Paths. Chapter Seven

They sat on the floor in Desheng’s room.

Wenbo had brought the tape recorder — an old, cumbersome machine he had found at his father’s place. He set it on the floor with the air of an engineer preparing for a crucial experiment, and in his businesslike manner was an attempt to defend himself against what they were about to hear.

“Ready?” he asked, and no one answered.

Desheng nodded. Wenbo pressed the key. There was a dull click, then a hiss, like the sound of wind in an empty field or the breathing of a sleeping giant.

And through this hiss, a voice broke through.

The voice was old, thin as a dried leaf. It did not narrate — it remembered, and every word came with difficulty, as if she were pulling it out from under the rubble of time.

(Tape hissing)

“Winter came early that year. Or so it seemed to me. The river turned gray, like iron. And then the soldiers came. They didn’t look like ours. They had different faces, like masks. And they spoke a tongue that sounded like dogs snarling. The city fell ill. First, it had a fever — everything burned, screamed. And then it fell silent.

…

I remember, Uncle was sitting at home. They came and just pointed a finger at him. He went with them. Mama said he’d gone to a faraway place. He never came back. Another uncle… he and other men were led to the river. Mama covered my eyes, but I saw anyway. The river turned red that day. Not from the sunset. For a long time after, we were afraid to go near it. We thought if we stepped into the water, our legs would turn red.

…

We hid. Everywhere. In basements. In pits. It smelled of damp earth and fear. One soldier found us. He didn’t shout. He just poked me with something cold and sharp. In the leg. It didn’t hurt. It was strange. As if a cold finger had left its signature on me. Mama said: ‘Hush, hush, it will pass.’ This mark… it is still with me.

…

(Pause. Sound of the woman drinking water. Hand trembling, glass clinking against teeth)

…

They didn’t like girls. Or women. When they came, all the women became quiet, like dolls. And stared at one spot. My older sister… she didn’t speak for a very long time after. Just looked at her hands.

…

The last thing I remember is the pit. We huddled in it like seeds buried in the earth. It was dark. We didn’t breathe. Mama, Grandmother, Auntie, neighbors… everyone. Mama was pregnant. My little brother was in her belly. He was supposed to be born soon. When it became completely quiet, we climbed out. No. Not we. I climbed out. And Grandmother. All the others… they stayed to sleep in the earth. And my little brother too. He stayed there, never getting the chance to greet this world. Seven people. No — not seven. Six. He didn’t count, after all, he hadn’t been born yet…

…
(Long pause. Only tape hissing)

…

It always hurts very much when I speak of this. My son… Chen Wang… he knew all this. Maybe that’s why he was always so… quiet.”

(Click. Silence)

The tape ended. The hissing stopped. But the silence that fell in the room was even more terrifying. It was dense, heavy, soaked in the smell of damp earth, red water, and unfulfilled lives.

Desheng could not move. He stared at the stopped player, and it seemed to him that if he touched it now, it would burst into flames.

Xiangliu sat beside him. She was not crying. She was simply staring straight ahead at the wall, but seeing not the wall. Her face was white as paper on which a terrible, irreparable story had just been written. She slowly raised her hand and touched her face, as if checking if it was still there, if it hadn’t become a mask.

Wenbo, sitting a little apart, slowly stood up. He walked to the window and stood with his back to them, looking at the lights of the night city.

“I’m going,” he said without turning around. His voice was hollow. “My parents met at Tiananmen.”

And he left. The door clicked quietly behind him.

But Desheng and Xiangliu remained sitting in the deafening silence left behind by that quiet, senile voice. And both understood: they had sought a love story, but found the source of endless pain. They thought they were following the traces of a mystery, but in reality, they were walking on scorched earth where nothing could grow except silence.

Chapter Eight →
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