96: Chapter 96 The Other Side of the Wall

Master Sun had come to Xinfeng Town again. He wasn't here to look at the wall; he was here to look at that bicycle. He stood at the entrance of the church, squatted down, and examined it from the wheels to the handlebars, from the handlebars to the seat, and from the seat to the chain. After finishing, he stood up and nodded.

"It's repaired well," he said.

George stood nearby. "I repaired it."

Master Sun looked at him. "Have you studied carpentry?"

George shook his head. "I grow mushrooms."

Master Sun smiled. He walked to the front of the wall, looking at the letters, the drawings, and the newly posted words. After watching for a while, he turned his head. "This wall needs to be repaired."

George was taken aback. "Isn't it supposed to stand for another twenty years?"

Master Sun pointed to the very bottom of the wall. There, the wooden planks had been soaked by time, leaving dark water stains, and the edges were somewhat soft. In several places, where the letter paper was stuck to the planks, the paper had turned yellow, the corners had curled up, and it had fused with the wood, inseparable.

"Wood doesn't fear the weight of letters, it fears moisture," Master Sun said. "The bottom planks have absorbed twenty years of dampness. If we don't replace them now, the letters will stick to them and won't be able to be removed."

The news spread. It wasn't that anyone was specifically spreading it; the people who came to the church to see the wall took the news back with them. Master Sun was going to repair the wall. Not patch it, but replace it. He would replace the bottom row of planks with new ones, take the old ones out, dry them, repair them, and then move them to the top. He said that a wall is like a person; the roots at the bottom must be stable for the top to stand firm.

The people from Millfield arrived. Eric stood at the church entrance, watching Master Sun take measurements.

Master Sun held a tape measure, measuring from one end of the wall to the other, and from the bottom of the wall to the edges of the letters.

He measured very slowly, recording every number in a notebook.

Eric asked if he needed help. Master Sun said no. He added, "Just stand there and watch."

The people from Greenfield arrived. Martha stood at the entrance, watching Master Sun select planks.

The planks he brought were new, pine, stark white, just like the ones George had selected twenty years ago.

He touched them with his hands, looked with his eyes, tapped with his knuckles, and listened to the sound. He kept the good ones and moved the bad ones aside.

Martha asked him how he selected them. Master Sun said, "Listen to the sound. If the sound is crisp, the wood is dry and can be used. If the sound is dull, the wood is damp and cannot be used."

He tapped the planks one by one; when he tapped one with a dull sound, he moved it aside. He tapped another, and moved that one aside too. After tapping over a dozen, he picked out seven or eight.

Martha looked at the planks that had been set aside and asked what would happen to them.

Master Sun said, "Sun-dry them. Once they are dry, they can be used again."

The people of Xinfeng Town also arrived. George stood in front of the wall, looking at those letters at the very bottom. Eric's, Martha's, Tom's, Molly's. When they were first posted on the wall, the paper was white and the corners were flat. Now the paper had yellowed, the corners had curled up, and it had fused with the wood, inseparable. He squatted down, looking at those letters, and watched for a long time. Then he stood up and went to find Jenny.

"Those letters," he said, "can we take them down first?"

Jenny looked at him. "Take them down, and then put them back up?"

George nodded.

Jenny walked to the front of the wall and squatted down. She looked at the letters for a long time. Then she reached out and gently lifted a corner of Eric's letter. The paper was very brittle; it fell apart at the slightest touch. It didn't just fall off; it crumbled. The edges of the paper shattered into tiny pieces, landing in her palm like autumn leaves. She held that piece in her palm and looked at it for a long time. Then she put the letter back and did not try to lift it again.

"They can't be taken down," she said.

George squatted down, looking at those letters. The paper had yellowed, the corners had curled up, and it had fused with the wood. It wasn't held by thumbtacks, but stuck by time. Twenty years. He reached out and gently touched Eric's letter. The paper was very thin and brittle; it would crumble at a touch. But he felt that the words were still there. In those fragments, in that yellowed paper, in those corners fused with the wooden planks.

"We won't replace them," he said.

Master Sun looked at him. "Not replace them? The planks at the bottom are damp; they will rot."

George nodded. "Let them rot. The letters are on them, and they can't be taken down. If they can't be taken down, we won't replace them."

Master Sun was silent for a long time. He looked at the letters, the yellowed paper, and the curled corners. Then he squatted down and took a small plane out of his toolbox. The plane was very small, smaller than his hand. He gently planed off a layer of the wooden plank's surface. The wood shavings were very thin, as thin as paper. They landed in his palm, white, soft, and carrying the scent of wood. He placed the shavings next to the letter paper, together with the yellowed paper.

"We won't replace the planks," he said, "but we have to draw out the moisture. We'll use the shavings, layering them underneath. Wood absorbs wood, and the moisture will dissipate."

He planed very slowly, watching for a long time with every stroke. The shavings landed in his palm, and he arranged them piece by piece, layering them under the letter paper. After finishing, he stood up and looked at the wall. The letter paper at the very bottom was still yellow, the corners were still curled, but underneath was a layer of white shavings. White, soft, and carrying the scent of wood.

George stood nearby, looking at the shavings. "How long will this last?"

Master Sun thought for a moment. "Ten years. Ten years from now, come and plane it again."

The news reached Millfield. Eric was watering plants on the farm when Sarah ran over to find him. "Eric! That wall, they aren't replacing it! George said they aren't replacing it! The letters are on it, they can't be taken down, so they aren't replacing it!"

Eric put down the hose and squatted in front of the shelves. He remembered the first letter he had written; the paper was white, the words were black, it was posted on the wall, and the thumbtack was new. Now the paper had yellowed, the words were blurred, and the thumbtack was rusty. But it was still there. On the wall, in that yellowed paper, in those corners fused with the wooden planks. It couldn't be taken down. He stood up to find Dave. "Dave, I want to go and see that wall."

He arrived in Xinfeng Town in the afternoon. The church door was open, and sunlight shone in through the stained-glass windows, falling onto that wall. He walked to his letter and squatted down. The paper had yellowed, the corners had curled up, and it had fused with the wood. Underneath was a layer of white shavings, white, soft, and carrying the scent of wood. He reached out and touched it gently. The paper was very brittle; it would crumble at a touch. But he felt that the words were still there. He squatted there, watching for a long time.

Then he stood up, turned, and walked away. Upon reaching the door, he turned back to look. The letter was still there, on the wall, in that yellowed paper. He smiled. As long as it was still there, it was fine.

The news reached Greenfield. Martha was playing the guitar when someone ran over to find her, saying that the wall would not be replaced. She put down the guitar and stood up. It was evening when she arrived in Xinfeng Town.

The sunset shone in through the stained-glass windows, falling onto that wall. She found her letter and squatted down. The paper had yellowed, the corners had curled up, and it had fused with the wood. Underneath was a layer of white shavings, white and soft. She reached out and touched it gently. The paper was very brittle; it would crumble at a touch. But she felt that the words were still there. She remembered when she had written this letter; she had just started learning the guitar, played very slowly, and often made mistakes. She had written a letter, sent it to Xinfeng Town, and posted it on the wall. Now the letter had yellowed, the words were blurred, but it was still there. On the wall, in that yellowed paper. She squatted there, watching for a long time. Then she stood up, turned, and walked away.

Upon reaching the door, she turned back to look. The letter was still there. She smiled.

That night, Master Sun sat at the church entrance. George squatted next to him, and the two of them looked at the bicycle. The red cloth strip on the handlebars had faded, turning white, but it was still fluttering in the wind.

"How much longer can this bike be ridden?" Master Sun asked.

George thought for a moment. "I don't know. But Old Zhou is still riding it. Riding slowly."

Master Sun nodded. He took a piece of wood out of his pocket; it was very small, palm-sized, old pine. He handed it to George. "Keep this. Use it the next time the wall needs repairing."

George took it. The wood was heavy, cool, and carried the scent of wood. He held it in his palm, looking at it for a long time. "Use it twenty years from now," he said.

Master Sun smiled. "Twenty years from now, I'll be eighty-three. Will I still be able to plane?"

George smiled too. "You'll be able to. Plane slowly."

The next morning, Old Zhou came to deliver letters. He parked the bicycle at the church entrance and pushed the door open to go in. Under the wall, there was now a layer of white shavings, white, soft, and carrying the scent of wood. He squatted down and touched those shavings. They were very light and soft, like touching someone's hair. He stood up and walked to the front of the wall. Those earliest letters were still there. Eric's, Martha's, Tom's, Molly's. The paper had yellowed, the corners had curled up, and it had fused with the wood. But they were still there. On the wall, in that yellowed paper.

He stood in front of the wall and watched for a long time. Then he turned, pushed the door open, and walked into the morning light. The bicycle was still creaking at the entrance; he got on and rode slowly forward. The road wound and stretched into the distance, and the wind blew, messing up his hair. He rode very slowly, but very steadily. He thought of those letters, those earliest letters. The paper had yellowed, the words were blurred, but they were still there. On the wall, in that yellowed paper, in those corners fused with the wooden planks. They couldn't be taken down. But they were still there. He smiled, and continued riding forward.

[Chapter 96 End]