathed, but she knew that the wall was alive.

One day, she brought a Stethoscope. The Stethoscope was borrowed from the School Infirmary; it was silver and cool. She put the earpieces into her Ear and pressed the chestpiece against the wooden boards. The sound inside the boards was amplified—a rushing sound, like wind, like water, like someone sighing in a very, very distant place. She listened for a long time, then took the Stethoscope off and handed it to Jenny.

Jenny put on the Stethoscope and pressed the chestpiece against the wooden boards. She listened for a minute and heard nothing. She listened for another minute, still nothing. She listened for five minutes, and there was no sound at all inside the boards. She took the Stethoscope off and gave it back to Lin Xiaohe. "What did you hear?" Lin Xiaohe said, "The wall is speaking. Not with a mouth, but with its breath. It says it's tired. It says it has stood for a long time. It says it wants to rest, but it can't. Because there are still people waiting."

Jenny was silent for a long time. She put the Stethoscope back on and listened again. Still, she heard nothing. But she kept the Stethoscope pressed to her Ear and listened all afternoon. Lin Xiaohe crouched beside her, also silent. The two of them listened to the wall; one heard it, and one didn't, but both were listening.

When the news reached the Coffee Shop, Molly was wiping cups. Someone ran in and said Lin Xiaohe had heard the wall speaking with a Stethoscope, and the wall said it was tired. Molly put down her cup and ran to the Church. Lin Xiaohe was crouching at the base of the wall, the Stethoscope still hanging from her Ear. Molly crouched beside her, waited for Lin Xiaohe to finish listening, then took the Stethoscope from her hand, put it on, and pressed the chestpiece against the wooden boards. She listened for a minute and heard nothing. She listened for another minute, still nothing. She listened for ten minutes, and there was no sound at all inside the boards. She took the Stethoscope off and gave it back to Lin Xiaohe. "What did you hear?" Lin Xiaohe said, "It says it doesn't regret it. Standing for so long, waiting for so long, drinking so much rain, and basking in so much sun. It doesn't regret it."

Molly looked at that wall for a long time. Then she stood up, walked to the door, and pushed it open. The rain finally began to fall, heavily and with a loud pitter-patter. Old Zhou's bicycle was still parked by the door, the red cloth strip soaked by the rain and clinging to the handlebars. She stood there watching for a while, then walked back, pulled a letter from her pocket, and posted it on the wall. She wrote very slowly:

"My name is Molly. Twelve years old. Today I saw a child listening to the wall with a Stethoscope. She is seven years old and her name is Lin Xiaohe. She heard the wall say it was tired and had been standing for a long time. But it doesn't regret it. I cannot hear it, but I believe. Thank you for her listening."

After that Stethoscope was left leaning against the wall, more people came to the Church to listen to the wall. Some brought Stethoscopes, some brought hearing aids, some brought glass cups, and some brought paper tubes. They pressed the Stethoscopes to the wooden boards, turned their hearing aids to the maximum, cupped the glass cups against the wall, or pressed the paper tubes against their Ear. As for the sounds within the wall, some heard them, and some didn't. Those who heard didn't say anything, and those who didn't hear didn't say anything either. They just stood there, listening for a long time.

Jenny came every day and hung those Stethoscopes on the wall. She didn't hang them by brand or by size, but according to the number of times they were heard. Whichever Stethoscope was heard through was hung in a prominent place, and whichever had never been heard through was hung in a corner. She hung them very slowly, putting on each Stethoscope to listen for any sound within the wall.

That night, Sam arrived at the Church holding a Guitar. He didn't play any songs but instead placed the Guitar on his knees, facing the wall. He pressed his Ear against the Guitar; the Guitar's soundbox amplified the sound of the wall. He heard it—very faint, very slow, one breath after another, like a heartbeat. He listened for a long time, then gently plucked a string. The sound of the string merged with the wall's breath, like two people gasping at the same time. He plucked very slowly, waiting for the wall to breathe first with every stroke.

Lin Xiaohe crouched nearby, listening. She could hear the wall's breath following the rhythm of the Guitar. When the strings were fast, the breathing was fast; when the strings were slow, the breathing was slow; when the strings stopped, the breathing stopped too. She listened for a long time, then stood up, ran to the door, and pushed it open. The rain was still falling, the moonlight was hidden by clouds, and the ground was pitch black. She stood there listening for a while, then ran back and crouched beside Sam.

"The wall says it feels much better," she said.

Sam stopped. "You heard it?"

She nodded. "I heard it. It said it was having a hard time breathing just now, but now that it's following the rhythm of the Guitar, it feels much better. It says thank you."

Sam closed his eyes and plucked another string. The wall's breath rose and fell with the string, one breath after another. 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 crouched under the old locust tree. The rain had already stopped, but water was still dripping from the leaves. Margaret brought over a plate of mushrooms and crouched beside him.

"Lin Feng, Lin Xiaohe says the wall can breathe. She even heard the wall speaking with a Stethoscope."

Lin Feng nodded.

"Did you hear it?" He shook his head.

"Why not listen?" He thought for a moment. "The wall's breath belongs to the wall. It is not mine."

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

The next morning, the rain had stopped, and the sun had just come out. Old Zhou came to deliver the mail; he parked his bike at the Church entrance and pushed the door open. There were many more Stethoscopes on the wall now—silver ones, black ones, plastic ones, metal ones. He stood before them for a long time, then picked one up, put it on, and pressed the chestpiece against the wooden boards. He listened for a minute and heard nothing. He listened for another minute, still nothing. He didn't put it down but continued to listen. Five minutes, ten minutes. Suddenly, he heard a very, very faint sound, like someone sighing in a distant place. He froze, moved the chestpiece to another spot, and the sound vanished. He moved it back and heard it again. Very faint, very short, like an illusion.

He put down the Stethoscope and stood there, looking at the wall. He remembered the first time he had heard a sound inside a wall; he had been about that age too. Where he had heard it, he had forgotten. But he remembered that he had heard it. He stood for a long time, then turned and pushed open the door, walking into the morning light.

The bicycle creaked as he got on and pedaled slowly forward. The road wound its way into the distance, and the wind ruffled his hair. He rode slowly but steadily. He thought of the letters, drawings, cassette tapes, hot water bottles, bottles, dreams, greeting cards, gifts, patches, records, words, scales, chairs, mirrors, Stethoscopes, and that child who used a Stethoscope to listen to the wall. She heard the wall say it was tired, that it had stood for a long time, but it didn't regret it. Now people were bringing Stethoscopes and hanging them on the wall to diagnose it, and to let those who couldn't hear the wall's breath listen. He smiled and continued riding. He rode slowly but steadily.

[Chapter 113 End]