HILLS
Desheng Zong
1.
It had looked like it was going to rain when the day began. Large, slow-moving clouds had been gathering since early morning in the southeastern sky, looking quite ominous and completely blocking the rising sun. But as she came out of the daycare center after dropping off her five-year-old son and closed the red wooden door behind her, she noticed that the clouds seemed to be dispersing; a ray of sunlight was coming out from behind the dark clouds.
The day was going to be fine after all, she thought with relief.
The alley leading up to the hills in the back of the town where the middle school stood was flanked by the walls of the daycare center on one side and the high walls of Temple of Confucius on the other. A thriving grove of rosebushes in the courtyard of the daycare center had grown over the top of the walls; its intertwined branches, heavy with a mass of crimson flowers, drooped down low into the street.
The ascending alley that she had been taking almost daily lately was paved with elongated granite flagstones on the two sides and small, irregularly shaped boulders placed in a random manner within the boundaries marked by the slabs. Years of foot traffic had made the faces of the boulders smooth.
On a regular school day at this hour the alley would be full of noisy middle school students on their way to class, but on this day it was quiet. The forty-day summer break had started a few days ago, and since then the alley had turned into quite a desolate place, traveled only by teachers who had remained at the school compound.
The beginning of summer had always felt the same to her. Every year, as the summer break approached and her husband - who was the principal of the middle school and a very busy man, even in summer - got ready for his business trips and policy-study seminars, a nameless longing and a strange feeling of excitement always filled her heart. With a slightly lightheaded and yet curiously agreeable anxiety throbbing within she looked forward to the start of the summer and dreamed about the kind of things she would like to do during the break.
The high hopes of the beginning days of the summer had rarely turned into reality though. It had always seemed that there was always something that kept one from carrying out what one had planned to do -- a call for help from the school�s performance group regarding their choreography and choice of music, visits from former students returning from college for the summer and visits from current students preparing for the next year�s college entrance examination, and, for the past few years at least, trips taken with her husband to showcase their child to the latter�s overly indulgent grandparents.
As always was the case with things of this nature, after all that needed to be taken care of was done and over, and one was able finally to sit down, thinking that the time one had been longing for � a quiet day, all to oneself, free of interruptions � was at last here, one only discovered that the feelings were simply not there. Then before one knew it, school opening day was approaching and the end of summer drawing near, and one could only look back with regret at the futile days passed.
What she could take comfort in this time around, however, was that this would be the first time in years she was relieved of the duty of supervising teacher; also she should be able to get some relief as far as child care was concerned. This year she had decided, against her husband�s wishes, to put the child in daycare for at least the first half of the summer. With a semester�s teaching done and college entrance examinations a thing of the past, it appeared that she would have all the time she needed to carry out her summer plans. Perhaps finally this year she would be able to register for one, or perhaps two correspondence courses � there were a lot of ads in the literary journals lately that advertised such courses, many of which were offered by various prestigious colleges and universities in big cities in the far-away north. She had always wanted to enroll in some writing related courses, but had never really been able to do so except for a short course in poetry writing, which she enjoyed greatly. Perhaps finally she would be able to do that this year.
The path of granite stones leading up to the school entrance rose somewhat abruptly as it reached the foot of the hill; the town�s residence also ended here. As she reached the last stage of the path she paused to catch a breath. At age 35 she could in no sense be said to be old, but this stretch of ascending path was something that would make even a young man gasp a bit.
2.
With the child now at kindergarten and her husband attending a seminar in the provincial city, the three-room apartment was quiet and even appeared a bit empty. The building itself, which stood among groves of old cypress trees overlooking the town, was also quiet, as many residents were gone for the summer. The intermittent, drawn-out calls of a solitary finch in a tall cypress tree just outside the window only made the quietude more acute.
All this would otherwise have indicated to her that the much longed-for summer break was undoubtedly here. This, however, was not how she felt in her distracted state of mind this morning. The daughter of a close aunt had recently written to her, informing her that she and her boyfriend � a college graduate � would be passing by her town this day on their trip to a tourist resort further west. The two planned to stop by at her place for a day or two before continuing their journey.
Being unaccustomed to occasions that require one to go out of one�s way to accommodate whatever a situation might call for, the anticipation of the arrival of the two visitors had caused in her a slight feeling of anxiety. Not only did she find attention hard to come by and her thoughts a bit in disarray after having returned home, she could not help but think about the arrival of the visitors as she went about the rooms picking up what her son had left around before he was taken to the kindergarten.
About her cousin�s boyfriend she knew very little; until the girl mentioned it in the letter she did not even know that she had a boyfriend. As for the cousin, she once knew her very well, but that was back when the girl was still a child. She simply had no idea how an encounter with a twenty-year-old would go.
At the time she graduated from college - about fifteen year ago during the late years of the Cultural Revolution - the cousin was still an elementary school pupil who always went about with a Young Pioneer�s red scarf around the neck. She herself was in her early twenties at the time, newly graduated from college. For about a week she stayed temporarily at her aunt�s home in the provincial city while awaiting the news of job assignments for her class.
It was a very tense period of time. The job assignment was an event that most people looked to with apprehension. Strangely this was not how she had felt about it. With all the school related activities finished and no specific goals to fix her mind on and no idea where her life would go from there, she fell into a reflective mood for the first time in her life, feeling like a boat that had been let loose. During the day in the quiet hours after everyone in the family had gone, she paced the rooms of the third floor apartment while sinking into her own daydreams.
Then came the job announcement; it pulled her out of this reflective mood, and she was quite happy that it did. It was only later, after she had worked for a few years on the job that she started to miss those days she spent at her aunt�s place.
She received a teaching position at her present school. In her frame of mind at that time she would have been just as happy even if the job assignment had been one for a middle school in the Northwest, or Tibet for that matter. Then, a few days later on a midsummer day, she got packed and headed for the long distance bus station. She had been here ever since that bus ride fifteen years ago.
3.
In the afternoon she went to the town�s bus station to meet the two visitors. She had not seen much of the cousin lately; the last time she saw her was a year ago at a New Year�s gathering at the home of the girl�s parents. At that time the girl had just started to report to work as a teller at a commercial bank in the city. Naturally she was taken quite by surprise when she saw the blooming young lady come off the bus at the station. The rough edges and awkwardness in the demeanor of a teenage girl were almost completely gone; standing in front of her was a young lady with all her urban smoothness.
�Sister!� called the cousin and waved to her as she made her way toward her, with her boy friend walking in her wake. As soon as they met the girl affectionately put her arms around hers, and turning slightly toward the young man introduced him to her:
�This is Ku,� the girl said.
�How do you do!� she said, casting a very brief glance in his direction but avoiding eye contact.
�How do you do!� said the man in a relaxed manner. He was a young man in his mid to late twenties, of sturdy build, who stood slightly taller than the crowd near the bus.
She had been a shy person all through her life, and was especially clumsy when it came to dealing with strangers; even the fifteen years of teaching had not improved things much in this regard. Not sure what to say to the two after the initial greetings, she asked them if they would like to go directly to her home to get some rest, or perhaps they would like to go see a few places in town.
�I�m not tired at all,� said the young man.
�Ku is interested in religion,� the girl explained. �He wrote his thesis on Western missionaries in the province. Is there anything in town that might have something to do with that?�
�There is indeed something of that sort here,� she said. �An old church, located in the older quarters of the town.�
�Is that really so,� said the young man, as he appeared to be intrigued. �I�d like to go there and have a look. Is the church Jesuit?�
She was not sure if it was a Jesuit one.
�Most of the churches in this province were built by the Jesuits,� the young man said. �So if there is a church it is likely to be Jesuit.�
The three started to walk at a leisurely pace toward the quarter of the town where the church was. The two women walked with their arms held together as they listened to him explaining to them the relation between the Catholic Church and the Society of Jesus.
The church was an old Western style building that stood on the eastern side of the street overlooking the much lower and very old Chinese residential houses that flanked it. The entire building was built with granite blocks; the windows had flat and square sills and fan-shaped tops.
Apparently the place had not been properly maintained for quite some time, the paint on the window frames had mostly peeled off, dark colored mold grew on many of the stones, and the weathered surface of the wall showed signs of erosion.
The three walked up and down this stretch of the narrow street a few times to get a look at the building.
�The place once housed the town�s health center for women and children,� she said in an attempt to provide what she thought might be a useful piece of information, but she was not sure the young man heard it; he had stepped up to the door in the center of the front wall facing the street and was trying to look in through the cracks in the door.
�It does not seem to be locked,� the young man muttered. �I�m going in to have a look.�
The two ladies decided to wait for him outside in the street. While the young man disappeared behind the door the girl pulled her to one side and asked in hushed voice:
�What do you think of him, sister?�
�You know me,� she started. �I�m not good at these things ��
�Oh, come on, sister,� the girl said, and gave her arm a gentle pull. �It�s so typical of you! He is great, don�t you think?�
�If you say so�� she said.
�He just graduated from the well-know X University last summer,� the girl said eagerly. �I met him at a friend�s party early this year and have been seeing him ever since ��
�Where does he work?�
�He works in the municipal government,� the girl said. �Which I think is a great job. But he does not seem to be happy about it, and has told me that he wants to go to graduate school next year. I�m torn between supporting him and discouraging him. What�s your advice on this, sister?�
�It sounds like a serious matter,� she said. �You�ll need to ��
But she did not get to finish her words.
�There he comes,� said the girl when she saw the young man stepping out the door. The two stopped their chat and walked toward him.
�What is it like inside?� the girl asked.
�It�s not bad,� said the young man, and looked back at the building once more. �I�ve visited a few churches of this type; this one is actually preserved pretty well.�
For a brief moment, the three stood in the middle of the empty street, not knowing what to do next.
�What else is there to see in your town, sister?� the girl asked.
�There is a temple of the Jade Emperor;� she said. �It is located on top of the hills in the back of the town and is worth a look. You can see a bit of the roof from here; many say the scenes around the temple are pretty nice too.�
The two looked in the direction she was pointing. Glittering in the afternoon sun were the yellow and green tiles of the temple, but the walls and the main structures of the temple were submerged in the thick, dark green foliage of old cypress trees.
The two visitors liked the idea, and decided they would make a trip to the temple later in the afternoon.
4.
All three were gasping as they reached the temple. The small ground in front of the temple entrance was surrounded on three sides by cypress trees. Many of the trees that had looked so unreachably tall when they were at the foot of the hill now had all their thick and mysterious branches exposed to the visitors� eyes.
The temple turned out to be a one-courtyard simple structure with a two-story main hall and wing houses. But the main hall, which sat on elevated ground, featured an elaborate style and looked quite elegant in its green foliage surroundings.
The temple also offered visitors another attraction - a well maintained garden featuring many exotic plants and flowers. The discovery of the garden made the girl - whose father was a garden plant lover - very happy. As the girl went to visit the garden she and the young man sat down on the bench of a pavilion outside the temple enclosure, a spot that provided a panoramic view of the small plain spreading out below in all directions.
As they sat down the young man asked a few questions about her � where did she go to college, how long had she been on the current job. He did not say much after that.
�Your friend told me that you were planning to go to graduate school,� she said.
�Did she?� he said casually. �That�s true; it is something I�ve been thinking about for some time. Since reporting to work last year, my days at work have been spent on hand copying the bureau�s personnel case files. Typical office work, you know.�
The spot was very quiet due to the cypress trees; a gentle swishing sound was the only thing one could hear as wind blew across. A clearing on one side of the pavilion provided a view of the old town lying along the hill foot.
�Is that the church we just visited?� the young man asked, pointing at a spot among the town�s crowded old residential houses, which looked small from where they were.
�No,� said she. �It has to be somewhere in that part of the town�See that roof there? That is the church.�
�Oh,� he said. �Now I see.�
�Did it ever strike you as odd?� the young man continued after a while. �I mean those Western missionaries who built these churches. If you were willing to abandon what was familiar to you, and travel so far away from home to come to a foreign place like this, build a house so that you could lock yourself in it, you had to be one who had something that others here did not have. But what could that thing be? The chapel is a cold and empty place; to stay there for an hour would be long enough; imagine spending one�s entire life in it��
The two ended their conversation when the girl reappeared.
�Look what I got,� said the girl in an excited tone. �A worker in the temple garden gave me these seeds. He really knows his stuff. He also showed me some of his rare flowers.�
She had heard of that gardener before; a few of her colleagues had received help from him with their orchid cultivation.
�This will make your father very happy,� said the young man as he took the pack of seeds the girl handed to him.
For their way down the hill the three decided to take the thickly wooded, longer but less steep southern slope; ruins of a long stretch of the old city wall � a hardened dirt bank covered in long grass � ran from here in parallel with the moat all the way down to the foot of the hills.
�I say we run down the hill on top of the wall,� said the young man as he climbed on the wall.
�I�m coming with you!� the girl answered, and she also got on the wall with the help of the young man. �Are you coming with us, sister?�
�Perhaps not,� she said. �I�m afraid I�m too old for that.�
�That�s not a good excuse,� said the girl.
�Perhaps you can run along the foot of the wall,� the young man suggested, pointing at the grassy slope between the deep ditch and the wall.
�Please,� the girl echoed. �Please join us!�
She agreed to give it a try, and made an effort to run as the other two started to dash forward on top of the wall down the hill. But after a minute or two she was gasping and feeling a burning sensation in the chest. She slowed down and decided instead to walk down the hill. It had been a long time since the last time she had climbed so far and tried to run like a youngster.
The two visitors soon ran out of sight. It was getting late; a few thin clouds were burning in the far distance in the western sky just above the mountaintops. The woods on both sides of the moat were extremely quiet. Curiously, as she walked alone next to the broken wall with rampant ground pomegranate she fell into a thoughtful mood.
For the night she and her cousin shared the family bedroom and the young man occupied her son�s room. The girl fell asleep after some intermittent conversation with her in the dark, but the young man stayed up quite late. She could hear him drinking tea, pulling off books from the bookcases, and making noise as he flipped the pages.
Eventually even the occasional noise in the next room died down, and everything suddenly became very quiet. Lying in the dark with her eyes open she thought she could almost hear her own heart beat, which sounded unusually loud in the quietude of the night. And yet, for a long time, no sleep came, and her mind remained blank, like the transparent void in front of her eyes.
5.
The two visitors went to the lake the next day and did not return until way past the time for the evening meal.
�Oh, sister,� the girl said excitedly as soon as she came in the door. �You have no idea what a good time we had by the lake!�
The two young persons, whose faces had turned a deep red after all the exposure to the unsparing highland sun, looked exhausted but in high spirits.
�Were you able to swim?� she asked.
�No,� the girl answered. �There was too much seaweed in the water; instead we took a long walk along the lakeshores. It�s better than swimming.�
�We started from the wharf and walked southeast for about one kilometer,� said the young man, picking up the conversation where the girl left off. �There was nothing along the way but rice paddies on one side and the shallow waters of the lake on the other. We also came across some very tall scholar trees along the pebbly shorelines��
His description told her that she probably knew the place. The school used to organize annual outings to that stretch of the lakeshore in early summer in memory of Chairman Mao�s swimming across the Yangtze River in 1969. It had been more than a decade since the last time the memorial event was held, but she could still see those tall scholar trees standing against the background of empty lake waters even with her eyes closed.
Over dinner the two told her more about their trip.
�A man was drowned this afternoon at the lake,� the girl said.
She did not know what to say except for an �Oh�.
�It happened somewhere near the wharf,� the girl continued. �It drew a big crowd. Ku thinks we passed by the man at an earlier time.�
�That�s true,� said the young man. �The man was loitering near a dock in the morning when we were on our way out to the lake.�
�I heard some say that the man had mental problems,� the girl added. �They say that before he developed the problem he had been on the staff of the local hospital.�
The subject was not mentioned after that. When the dinner was over she asked the two if they would like to watch some TV, but they said no. Having been outdoors all day the two now felt it too confining to sit in the living room, and both said that the balcony would be a better place to spend the evening.
When the tea was ready she set up a small table on the balcony and lit a roll of incense in the corner next to the pot of Chinese flowering crabapple. The three carried on a leisurely conversation over a very light jasmine tea. It was a clear night and across the plain the full moon was just coming up in the eastern sky.
After a while the child came looking for his aunt and the two went back in, leaving her and the young man on the balcony.
�Do you by chance have any liquor?� the young man asked.
�I�ll have to go look,� she said.
She did not drink but her husband had a habit of taking one small cup at dinner, and there might still be some in the cupboard. She went to the kitchen and soon returned with a bottle and a small wine cup. He poured himself a cup and took a sip.
�It�s amazing how quickly a person�s life can end,� he remarked.
�It is, isn�t it?� she echoed. Apparently he was referring to the drowned man they mentioned earlier.
There was a period of silence after that. The young man quietly took another sip. As he was putting down his cup he asked her, in a casual manner:
�Did you ever think about how you would want it if you could choose your own death?�
She had not thought of that.
�I�d thought about it,� he said. �Would you like to hear?�
She said she would.
�I grew up in this province,� the young man continued. �But both my parents are from Manchuria. Until I went to college, they had not taken me there even once. So before I graduated from the university I made a trip to my father�s home village, to trace my roots as people call it nowadays.�
He stopped, took a sip at the wine, and then put it down on the ground somewhere next to one of the legs of his chair.
�A few of my uncles and their families still live there,� he resumed. �They were very nice to me while I was there. But what I liked most about the place were the woods. Yes, the woods. They are very different from woods you find in the south; the lines of the trees and the landscape are more straightforward and much simpler. There is not a lot of tangled undergrowth, snakes or bugs to bother you.
�I sometimes thought the best way to die would be to go deep in one of those woods, dig a hole on a slope facing the autumn foliage, and pile the dirt you dig up on a plank, then when you slip into the hole as you are dying, you also pull the dirt over yourself.�
As he spoke the young man looked straight into the moonlight-filled void in front him with his eyes narrowed.
The young man�s tale invoked a vivid image of a mountain scene in her; it was a beautiful one, not unlike what one sometimes saw on calendars. But somehow the image evoked little emotion in her. However, listening to him talk had made her think of the stretch of lakeshore where she used to go to with students. For some reason, ever since he first mentioned it, the image of the tall scholar trees standing forlornly against the empty waters had come to her mind several times that evening, bringing her each time a little deeper into a lost world within.
6.
She was in the kitchen preparing breakfast the next morning when the young man came in. As he sat down by the table he greeted her.
�Morning!� he said. �You really have a nice place for a home; these hills are so unbelievably quiet at night. I had never slept so well in my life.�
She nodded toward him with a smile but did not say anything.
�I looked at some more of your books last night,� the man said. �You have quite a few old nineteenth century writers, but I did not see any recent ones.�
�I really have some old books, don�t I?� she said, and smiled softly. �My husband often makes jokes about my out-dated books.�
�Oh,� the young man blurted, feeling a bit embarrassed by his own rash remark, but promptly proceeded to remedy the situation. �But some of the recent translations I�ve read are really great works. If you like I can send you some once I return to the provincial city,�
�I�m afraid that no matter how much I tried I would still not be able to keep abreast with all the things that are happening in this big world,� she said. �But perhaps you are right; I need to read some more contemporary stuff, if just to keep up with things. But you do not have to send me books; I can buy the books myself.�
�In that case I will give you a list,� he said.
�That would be great,� she answered.
�It�s a bit embarrassing,� said the young man after he finished his booklist. �I came across some poetic manuscripts while perusing the books on one of the bookcases in the room. I did not meant to��
�There is no need to apologize,� she said quickly. �Every now and then I jot down something but often forgot to put them away. In any case, no one has paid much attention to them. My husband used to read them before we got married, but lately my child is the only one who finds them of any use; he uses them to make paper airplanes.�
�Have you ever thought of sending them off for publication?�
�I have not,� she said. �It�s something I do for fun; an old habit hard to eradicate.�
The conversation ended there.
Sometime after breakfast the two visitors packed their things and got ready to leave as scheduled. She had wanted to go see them off at the bus station, but the two told her that they had given her enough trouble in the past two days and would not want to trouble her anymore.
�I�ll come to see you again when I have time, sister,� the girl said; and she did not forget to give the five-year-old a hug before she left.
7.
Her summer life quickly sank into a familiar routine only days after the departure of the two visitors, and before long it became clear that the summer was not going to be any different from the previous ones.
Twice a day she traveled to the kindergarten; in the afternoon after picking up the child she took him to the middle school�s music room for piano lessons. On days when her husband was home, they would discuss their expected visit to their child�s grandparents, and she listened to him when he talked about his study seminars in the provincial city and his recruitment trips with other school officials to various locations in the county. Then, as always, there were visits from former students of hers who had just returned from their colleges for the summer.
Occasionally there were also business related matters as well, such as the recent visit by an official from the county�s tax bureau at the company of a school official. The bureau was in the process of filling their ethnic hiring quota and had been considering the candidacy of a former student of hers. �Any information regarding the ethnic student would be extremely helpful to the bureau in making the right decision,� the official had told her. The two men asked questions, smoked tobacco, and drank the tea she had prepared for them, and they thanked her profusely before they took their leave.
And yet, while carrying on these daily dealings she could not but feel a sense of loss inside. Ever since the day the two visitors left, a forlorn mood had gradually taken over; everything within seemed to tick at a much slower pace and possessed the capacity to take much of the meaning out of the things she engaged in on a daily basis. Whether she was watching over the child or talking with visitors or her husband, she could not help but feel the affects of the mood. It was a rather unusual kind of feeling too; it felt as if portions of her insides were slowly peeling off, bit by bit, descending down below, and becoming a permanent deposit of a remote realm known only to her.
Every time she went out on the balcony the first few days after the two visitors left she thought of them. With the watering kettle in her hand she thought of the trip they took to the Jesuit church and her conversation with the young man that night on the balcony. She often gazed at the now empty corner of the balcony where they had sat that night before they left. The voices of the visitors seemed to be still echoing here, and in her dazed state of mind it felt as if they could come out from the living room at any moment.
But, of course, deep down she knew that was only an illusion, a passing fantasy. It had also gradually become clear to her that what she was undergoing was not entirely due to the visitors; rather, it was something that had always been there, only she had not up until now come face to face with it.
Days went by, and still there was no sign that the mood was going to go away. She had not forgotten her earlier plans to register for a few distance-learning courses; indeed she had filled out the forms at one point. But the eagerness of the earlier days was now nowhere to be found; a kind of indecisiveness seemed to have taken root, severing any emotion she might have from what happened to be taking place at hand. The finished registration letters were sealed but never got mailed, and they now sat on the bookcase next to the un-mailed letters of her husband for renewing some of his literary journals.
Occasionally she would pick up the book list her cousin�s boyfriend had given to her in the kitchen the morning they left; he had placed the list in one of her books. The list was written in a very light, floating style, which she thought matched very well with the lethargy she perceived in the young man.
None of the titles on the list looked familiar. There was a bookstore in town, not far from the Jesuit church she and the two visitors toured on the morning they arrived. She knew that if she were to make a trip to the bookstore she might very well be able to find some of the titles there, and she could do that on one of the trips she took daily to the kindergarten. Yet, when the moment came, the urges to go disappeared as quickly as they appeared and the trip was never taken.
The wooden building in which the music room was located was one of the older structures of the school; it stood against a stretch of the old city wall that ran through this part of the hills. The school had been planning to have a new instructional building erected that would provide better conditions for non-academic courses and activities such as music. But until that project got completed, all music lessons had to be given in the wooden building.
Everyday in the afternoon, as she and the child arrived in the music room, she would help him get seated, arrange the music sheets, and would herself take a seat next to him as she watched him slowly and indifferently strike away at the keys. The school�s music teacher from whom the child had been receiving piano lessons had left for the summer, but the teacher had left assignments, and she knew enough about music herself to be able to help.
The child was doing his one-octave scales and arpeggios. The soggy sound of the old piano made flat echoes on the wooden walls. The five-year-old did show some quickness in piano, but he did not demonstrate any unusual gifts in this regard, nor was he particularly interested in it. Her husband believed this to be an important thing and wanted him to do it.
Things had changed somewhat since she first came here. The hardened dirt bank had mostly gone and the moat � a deep ditch with rampant undergrowth when she just joined the school � had been filled up; standing in their place were now a few new instructional buildings. The school had also added a new soccer field and a new apartment building for its teachers and staff.
But as far as her life was concerned, none of these really mattered. Little of what she did up until now seemed to have any bearing on what she truly felt within lately, and she could not see how the times lying ahead would in any way change the situation.
The sound of the piano had stopped at some point without her noticing it. The child had finished his arpeggios and was waiting for her to change the music sheets, which she promptly did. But soon she was in her own thoughts again. She still sometimes thought of the two young visitors, and often wondered what they could be doing now. �They should have arrived at their destination long ago,� she would say to herself sometimes. But as time went on, even the memories of the two days started to fade; the only thing that remained was the world into which she had been steadily sinking.
8.
It was now near the end of July. The summer sun was getting stronger by the day; in the wind one could clearly sense the familiar smell of seaweed soaked too long in sun-warmed shallow lake water. But for the rosebush in the courtyard of the kindergarten, the end of the season was drawing near. Every morning as she walked her child to the kindergarten, she saw more fallen petals on the ground along the foot of the walls, still wet with overnight dew.
Still she had not gotten anything done. She had earlier on missed a couple of deadlines to register for correspondence courses, and the trip to the bookstore had yet to be taken.
She sometimes wished that she had not turned down so hastily some of her colleagues� invitations to travel with them in the summer. This year these colleagues had planned to travel to a few spots in Eastern China. They were probably in the beautiful mountains of Anhui by now, she thought at one point, with some regret.
She traveled a year ago with three other female teachers from the school. Beijing was their last stop on that trip. It was an unusually hot summer, or at least that�s how she remembered it. And yet to the four of them the three days they stayed in that city were the climax of their trip. During the day they rushed from place to place trying to see all the sites listed on their to-see list, and upon returning to their hotel in the evening they enjoyed ripe watermelons that they had purchased in the street on their way back.
Many a time while touring that city in those three days, she thought of the correspondence course in creative writing she had taken a year earlier. Taking that course had been a pleasant experience. Instruction took the form of students sending in their homework assignments by mail once a week and the instructor mailing back graded works with written comments and suggestions for revisions; the best works, they were promised, would appear in quality literary journals. Although none of her works made it that far, she had always appreciated the instructor�s encouraging, and often heart-warming comments.
�I particularly liked this one,� the instructor wrote once on the margin of one particular work. �It has something that is very uniquely yours, something that runs through all the works you have sent in so far.�
That was the first time someone had ever said anything like that about her work, and indirectly about what she was like as a person. She used to share her works with her husband in their early days together. But he had changed so much - perhaps due to his heavy involvement in the school�s administrative affairs, perhaps due to other reasons - poetry had become the last thing he wanted to read.
On that hot day in Beijing she thought of this short piece that she once wrote, and the comments she had received from the instructor. The instructor, she thought, whoever he might be, had to be a person of great sensitivity, and of deep understanding as well. He might very well be a writer himself; and if that was the case, he had to be a writer of deep thought and refined feelings. For if this was not what he was like, how else could she explain the insightful and sympathetic remark he made about the simple and unpretentious songs of a solitary soul whom he had never met, and probably never would?
She had no idea who the instructor was, where he worked, or how she might explain herself to him if she were to meet him. But as she thought about all this on that day while running from place to place to see the last few sights with her small town friends a strong longing to meet the instructor came over her and filled her heart, and all day long on that hot summer day, a steady stream of calm feelings ran tenderly in her heart, like clear water.
9.
One afternoon in August she was late in going to pick up her son at the kindergarten. As they were coming out of the door the child asked if they still had to go to the music room that day. She looked at the child and thought for a brief moment.
�I have an idea,� she said. �I think we ought to cancel today�s lessons!�
A smile appeared on the child�s face.
�Then can we go for a walk in the hills?� the child asked.
�Sure,� she said. �You lead the way.�
She had reason to be happy today. Starting just a few days ago she had began to notice some changes in herself. For part of the day at least, she was able to enjoy some simple activities, such as playing with the child or reading a book, without getting lost in her own thought. She had also regained some of the decisiveness needed in carrying out daily tasks.
The small hill just south of the school compound ran up about a quarter of a kilometer southwest before it dipped down abruptly. The hill�s rolling northern slopes were a place she and the child sometimes came for walks; there were no big trees here, but the slopes were covered with a thick layer of vegetation; along the path one often came across wild strawberry plants bearing small white fruits.
She sat down by a small chestnut tree. As she watched the child go clumsily about picking the thorn berries, she cast a glance on the summer scene in front of her and took a deep breath. For the first time in a long while, she could clearly sense the strong oily smell of the lush vegetation in the August sun.
Soon school would start, she would be back to work, and things would get hectic. When that day arrived, even if she wanted to remain in the kind of frame of mind she had been in all summer, she would not be able to.
The thought of having to go back to work brought a thread of warmth in her. Although she could not be sure that what had been with her for the past several weeks would not return, for the time being at least, she was convinced that a day with occupying teaching duties was indeed what she had really wanted after all.
With this curious feeling of anticipation mixed with relief she looked forward to the opening day of the new school year.
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