124: Chapter 124 The Singing Bicycle

Uncle Zhou's bicycle chain broke on a downhill slope. It didn't snap suddenly; it wore out—that chain had been used for several years, wearing down link by link until, on the day it reached its thinnest point, it finally couldn't hold on anymore. He was riding downhill when his feet suddenly went empty, and the chain slipped off the gears, dragging on the ground like a dead snake. He quickly squeezed the brakes; the bike stopped, and he didn't fall. He squatted down, picked up the chain, and examined it. The broken edge was worn as thin as a blade, crumbling at the slightest touch. He rolled the chain into a ball, stuffed it into his canvas bag, and pushed the bike forward.

The first stop was Millfield. When he arrived, the sun had just risen, and Eric was standing at the entrance of the town, holding a white mushroom in his hands. Seeing Uncle Zhou pushing the bike over, he paused for a moment. "Uncle Zhou, is the bike broken again?" Uncle Zhou nodded. "The chain broke." Eric squatted down to look; the gears were bare, and the chain was gone. "Can it be fixed?" Uncle Zhou thought about it. "Yes. Just need to replace it with a new one." Eric stood up, took a letter out of his pocket, and handed it to Uncle Zhou. "This, please mail it to Xinfeng Town." Uncle Zhou took it, put it in his canvas bag, and turned to leave. Eric called out to him. "Uncle Zhou, how will you get back?" Uncle Zhou pointed at the road. "Pushing it." Eric looked at him for a long time, then took something out of his pocket and handed it to him. It was an old chain—not for a bicycle, but for a motorcycle—very thick, with links like bones. "I found this. I've kept it. See if you can use it." Uncle Zhou took it and weighed it in his hand; it was too heavy to use. But he didn't return it; he put it into his canvas bag. "I'll keep it," he said.

Uncle Zhou's second stop was Greenfield. When he arrived, Martha was sitting at the doorway playing the guitar, the new strings sounding very bright. She saw Uncle Zhou pushing his bike over and stopped. "Uncle Zhou, is the bike broken again?" Uncle Zhou nodded. "The chain broke." Martha put down the guitar, took a thin piece of wire from her pocket, and handed it to him. "This is for tying things. You can use it to tie it together for now, and replace it when you ride back." Uncle Zhou took it, squatted down, and used the wire to tie the two ends of the broken chain together, wrapping it several times and twisting it tight. He stood up and stepped on the pedal; the chain didn't fall off. He stepped on it again; it still didn't fall off. He got on the bike and pedaled slowly for a turn. The chain creaked, but it didn't break. He rode for a turn, then another, and the chain still didn't break. He stopped and looked at Martha. "It works." Martha smiled. "The wire is soft; you can't ride far. You'll have to replace it when you get to Xinfeng Town." Uncle Zhou nodded, got on the bike, and continued forward. The chain creaked, sounding even more unpleasant than the previous squeaking, but it didn't break.

Uncle Zhou's third stop was Xinfeng Town. When he arrived, the sun had already shifted west, and the wire on the chain had worn through one strand, then another, with only the last one still holding. He parked the bike at the church entrance, pushed the door open, took the letter from his bag, and posted it on the wall. After posting it, he squatted at the base of the wall, looking at those treasures—bottle caps, feathers, game tokens, glass marbles, candy wrappers, chalk, paw prints, handprints, nails. He looked for a while, stood up, pushed the door open, and walked outside. The bicycle leaned against the wall, its chain dragging on the ground like a dead snake. He squatted down, removed the chain, rolled it into a ball, and placed it in the bike basket. Then he pushed the bike toward the Post Office.

Halfway there, he met Lin Xiaohe. She was carrying a schoolbag and holding a piece of chalk, about to draw something on the ground. Seeing Uncle Zhou pushing the bike over, she stopped. "Uncle Zhou, is the bike broken again?" Uncle Zhou nodded. "The chain broke." Lin Xiaohe squatted down, looking at the bare gears. "Then how will you get back?" Uncle Zhou pointed at the road. "Pushing it." Lin Xiaohe stood up, took a red cloth strip out of her schoolbag, and tied it to the handlebars. "This, to keep you safe on your journey." Uncle Zhou touched the red cloth strip; it was soft and new, different from the one he had before. He smiled. "Thank you." Lin Xiaohe also smiled. "You're welcome." She squatted down and used the chalk to draw a bicycle on the ground, with wheels, handlebars, a seat, and a chain. She drew very slowly, every stroke very serious. After finishing, she stood up and looked at the drawn bicycle. "This bike won't break," she said. Uncle Zhou also looked at the drawn bicycle. It was on the ground, white, crooked, but he felt it could be ridden.

The next morning, Uncle Zhou dug out a new chain from the Post Office warehouse. It was old stock; the wrapping paper was yellowed, but the chain was still bright, link by link, shining with a silver light. He took the old chain out of the bike basket, placed it on the table, unpacked the new chain, and threaded it into the gears link by link. He threaded it very slowly; every link had to be aligned, every link had to be tightened. After finishing, he stood up and stepped on the pedal; the chain turned without a sound. He stepped on it again; still no sound. He got on the bike and pedaled for a turn; the chain turned, very smooth, very slippery, as if oiled. He pedaled again; still no sound. He rode out of the Post Office and onto that winding road. The chain didn't make a sound. The squeaking sound was gone, and the creaking sound was gone too. There was only the rustling sound of tires rolling over the road surface and the swishing sound of the wind blowing through the leaves. He rode for a while, stopped, and looked back. The road was still that same road, winding and stretching into the distance. But he felt something was missing. That sound was missing. That squeaking sound that had followed him for forty years—it was gone.

He rode to the tree carved with "Li Xiaojun was here," stopped, squatted by the roadside, and looked at the bicycle. The bike was new—no, the bike was old; the paint had peeled off, rust had appeared, and the rubber grips were worn away. But the chain was new, bright, and silver. He reached out and flicked the chain; the chain turned without a sound. He stood up, got on the bike, and continued forward. The chain still didn't make a sound. He rode to Millfield and handed the letter to Eric. Eric heard the bicycle sound and paused for a moment. "Uncle Zhou, is the bike fixed?" Uncle Zhou nodded. "Replaced with a new chain." Eric squatted down and looked at the shiny chain. "It doesn't make a sound." Uncle Zhou nodded. "It doesn't make a sound." Eric stood up and looked at Uncle Zhou. "Are you used to it?" Uncle Zhou thought about it. "Not used to it. But since it doesn't make a sound, it means it's better." Eric smiled. "Maybe it will learn a new sound."

Uncle Zhou rode to Greenfield and handed the letter to Martha. Martha was playing the guitar and stopped when she heard the bicycle. "Uncle Zhou, the bike doesn't make a sound anymore." Uncle Zhou nodded. "Replaced with a new chain." Martha squatted down, looked at the chain, reached out, and gave it a light flick. The chain turned, emitting a very, very light "ding," like a guitar string vibrating. She paused, flicked it again, "ding—". She flicked it three times, "ding ding ding—". She looked up at Uncle Zhou. "It's singing." Uncle Zhou also paused. "What?" Martha flicked the chain again, "ding—". She stood up, went back to the doorway, picked up the guitar, and plucked the A string. "Ding—", exactly the same as the chain's sound. She smiled. "Your bike is now a guitar." Uncle Zhou squatted down and flicked the chain, "ding—". He also smiled. "Maybe."

Uncle Zhou rode to Xinfeng Town and posted the letter on the wall. After posting it, he walked to the doorway, squatted down, and flicked the chain. "Ding—". The cat walked over from the base of the wall, squatted beside the bike, pricked up its Ear, and stared at the chain. Uncle Zhou flicked it again, "ding ding—". The cat stretched out its paw and flicked the chain; the chain turned, "ding ding ding—". The cat's Ear twitched, it flicked it again, and again "ding ding ding—". It got hooked on playing; its two paws took turns flicking, and the chain rang out in a chorus of "ding ding ding ding". Uncle Zhou squatted nearby, watching the cat play with the chain. The cat got tired, stopped, licked its paws, and squatted beside the bike, its tail tip swaying gently. Uncle Zhou reached out and stroked the cat's head. The cat narrowed its eyes, making a purring sound in its throat, which mixed with the chain's "ding ding" sound, like a duet.

When the news reached the farm, George was cutting rainbow mushrooms. Sarah ran in and said that Uncle Zhou had replaced the chain, the bike didn't make a sound, but the cat could make it make a "ding ding" sound by flicking it, like a guitar. George put down the knife, picked up a slice of rainbow mushroom, and put it in his mouth. He remembered the first time he heard the bicycle sound, forty years ago. The bike was new, the chain was bright, the tires were black, and the bell rang the moment it was pressed. He rode it, starting from the Post Office, riding through Millfield, through Greenfield, to those places whose names he didn't know. At that time, the roads were still dirt roads, bumpy and full of holes, making his bottom ache when riding. But he felt fast, much faster than walking. He swallowed, stood up, and walked to the church entrance. Uncle Zhou was squatting beside the bike, and the cat was squatting beside him. George squatted down and flicked the chain, "ding—". He smiled. "It has learned a new sound." Uncle Zhou also smiled. "After forty years, it finally learned."

That night, Lin Feng was squatting under the old locust tree. Margaret brought a plate of mushrooms over and squatted beside him. "Lin Feng, Uncle Zhou's bicycle doesn't make a sound anymore. He replaced the chain. But when the cat flicks it, it makes a 'ding ding' sound, like a guitar." Lin Feng took the mushrooms and ate one. "Does it sound good?" Margaret nodded. "It sounds good. 'Ding ding,' like a little bird chirping." Lin Feng ate another one. "Its previous sound was 'squeak squeak.' That was it talking. Its current sound is 'ding ding ding ding.' That is it singing." Margaret looked at him and smiled. "When did you learn to say things like that?" Lin Feng said, "When I was biting on a straw."

The next morning, Uncle Zhou came to deliver mail. He rode the bike; the chain didn't make a sound, only the rustling sound of tires rolling over the road surface and the swishing sound of the wind blowing through the leaves. He rode to the tree carved with "Li Xiaojun was here," stopped, and flicked the chain. "Ding—". He smiled and continued riding forward. The wind messed up his hair; he rode very slowly, but very steadily. He remembered those sounds—squeak squeak, creak creak, ding ding ding ding. They were all his. This road had heard them for forty years, the wall for twenty years, the cat for a few days. They had all heard them. He smiled and continued riding forward. [Chapter 124 End]