121: Chapter 121 Symphony of Stone
News of the stone concert blew through Xinfeng Town like the wind from the church entrance. It wasn't spread by anyone specifically, but by the onlookers who went back and talked about it. They said Lin Xiaohe tapped out tunes with stones, Sam played along on the guitar, and the cat even kept time with its paws. Some said it sounded good, others said it was magical, and some said they had never seen such a strange concert.
The next day, twice as many people came to the church entrance to see the stones as the day before. Some stood, some squatted, some brought stones from their own homes. An old man pulled a yellowish-brown stone from his pocket—round and smooth—and placed it on the table. "This stone, I picked it up from the riverbank forty years ago. I have kept it on the windowsill ever since; I could not bear to throw it away." Lin Xiaohe picked it up and tapped it. It made a dull, 'thud' sound, like a drum. She tapped it again, 'thud-thud.' The old man laughed. "It can make a sound? I have had it for forty years and never tapped it once."
An old woman took a flat, white stone with smooth, worn edges from her basket. "This stone was what my old man used to sharpen his knives. He sharpened for thirty years, until it became like this. After he passed, I kept it." Lin Xiaohe took it and tapped it. It made a crisp 'ding' sound, like a bell. The old woman's eyes reddened, but she smiled. "That is the sound it made when he was sharpening knives."
More and more people brought out stones. Some pulled them from pockets, some rummaged through bags, others ran back home to get them. There were more and more stones on the table: big, small, round, flat, black, white, yellow, red. Lin Xiaohe tapped them one by one, listening to their sounds. Some rang, some were dull, some were crisp, some were muted. She put the ringing ones on the left and the muted ones on the right. After she finished, there was a large pile on the left and only a few on the right.
Sam walked over, squatted in front of the pile on the left, picked up a black stone, tapped it, then picked up a white one and tapped it. "These stones have different tones. Some are high, some are low, some are long, some are short." He tested them one by one, grouping the high-pitched ones together, the low-pitched ones together, the long-sustaining ones together, and the short ones together. After arranging them, he looked up at Lin Xiaohe. "These stones can be divided into several voice parts. The high ones are like violins, the low ones like cellos, the long ones like flutes, and the short ones like drums."
Lin Xiaohe squatted beside him, looking at the categorized stones. "Then who will tap them?"
Sam thought for a moment. "You conduct, and let everyone else tap."
After the news spread, the church entrance was packed with people signing up to tap the stones. There were old people, children, young people, and middle-aged people. They stood in front of the table, each taking two stones, and stood in position according to the sections Sam had organized. The high-pitched ones stood on the left, the low-pitched ones on the right, the long-sustaining ones in front, and the short ones in the back. Lin Xiaohe stood at the very front, holding a small wooden stick—one she had picked up from the ground, thick at one end and thin at the other, perfect as a conductor's baton.
She raised the stick, and everyone watched her. She tapped the table once, and everyone tapped the stones in their hands. Ding-ding, thud-thud, clatter-clatter—the sounds mixed together, chaotic and unpleasant. She stopped and frowned. Sam walked over and squatted beside her. "Don't tap all at once; tap one by one. You tap the high ones first, then the low ones, then the long ones, then the short ones."
Lin Xiaohe raised the stick again, pointing to the group of high-pitched stones on the left. They tapped their stones—ding-ding, ding-ding—like a flock of small birds calling. She pointed to the low-pitched group on the right, and they tapped—thud-thud, thud-thud—like someone walking. She pointed to the long-sustaining group in front, and they tapped—hum-hum, hum-hum—like wind passing through a forest. She pointed to the short-sounding group in the back, and they tapped—click-click, click-click—like a cat batting at a stone. She finished conducting the four groups, lowered the stick, and listened. The sound still echoed at the church entrance, traveling from one end to the other.
The cat sat on the table, its tail tip swaying gently. It seemed to be listening too.
They rehearsed for an afternoon. The sun moved from east to west, and shadows shifted from left to right. Lin Xiaohe raised and lowered her stick until her arm was sore. But those tapping the stones did not leave; they stood there, waiting for her direction.
In the high-pitched group, there was an old woman whose hands shook a little, so she was always half a beat slow when tapping the stones. Lin Xiaohe did not say anything to her; every time she conducted that section, she just waited a little longer. In the low-pitched group, there was a young father holding a child; the child had fallen asleep, so he held the child with one hand and tapped the stone with the other, tapping very lightly for fear of waking the baby.
Lin Xiaohe did not ask him to be louder; she just let him tap gently. In the long-sustaining group, there was an old man with a bad Ear who could not catch the rhythm, so the young person next to him held his hand and helped him tap. In the short-sounding group, there was a cat, squatting on the table, batting at the stones with its paws; every time Lin Xiaohe pointed at it, it would tap once, very accurately.
By the time the rehearsal ended, the sun was about to set. Lin Xiaohe lowered the stick and looked at the people tapping the stones. Their faces were flushed red by the setting sun, and there was sweat on their foreheads, but they were all smiling.
"Let's practice again tomorrow," she said.
Everyone dispersed. The old woman put her stones back on the table and patted Lin Xiaohe on the head. "Little girl, you conduct well." The young father held his child securely and nodded at her. The old man had not heard what she said, but the young person beside him told him, and he smiled, revealing gums without a single tooth. The cat jumped off the table, rubbed against Lin Xiaohe's feet, and left.
The third day was the official performance.
A simple stage had been set up at the church entrance, built with wooden boards and bricks. The large table was placed on the stage, covered with stones. The audience area was full—people from Millfield, Greenfield, Xinfeng Town, and even those who had traveled from further away. Eric came and sat in the first row, holding a white mushroom. Martha came and sat in the second row, holding her guitar. George came and stood at the very back, not sitting. Old Zhou came, parked his bicycle by the side of the road, and stood at the edge of the crowd.
Lin Xiaohe stood on the stage, holding that small wooden stick. The cat squatted on the table, its tail tip swaying gently. She took a deep breath and raised the stick.
The high-pitched group tapped—ding-ding, ding-ding, like a flock of small birds taking flight from the trees. The low-pitched group tapped—thud-thud, thud-thud, like footsteps approaching from afar. The long-sustaining group tapped—hum-hum, hum-hum, like wind blowing over the church roof. The short-sounding group tapped—click-click, click-click, like a cat batting at a stone. The four groups of sounds mixed together—ding-ding, thud-thud, hum-hum, click-click—like a small river flowing down from the mountains, hitting stones and splashing water.
Sam began to play his guitar, the sound of the strings intertwining with the sound of the stones, making it impossible to tell which was which. Martha also began to play her guitar; the sounds of the two guitars, one high and one low, paired with the sound of the stones, like three people chatting.
Lin Xiaohe's stick moved faster and faster, and the sound of the stones accelerated too. Ding-ding, ding-ding, thud-thud, thud-thud, hum-hum, hum-hum, click-click, click-click—the sounds layered together like a gust of wind, blowing from the stage to the audience, from the audience to the street, from the street into everyone's Ears. Some closed their eyes, some opened their mouths, some swayed gently to the rhythm. The cat squatted on the table, its tail tip swaying faster and faster.
Lin Xiaohe's stick stopped abruptly. All sound ceased simultaneously. The church entrance fell silent.
Then, someone began to clap. It was Eric. He was sitting in the first row and was the first to applaud, almost dropping the white mushroom in his hand. Then came Martha, who placed her guitar on her lap and clapped vigorously. Then came George, who was standing at the very back, clapping the loudest. Then everyone followed. The applause surged up from the audience like another concert.
Lin Xiaohe stood on the stage, her face flushed. She bowed, and the cat let out a meow.
That evening, Lin Feng squatted under the old locust tree. Margaret brought over a plate of mushrooms and squatted beside him.
"Lin Feng, Lin Xiaohe conducted a stone concert today. So many people came to listen—Eric came, Martha came, George came, and Old Zhou came too."
Lin Feng took the mushrooms and took a bite. "Did it sound good?"
Margaret nodded. "It sounded good. The stones could sing, the guitars could talk, and the cat could keep time."
Lin Feng took another bite. "Stones have always been able to sing. It is just that no one ever put them together before."
Margaret looked at him and smiled.
———
The next morning, Old Zhou came to deliver the mail. He parked his bike at the church entrance and saw those stones still laid out on the stage, one by one, gleaming in the morning light. He walked over, picked up two stones, and tapped them gently. "Ding—" The sound was crisp, like morning birdsong. He tapped again, "Ding-ding—" He tapped a short rhythm, then put the stones down and rummaged through his bag for letters, sticking them onto the wall. After finishing, he stood on the stage, looking at the stones. He remembered the first time he heard stones singing; he had been that age too. Where he had heard it, he forgot. But he remembered that he had heard it.
He smiled, got on his bike, and kept riding forward. The bicycle creaked and groaned, but he felt the sound was different today; it was mixed with the dinging and thudding of the stones. The road was still the same road, winding and stretching into the distance. The wind ruffled his hair; he rode very slowly, but very steadily. He thought of Lin Xiaohe, thought of those people who tapped the stones, and thought of that cat. Together, they had made a beautiful sound.
He smiled and kept riding forward.
[Chapter 121 End]