119: Chapter 119 The Wind in the Stone

Chen Yuan was awakened by sunlight.

Stained glass windows sliced the morning light into patches that fell on his face, on his body, on that old blanket.

He sat up, squinting.

The church was empty.

The cat was gone.

A canvas bag—not his, Old Zhou's—was now beside the chair.

He paused, then remembered: an old mailman had come in last night, and he hadn't woken.

He stood up, folded the blanket, and placed it on the chair.

Walking to the wall, he saw the small black stone was still there, nestled against the baseboard alongside that scrap of paper.

He crouched down, reached out, picked up the stone, and held it in his palm.

The stone was still cool.

Its central hole faced the light; through it, he could see the blurred shadow of the other side.

He pressed the stone against his Ear.

He heard nothing.

He held it there a while longer.

Still nothing.

He put the stone back, stood up, shouldered his own backpack, and pushed the door open.

Sunlight flooded in, making him squint.

On the steps was a saucer of milk.

The cat was gone; the milk was still full.

He crouched down and looked at the saucer.

The milk was white, the saucer was white, sunlight glaring off them.

He reached out and touched the rim of the saucer.

It was cool.

He stood and walked out along the alley.

Reaching the main street, he saw Lin Xiaohe walking toward him from the opposite side, her schoolbag on her back.

She saw him and stopped.

"Are you leaving?" she asked.

Chen Yuan nodded. "I'm leaving."

Lin Xiaohe walked up to him and looked up at his face. "Where to?"

Chen Yuan thought for a moment. "I don't know. East, maybe. Or west. Haven't decided yet."

Lin Xiaohe pulled a piece of chalk from her pocket—white—and handed it to him. "You could write something on the wall before you go."

Chen Yuan took the chalk, looked at it, then handed it back. "No need. I left the stone."

Lin Xiaohe put the chalk back in her pocket and glanced at him. "That stone—where did you pick it up?"

Chen Yuan said, "From a dried-up riverbed. The river's gone, but the stones remain. I picked up many; this was the prettiest one. It has a hole through it. When wind passes through, it makes a sound. I tried it before—blowing into it. It makes a low, moaning sound, like someone crying or laughing."

Lin Xiaohe was taken aback. "You blew into it?"

Chen Yuan nodded. "Yes. By the river, I blew into that stone, and it sounded. Not loud, but long, like it came from far away. I carried it with me for three days. Every night I'd take it out and blow into it, and it would sound. But last night I didn't. I placed it at the base of the wall, wanting the wall itself to listen."

Lin Xiaohe gazed toward the church for a long time. "Will it sound?"

Chen Yuan also looked in that direction. "Maybe not. Walls don't blow. But the wind does. When the wind passes through that hole, it will sound. Someday, a gust will come from that direction, pass through that hole, and make a sound. The wall will hear it, the cat will hear it, and you will hear it too."

Lin Xiaohe lowered her head and looked at the tips of her shoes.

Mud was stuck to them, along with a fallen leaf.

She nudged the leaf aside with her toe and looked up. "Will you come back?"

Chen Yuan thought for a moment. "Maybe. When that gust of wind passes through."

Chen Yuan left.

He carried that large backpack and walked along the main street toward the edge of town.

He walked not fast, but steadily.

Lin Xiaohe stood where she was, watching his figure grow farther and smaller until it disappeared at the road's end.

Wind blew over, lifting fallen leaves from the ground and setting them down again.

She turned and ran toward the church, pushed the door open, rushed to the base of the wall, crouched down, and picked up that small black stone.

She pressed it against her Ear.

She heard nothing.

She lifted the stone to her mouth and blew into the hole.

The stone sounded.

Not loud, but long, a low moan, like someone crying or laughing.

She blew once, then blew again.

The stone sounded twice.

She stopped, pressed the stone against the wooden board, and waited for the wind.

Wind swept over the church roof, slipped through the cracks in the stained glass windows, but did not reach the base of the wall.

She waited a while.

The wind did not come.

She placed the stone back at the base of the wall, leaning it in its original spot, stood up, walked to the church door, and pushed it open.

Wind rushed in from outside, blowing her braid back.

She stood in the doorway, waiting for the wind to blow toward the base of the wall.

The wind did not blow that way.

It came in through the door, curved around, and went out another window.

She crouched down, picked up the stone, and put it back.

She didn't know when the wind would come, but she knew it would come someday.

The wall would hear, the cat would hear, and she would hear too.

When the news reached the Coffee Shop, Molly was wiping cups.

Lin Xiaohe ran in, told her Chen Yuan had left, and also mentioned that the stone could make a sound.

Molly set down the cup, untied her apron, and walked to the church.

She crouched at the base of the wall, picked up the stone, and pressed it to her Ear.

She heard nothing.

She blew into the hole.

The stone sounded, a low moan, like a sigh from somewhere far away.

She put the stone back, stood up, and looked at the wall.

"Will he come back?" she asked.

Lin Xiaohe crouched beside her. "He said maybe. When that gust of wind passes through."

Molly stood there for a long time, then turned and left.

She returned to the Coffee Shop, took a sheet of paper and a pen from under the counter, and wrote a letter.

The letter was short, just a few lines: "Chen Yuan, hello. This is Molly. The stone you left—it can make a sound. I blew into it, and it sounded. But the wind hasn't passed through it yet. When the wind comes, I will hear it. Thank you for the stone."

She folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and placed it on the counter, waiting for Old Zhou to pick it up.

At three in the afternoon, the cat came.

It crouched on the steps, looking at the saucer of milk.

Molly brought it out and set it before the cat.

The cat lowered its head and drank.

When it finished, it licked its mouth clean, stood up, did not rub against Molly's leg, but instead walked along the base of the wall toward the church.

Molly followed behind it, walked to the church door, and pushed it open.

The cat went in, crouched at the base of the wall, and stared at that small black stone.

It watched for a long time, then extended a paw and nudged it.

The stone rolled slightly, then stopped.

The cat nudged it again.

The stone rolled to the side, leaning against another scrap of paper.

The cat crouched there, watching the stone for a long time, then stood up, turned, and left.

Molly crouched down and placed the stone back in its original position.

She didn't know why the cat had nudged the stone—perhaps it wanted to hear it sound, or perhaps it simply thought the stone was in the way.

She stood up, turned, and left.

Back at the Coffee Shop, she washed the saucer clean and put it back in the cupboard.

The cat was no longer on the steps.

The alley was empty.

Wind blew from one end to the other.

In the evening, Sam came to the church carrying his guitar.

He didn't play a song.

Instead, he crouched at the base of the wall, picked up the stone, and blew into the hole.

The stone sounded, a low moan, like wind passing through a narrow gap.

He pressed the stone against the wooden board, held it with his fingers, and waited a while.

No sound came from the wall; the stone did not sound.

He let go, blew into the hole again, and the stone sounded once more.

He strummed his guitar.

The sound of the strings mixed with the sound of the stone—a low moan, a hum, like two people sighing.

He played for a long time; the stone sounded many times.

Finally, he placed the stone back at the base of the wall, stood up, and left with his guitar.

At the door, he glanced back.

The wall was still there, those letters were still there, that stone was still there.

He pushed the door open and walked into the twilight.

At night, Lin Feng crouched under the old locust tree.

Margaret came over with a plate of mushrooms and crouched beside him.

"Lin Feng, today there was a young man from California named Chen Yuan. He walked for a day to see the wall. He left a stone at the base of the wall—it has a hole in the middle, and if you blow into it, it makes a sound."

Lin Feng took a mushroom and ate a bite. "Did you blow into it?"

Margaret nodded. "Yes. It sounded."

Lin Feng took another bite. "The wind hasn't passed through it yet."

Margaret looked at him. "How do you know?"

Lin Feng chewed the mushroom. "The wall said so."

Margaret paused, then smiled. "You heard the wall speak?"

Lin Feng shook his head. "No. But I know."

Early the next morning, Old Zhou came to deliver mail.

He parked his bicycle by the church door and pushed the door open.

That stone at the base of the wall was still there; beside it was a tuft of gray fur—shed by the cat.

He crouched down, picked up the stone, and blew into the hole.

The stone sounded, a low moan, like someone calling him from far away.

He paused, blew again, and the stone sounded once more.

He put the stone back, rummaged in his bag for the letter Molly had written, and placed it beside the stone.

Then he stood up, turned, pushed the door open, and walked into the morning light.

The bicycle creaked as he mounted it and slowly pedaled forward.

The road curved into the distance; wind tousled his hair.

He rode slowly, but steadily.

He thought of that young man who had walked from California for three days, leaving a stone behind.

He blew into the stone, and it sounded.

He was waiting for the wind to blow through it.

When the wind came, the stone would sound.

The wall would hear, the cat would hear, Lin Xiaohe would hear, Molly would hear, Sam would hear, and he would hear too.

He smiled and continued pedaling forward.

He rode slowly, but steadily.

[End of Chapter 119]