172: Chapter 172 Lin Feng Makes a Water Cup Qin

Bean sprouts's tendrils twisted and turned inside the jar. Every day, the cat would poke at them with its paws. The sound the tendrils made was very faint and rustling, like someone flipping through a book. Lin Feng squatted beside them, listening to the rustle, and felt it sounded like a musical instrument. He remembered a music class from his childhood—the teacher had used several glass cups filled with different amounts of water to tap out different pitches. He couldn't play the guitar or the erhu, but he could tap on cups. He could make a set of Water Glass Harps for the cat to listen to. The cat liked sounds—it liked the rustling of the turning windmill, the light reflected off the telescope lens, and the clattering of ice cubes in a plate. The cat should like a Water Glass Harp.

He went to ask Molly for glass cups. Molly rummaged through the storage room and found several glasses of the same size—transparent, with even thickness. She also brought a stainless steel chopstick; tapping the glasses with it produced a crisp sound. Lin Feng carried the glasses back to the edge of the canopy and lined them up, seven in total. He filled the first glass with water, which produced the lowest sound, and put only a little water in the seventh glass, which produced the highest sound. He tapped the first glass with the chopstick—dong—a deep sound, like a distant bell tolling. He tapped the seventh glass—ding—a crisp sound, like a bird chirping. The cat walked over from beside the jar, squatted in front of the glasses, and tilted its head to listen. Lin Feng tapped the first glass again, and the cat's Ear moved; he tapped the seventh glass, and the cat's Ear moved again. It seemed to hear the difference. Lin Feng adjusted the amount of water in the glasses several times so that each glass had a different pitch. He listened with his own Ear and also with the cat's Ear—after every tap, he would look at the cat's Ear. Whichever tap made the cat's Ear move the most was the most accurate note. The cat didn't understand pitch, but it could tell good sounds from bad ones. Lin Feng spent the afternoon tuning them and finally produced seven notes: do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti. He played the simplest tune—"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." Dong dong ding ding, from low to high, from high to low. The cat squatted by the glasses, its head swaying gently to the rhythm and the tip of its tail keeping time. It was as if it were listening to a concert.

Margaret came out of the Restaurant and heard the ding-dong sounds coming from the edge of the canopy. She walked over and saw Lin Feng squatting in front of a row of glass cups, tapping them with a chopstick, while the cat squatted nearby, its head nodding along. She squatted down and listened for a while. "What is this?" Lin Feng said. "A Water Glass Harp. Fill the cups with water to tap out different sounds." Margaret picked up the chopstick and tapped a glass—ding. She tapped another—dong. She tapped twice and heard the difference in pitch. "How long did you spend tuning them?" Lin Feng said. "The whole afternoon. The cat helped me. It listened, and I listened. When its Ear moves the most, the note is accurate." Margaret looked at the cat; its Ear was still moving along with the rhythm. She smiled. "It knows more about music than you do." Lin Feng said, "It doesn't understand. But it knows how to listen. After listening enough, it knows which sounds are pleasant." Margaret handed the chopstick back to Lin Feng. "Keep playing. I'm going to serve the mushrooms." She stood up and walked back to the Restaurant. Lin Feng continued to play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," over and over again. The cat's head swayed more and more, and its tail wagged faster and faster, as if it were dancing. Lin Feng looked at the cat. "Aren't you dizzy?" The cat didn't answer; it stood up and batted at the nearest glass with its paw. The glass wobbled, a little water spilled, and the pitch changed. Lin Feng retuned that glass of water, but the cat batted it again, and more water spilled. It seemed to think spilling water was more fun than listening to music. Lin Feng moved the glasses to a place where the cat couldn't reach. The cat squatted in front of the glasses, looking at the water inside, the tip of its tail swaying gently. It didn't bat at them anymore, but it didn't leave either; it just squatted there and listened.

In the afternoon, Old Zhou came to deliver a letter. He parked his vehicle by the canopy and was stunned when he heard the ding-dong sounds. He walked over and saw the row of glass cups, with Lin Feng squatting nearby tapping and the cat squatting nearby listening. He squatted down and tapped a glass—ding—then tapped another—dong. He laughed. "You know how to do this too?" Lin Feng said, "I just learned it. The cat taught me." Old Zhou glanced at the cat, which was staring at the water in the glasses without blinking. "How did it teach you?" Lin Feng said, "It listens. If it thinks it sounds good, its Ear moves; if not, its Ear doesn't move. I tune them based on how many times its Ear moves. The more it moves, the more accurate the note." Old Zhou rummaged through his bag, pulled out a letter, and handed it to Lin Feng. "Yours." Lin Feng opened it; inside was only a single sheet of paper with one line of text: "Lin Feng, can the Water Glass Harp play a cat's meow?" There was no signature. Lin Feng took out a pen and paper and wrote a reply. "A cat has two kinds of sounds: meows and purrs. Purrs are low, like the first glass; meows are high, like the seventh glass. I can play both purrs and meows." He posted the letter on the wall and walked back. Old Zhou was still squatting in front of the glasses, playing a song he knew—an old song with a very slow and gentle melody. The cat closed its eyes, its head swaying slowly and the tip of its tail wagging gently. When Old Zhou finished playing, the cat opened its eyes, glanced at him, and closed them again. Old Zhou laughed. "It likes it." Lin Feng said, "It didn't leave. If it didn't leave, it means it likes it." Old Zhou stood up and brushed off his pants. "I'm heading back." He got on his bike, the chain clinking ding-ding-ding as he rode away. Lin Feng squatted in front of the glasses and continued to play. He played the cat's purr—tapping the first glass repeatedly, dong-dong-dong-dong, like an engine. The cat opened its eyes, glanced at him, and closed them again. He then played the cat's meow—tapping the seventh glass—ding—a long note, like a cat calling out. The cat stood up, walked to the glass, sniffed it, and then let out a meow at the glass. The water inside the glass trembled, and the pitch changed slightly. The cat meowed again, and the water trembled once more. It seemed to be singing a duet with the glass. Squatting nearby, Lin Feng couldn't help but smile as he watched the cat and the glass "singing" together. He took out his pen and paper and drew the ripples on the water in the glass—circle after circle, like the shape of sound waves. After finishing the drawing, he posted the paper on the wall.

In the evening, Lin Feng sat on the steps at the entrance of the Restaurant. He wasn't squatting; he was sitting. Margaret came out carrying a plate of mushrooms and sat beside him. The two of them sat there, looking at the sky. The stars lit up one by one, just like yesterday. The cat walked over from the canopy, came to their feet, squatted down, and looked up at the stars. It watched for a long time, then closed its eyes, curled into a ball, and started purring. Margaret looked at the cat. "It didn't look through the telescope today." Lin Feng said, "It listened to music today. It listened all afternoon. It got tired of listening, so it's not looking." Margaret asked him, "Will you play again tomorrow?" Lin Feng nodded. "Yes. The cat likes to listen. If it listens, I'll play." Margaret smiled. "You play every day." Lin Feng said, "Mm. I can't get enough of it." The wind blew over, carrying the coolness of the water, the crisp ring of the glass cups, the green scent of the Bean sprouts, and the sweet fragrance of the mushrooms. Lin Feng closed his eyes and took a sniff. He opened his eyes, stood up, and brushed off his pants. "I'm going to sleep." Margaret also stood up. "Tomorrow when you play, I'll help you add water." Lin Feng nodded. "Mm." He turned and walked into the Restaurant, with Margaret following behind him. The door closed, and the lights went out. The cat jumped down from the steps, walked back to the canopy, curled up on the blue cloth, rested its head on the iron box, and closed its eyes. The moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting the shadows of the glasses onto the ground—a row of seven, like tiny bell towers. The wind blew, and the shadows wavered, but they did not dissipate. Standing in the Restaurant, Lin Feng looked out the window. He saw the shadows of the glasses, the shadow of the cat, and the shadow of the Bean sprouts. He watched for a long time, then drew the curtains and went to sleep.

[Chapter 172 End]