原创英文小说：[Blue Jacaranda] 蓝花楹 - Chapter 4 何木屋语2021-09-04 07:20:06
Chapter 4
澳洲：何木
“I am a girl growing up at Si-he-yuan in Beijing alleys. My father was nearly 40 when he had me, from his second marriage. So, now you know why my grandma was much older than most of yours.
"Many years ago my father resigned from a government position and started his own business dealing with some kind of security equipment. He and his first wife had since worked very hard, and made the company a leading provider of the products in the markets.
“For some reason, his first wife could not get pregnant during their marriage. In earlier years, they didn’t think much of it as a problem because they were busy, with no time to care for a child. But as my father got older he grew more unhappy with their childless relationship. So eventually they sought a divorce, on friendly terms, with her still retaining as one of the main shareholders of the company. After the divorce, my father married a much younger lady, actually a model and actress, not very well-known, but extremely pretty.”
Peter, hearing this, at once turned to look at Melody, as if to verify her mother’s being ‘extremely pretty’ by herself. Melody, pushing his face away, rebuffed, “Don’t stare at me, Peter, or you will be disappointed, see, I am more like my father.. But, Peter, I did inherit some of my mum’s beauty, didn’t I?”
Peter took the chance, “Yes, of course, see, your nose, and hair, hehehe.”
“Just nose and hair? Oh my god, Peter…” Melody pinched his ear very hard, making the boy cry out with a pain real and sharp, “Okay, okay, Melody, I declare every piece of you is extremely, extremely pretty, now release me…please...”
Thus satisfied, Melody let him off and continued her story, “Well, so I was born, my parents were happy. But perhaps because of their vast difference in age and life experience, they did not get along well. My mother seemed always able to pick some evidence that my father still loved his ex-wife.
"My mother was an ambitious woman, very active in social life, with her mind firmly set on the goal of being famous in the entertainment industry, but so far with little success, even with much assistance from my father’s resources.
“Busy as they were, they had to employ maids, three of them at peak times, to look after the household and me. But I had only lived with them for the first two years, before they decided to send me to my grandma’s, thinking it the best and safest option, with hourly workers called on whenever needed.
“Therefore since babyhood, I had been in the care of my grandma, who was over sixty but in good health, living in the Si-he-yuan where my father also used to live before he moved to his own apartment.”
“How about your grandpa, with you as well?” Peter asked curiously.
“Oh, my grandpa ... he passed away during the cultural revolution. He was tagged as a counter-revolution Chinese teacher at the school he had been teaching. They said some articles he had written for a magazine were against certain spirits of people, and had to punish him through the severe public parade, carrying a heavy placard hung on his neck. And, unable to bear his suffering he took his own life.
“In my grandma’ bedroom there was a photo of him. He looked very handsome, thick brows, a square face, smiling, very kind eyes. My grandma, when alone, often cried quietly looking at him, and would wipe her tears as soon as I entered her room.”
Presently Melody paused to wipe her own tears, and Peter tried all he could to share her moments. After regaining her calmness, Melody went on, “Well, very sad, isn’t it? Let me tell you about my happy stuff. The snow ... in those days, we looked forward to the snowing winter even still in summer, we never felt cold when playing with it. And the icicles, hung down from the edge of the roof, sharp, and shiny, crystal clear, like the most beautiful tears.
“I remembered I had once found a piece of icicle up to one meter long. I used it as a kind of sword to fight against a group of cheeky boys. They tried every trick to take it from me, because it was the longest icicle our alley had ever found in our history. Needless to say, I was defending and protecting it with all my might, then it was broken...
“My cry was so loud and so miserable that all the neighbours had to come out to make enquiries. My grandma was panicky. The boys were scared, for I picked all kinds of weapons I could find around the place, teacups, stools, scraps of cabbages, and finally my shoes, as the last resort, to hit them. From then on, the boys were afraid of my hot temper, even today, they would give me a reminder or two of the well-remembered incident whenever we got a time for nostalgia. But really, you must know, Peter, that the icicles are so cute, everywhere I go and see them, I can't help but touch it, feel it, with my finger tips, and lick it with the tip of my tongue and, if only I could sleep with it, hold it forever…”
“Sleep with icicles?” Peter intervened, his body writhing with stifled amusement. Melody glared at him, her hands ready to touch his ear, “Hey, Peter, stop laughing, I am talking about serious...”
Peter shut up at once.
And Melody, with her mind fully in the past, resumed her story. “Inside the house there was a small coal-fired stove for making heat in winter, and grandma and I would sit around it, where she would do her knitting, telling me the stories she had told many times. All my sweaters I wore in my childhood were knitted by her. My parents also bought me plenty of nice-looking ones, but none of them as warm as my grandma’s.
“And there were many different trees around the alleys. The most popular was Jujube. I remembered when it was ripe, the big people would make use of long sticks to knock the fruits off, and we kids would put a tin basin over our head, enjoying the splatting like raindrops falling. So much fun, isn’t it...
“But my home is truly special because, instead of Jujube, we had a plum tree planted at one of the corners. The blossom was fantastic, with the slender twigs dotted beautifully with delicate little flowers. And if you went close to look at it, each of them seemed to have a bee visitor. The bee was scary though, so I didn’t normally touch the flowers. But the flushing blossom, in a greyish background made mostly of ancient bricks and dark planks, was extremely brilliant, like the sun breaking out from a world of wintry clouds.
“During its budding time I would keep my eyes on it, and would call out to my grandma as soon as the first bud began peeping out. And my grandma would drop her hands of chore and come out to enjoy the magic eye of beauty.
“It was very rare for a Si-he-yuan to have such a charming tree inside the square. I don’t know why, but it must be rather difficult to grow. Of course you can find a lot of plum trees in many places, but inside a Si-he-yuan? I bet it was only us having it in the entire Beijing.
"That was why, apart from the bees, painters, near and far, would come to see it because of its reputation, and make great efforts to mirror them on their canvas. They would sit for hours, and my grandma would prepare tea for them, sometimes food as well, such as dumplings. And they were very grateful for our hospitality, and never forgot when they came to bring me a bunch of candy sticks. Of course, I would share them with my grandma, who only liked the sweet sugar-coat, and let me finish the sour haw.”
Peter, feeling a little tired, fell onto Melody’s lap, who petted on his head like a baby without stopping the flow of her memory. “In the yard there was also a rattan reclining chair which had belonged to my grandpa. It has since become a privileged space exclusive to me. My grandma rarely sat there, for it would bring back her sad memories and make her cry.
“But the chair has been my closest companion in all those years. Everyday after school, I would sit there, rocking, eating my snacks, and dreaming. It was the place where I saw the pigeons flying round round round in the opening sky, their wings flapping loudly, their bodies gilded gold by the sunlight, and I always wondered how happy they were, and how free they seemed to be.
“But of course, the pigeons were raised by our neighbours. They didn’t have much freedom, only set free once a day by their owners. But still, the beautiful sight of them made my childish fantasies. If there were any creatures I particularly liked in this world that would be the birds. For they are free, able to fly over the waters and lands, unlike we humans having to find complicated ways to get over the distance. And you know what, Peter, when the bird dies, they dies quickly, without going through the slow painful process.”
By this time, Peter was half asleep, with his eyelids drooping. On one hand, he wanted to hear her full story, to grab the real reason for her being so sad for the dead jacaranda tree. He seemed to have got some clues from her but still not logically connected. On the other hand, he didn’t want to interrupt Melody who was so indulged in her own world. And what was more, he was afraid, if he showed any sign of disrespect for her story, Melody would pinch his ears again.
So he kept up as much spirit as possible, circled his arm around her soft waist, so that he had enough adrenaline provoked to sustain his attention.
And Melody didn’t seem to mind him at all. She was like a chatterbox who never knew a switch.
“You know, I am not a person who likes to study, not like you guys bookworms. I found it hard to concentrate on everything. That was why my parents were worried. But all they could do was get private tutors for me. As a result, I have tried many things, violin, piano, even Chinese Gu-zheng, painting, dancing, etc.. but all of them were lightly touched and discarded in the end, except the violin into which I had put a little more effort.
“Approaching my last years of school, I had no motivation to work hard like others preparing for college entry exams. That was why my father planned for me to go abroad. But then, my English was very bad.
“So they got people to work on my English, but I made little progress. English was a thing nobody could improve in a short time. This was until, one day, an agent doing an Australian study promotion came to our Si-he-yuan, and displayed their educational brochures.”
Hearing the word ‘Australian’, Peter sat up, sensing her real story had just begun, “Immediately my eyes were attracted to one of the photos taken from the University of Sydney, where the jacaranda was blooming at the corner of an ancient castle which was, remarkably, as square as our Si-he-yuan. The blossom was breathtaking, the tree was more than ten folds in size in comparison to my plum tree. And what was even more incredible was that, as written clearly on the paper, the tree was planted in 1928, the same year my grandma was born.
“The discovery was kind of fate or destiny. So a decision was made without hesitation, and with it had come my motivation to study English and everything else for the application. When I got the admission letter for Sydney U, I really planned to take my grandma to Australia to see this very beautiful tree as old as her. But, she couldn’t make it, they said it was too much of a risk for someone of her age to take such a long trip, now, both of them are gone...”
The sad ending of her story was followed by Melody's long silence, her wistful eyes still lost in the past.
Then, back to the present, she managed to get up, but she couldn’t. “Oh, my god, my legs are killing me.”
Peter tried the same, at once feeling hundreds of needles pricking the flesh. “We have sat too long, and become numb. We must stretch a bit to allow blood circulation,” said Peter, in a tone like physicians.
After a few minutes of their awkward exercises, they were able to kind of limp through the tunnel. Half way down, Melody suddenly turned to Peter and pinned him onto the colourful wall, and started to kiss him, with a tricky smile of victory. “Peter, now, you must love me forever, you have no regret, have you?”
“Hehe, not at all,” said Peter. “Your story is indeed remarkable, you should write a book about it. Compared to yours, mine is just plain, I could finish it in less than a minute.”
“Seriously, Peter, I am a person without enough security from friends and people. I wonder if it was because of my background, so desperate for love, the kind of absolute love? Do you understand me? Really understand me? See I have never told anyone else so much about me and my family.”
Peter thought for a moment, feeling much of the truth in her self-assessment, and speculated that she might have said the similar things to her other boyfriends, in her efforts in seeking the ‘assurance’ of love, which at once sent a twang of jealousy through his system, forcing him to desire her and possess her ever more.
And within seconds, he had built up enough libido of taking her again, to reach the core of her womanhood, locking their intimacy once more. He began to run his hands roughly under her T-shirt and bras, and down into her ripped jeans, and was only hushed by Melody, who had a better sense of reality. “Stop there Peter, I said the tunnel is my sacred place.”
Peter was unhappy. “What do you mean, Melody? A sacred place to forbid love? Is our love not sacred enough in your eyes?”
“Look,” her eyes flew toward the entrance, “someone is coming.”
Her trick took immediate effect, for Peter suddenly froze. Then seeing nobody coming, he threw her a crooked smile, “You such a bad egg!”
Then releasing her, he gathered her graffiti gear, led her out of the tunnel.
Outside on the road, Melody said in a whisper, “You silly ‘pig’, we can come back in the evenings when, it is, it is dark...”
Peter stopped, his eyes gleaming, “Ah?”
“But, you must promise,” said Melody, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Oh my god,” Peter chuckled, pinching her buttock, “you are really a greedy egg ...”
Then feeling hungry, they decided to go to Chinatown to have an early dinner. At Zhu-ma-ma Taiwan Restaurant, the dumplings quickly filled up their stomach, which made them content and very sleepy. An hour later, Melody dropped Peter off at Ashfield, before heading for her Penthouse, going to bed early to recoup her lost sleep.
~To be continued~