Soundless (3 page)

Of course, then you face the risk of being crushed by falling rocks before you even get the chance to express yourself to the keeper. Anyone still want to go down there?
asks the lead supplier, looking around. Unsurprisingly, no one responds.
Return to your work. Get more metals so that we can restore the balance, as the line keeper said.

Slowly, the crowd disperses and everyone goes off to their assigned tasks, including Zhang Jing and me. As we walk, I think about what was said about balance and how we have no choice but to do what the keeper asks. We're at his mercy—his and the line's. Is that truly balance? Or is it extortion?

Zhang Jing and I arrive at the mines, and it is there we finally part ways. She waves farewell before disappearing into the darkness of the cavernous entrance, and I watch her go with a pang. This has been her post for a while now—going deep within the mines to observe the workers at their daily labors. Even
though she stays well away from any situation that might be dangerous, I still worry about her. Accidents happen, even with the best of intentions. I'd switch places with her if I could, but the elders would never allow it.

I was recently assigned a post just outside the mine. With increased accidents and discontent over the food situation, the elders wanted another set of eyes to observe. My job is to keep track of the miners' morale and any incidents that happen, as well as note the amount of metal being unearthed. My last post was in the center of the village, and this is usually a calm one by comparison.

I perch on an old tree stump off to the side of the entrance. It's comfortable and gives me a good view of both the mine and the forested trail Zhang Jing and I took earlier. Near the trail, I notice a cluster of pink-veined white mountain orchids that are finally blooming. They're cup-shaped and make a pretty spot of color among the mostly green and brown foliage surrounding the trail. Flowers rarely bloom up here, and I pass much of my day studying and memorizing the orchids, going over ways I'd depict them if only given the luxury to do so. Sometimes I dream up even more fantastical visions to paint, like fields and fields of orchids stretching out into a carpet of pink.

A blur of movement near the mine's entrance draws my attention back to the real world. For a moment, I wonder if I've truly lost track of time and if the miners are coming out for lunch. That's when my assignment is busiest. But no—it's not quite midday yet, and only two men emerge from the entrance, one young and one old. Neither of them notices me, sitting out of the way on my stump.

One of them is Li Wei, and I'm astonished to encounter him twice in one day. Our lives have taken such different directions that I rarely see him anymore. The older man with him is his father, Bao. He shows the signs of having worked in the mine his entire life: a strength of body and character that's let him survive all these years but that's also taken its toll. He doesn't stand as straight as he once did, and there's an exhaustion in him that's almost palpable, despite the resolute look in his dark eyes.

Studying the two together, I can see how Li Wei serves as a reminder of what Bao must have looked like in his youth. Li Wei still shows all the strength and none of the wear. His black hair is pulled into the same neat topknot the other miners have, though a few strands have escaped and now cling to his face, which is damp with perspiration. Fine gold dust from the mine glitters across his skin and clothing, almost as it did on that day long ago in my childhood. The light plays over him now, and I feel an ache in my chest.

Bao turns his head, revealing an oozing red gash on his forehead. Once Li Wei has made sure his father can stand, he begins cleaning the wound with some supplies he removes from a small cloth bag. Li Wei's hands are quick and efficient, a contrast to his towering strength and size. But his touch is delicate as he helps his father, and soon the older man's head injury is clean and bandaged.

You can't let this keep happening
, Li Wei tells him when he's finished.
You could've been killed.

I wasn't
, Bao signs back obstinately.
Everything's fine.

Li Wei points to his father's forehead.
Everything's
not
fine!
If I hadn't intervened at the last minute, this would've been a lot worse. You can't work in the mines anymore.

Bao remains defiant.
I can and I will! I see well enough to do my work. That's all that matters.

It's not just about your work
. Li Wei looks as though he's trying very hard to remain calm, but there's an obvious panic behind his eyes.
It's not even just about your life. It's about the lives of others. You endanger them by staying down there. Let go of your pride and retire.

Pride is the only thing I have left
, says Bao.
It's the only thing any of us have. They're taking everything else away from us. You heard the news about the food. With rations decreased, they need me more than ever down there. That's where I'll be—doing my duty. Not sitting around the village's center with the other beggars. It is not your place to dictate your father's actions, boy.

Li Wei gives a reluctant bow, but it's clear that it's out of respect, not agreement. With that, Bao turns around and returns to the mine, leaving his son staring.

I hold my breath. Their conversation could have been a mirror to the one I had earlier with Zhang Jing. Bao is yet another villager going blind.

Once his father is out of sight, Li Wei punches a scraggly tree growing near the mine's entrance. I've seen him make impulsive gestures like this since childhood. They're born out of passion, when his emotions run high, and they're usually harmless. Except, when his hand makes contact with the tree, blood spurts
out, and he jumps back in surprise. Recalling how notices are sometimes hung on the tree, I realize he's struck one of the old nails. Without thinking twice, I'm on my feet, retrieving the supply bag he brought out for his father.

What are you doing?
Li Wei signs, even with blood dripping off his hand. The surprise on his face tells me he didn't know I was nearby.

Stop talking
, I scold.
Stay still.

To my astonishment, he complies and stops moving so that I can help him. The cut is on his right hand, which could be catastrophic for a miner. As I clean it, though, I can see it's actually pretty shallow. It reminds me of the paper cuts I sometimes get back at the Peacock Court, cuts that are barely skin deep but still manage to put out a lot of blood. But there's something a little bit more sinister about an old nail, and even after I've poured water on the cut and wiped away most of the blood, I worry about infection. I hurry over to the stump and return with a small belt pouch, searching through tiny packets of pigment. When I find the one I want—yellow—I sprinkle a little of the powder on his cut before wrapping a clean cloth bandage around it. Once the bandage is secure, I examine his hand one more time, turning it over in my own. His fingers start to entwine with mine, and I abruptly pull back.

What was that?
Li Wei asks when I tuck the packet back into my pouch.

It's pigment for a special type of paint. We make the color from a root that also has medicinal properties. I saw my master
use it once on another wound. It will prevent infection.
I don't tell him how valuable the pigment is and that I'm not even supposed to be bringing it out with me on my observations. It'll be a while before our masters do inventory, and I hope I'll have some reason for explaining why I'm low.

Won't you get in trouble for interfering?
Li Wei asks.
With a miner?

His words startle me. Everything happened so fast that I didn't even really have a chance to think about what I was doing. I just broke our primary commandment, interfering when we're only supposed to be observing. I'd be in serious trouble if my master or any of the others found out.

If I get in trouble, so be it
, I say at last.
I make my own decisions.

That's not what I remember.
A moment later, he realizes how mean that was.
I'm sorry.
His hands waver again before he asks:
I suppose you'll have to tell them about my father? That he's going blind?

Li Wei is right. Technically, as part of my duty, I should report back everything I observed—including their discussion. I can tell that as much as it pains him, Li Wei secretly wants me to report on his father. It will take the burden of responsibility away and finally get Bao removed from the mines and the danger there. I think about the old man's words, about holding on to his pride. And then I think about Zhang Jing and her own fears of being found out. Slowly, I shake my head.

No
,
I won't tell.
I hesitate before continuing on.
And you
shouldn't be so hard on him. He's just trying to do what he's always done. It's noble.

Li Wei stares at me incredulously.
Noble? He's going to get himself killed!

He's providing for others
, I insist.

Providing?
he asks, still outraged.
We slave away, putting our lives at risk and our own dreams aside so that we can feed everyone else. We have the entire village's hopes and fears resting on our shoulders. If we don't work, they starve. That's not providing. That's certainly not noble. That's being given no choice. That's being trapped. You've been with the artists so long, you've forgotten what it's like for the rest of us.

That's not fair
, I say, feeling my own anger rise.
You know the job we do is vital to the village's survival. And of course I know what it's like for the miners! That's the whole point of my job: observing everyone.

Observing is not the same as experiencing.
Li Wei gestures angrily to my stump.
You sit there and judge others from a safe distance every day. You assume because you watch us, you understand us. But you don't. If you did, you never would have—

He can't finish, so I do.
Bettered myself? Accepted a position that raised my sister and me out of that hovel and gave us a place of honor and comfort? One that allowed me to actually use my talents? What is so wrong with wanting to improve my life?

He doesn't speak for several moments. Then:
Did it, Fei? Did it improve your life?

I think back to lazy summer days, lying in the grass with him, our hands linked as we talked about the future. I only ran errands for the artists back then. It wasn't until I was offered an official apprenticeship that my status in the village changed, raising me up from a miner's family to Elder Chen's successor. My parents had just died, and Zhang Jing and I were living in a small, ramshackle place, given the barest of rations while waiting for the results of the testing we'd undergone at the Peacock Court in order to be accepted. The elders so coveted my talents that they took Zhang Jing on as well, though her skills were less than mine. That move gave me everything I could ever have wanted, with one exception: Artists only marry other artists.

Did it improve your life?
Li Wei asks again.

In most ways
, I say at last, hating the pain I see flash through his eyes.
But what could we do? You know I had to take the opportunity. And with it came sacrifices. That's life, Li Wei. That's the way it's always been.

Maybe it's time things change
, he shoots back. He stalks away from me just as other miners begin emerging from the main entrance for lunch. I watch him until the crowd swallows him, wondering what exactly he meant should change. The system that traps Bao and others in the mines? Or the one that has kept Li Wei and me apart? After a moment, I realize that they are one and the same.

As the miners settle down in various clusters, eating and talking, I flit about them as unobtrusively as possible, trying to watch conversations and gather all the information I can—and
trying not to think about what Li Wei said. A busy time like this one is when our observing-without-interfering mandate is most important.

When I return to my stump, I do a double take when I discover that someone has taken a knife to its surface. What was previously simply flat and weathered has now been carved up with a chrysanthemum design—a really remarkable one. Carving is not a trade cultivated very much at my school, but my artistic eye can't help but notice the skill and detail that has gone into every single petal of this king of flowers—a flower I've only ever seen in books. These chrysanthemums are beautiful, and the fact that they've been created in such a short time makes them even more amazing.

I sigh, knowing where they came from. Throughout our youth, whenever we had a dispute, Li Wei and I would apologize to each other by exchanging gifts. Mine would be in the form of drawings, crudely done with whatever natural supplies I could find. His would always be carvings. There was only one time the exchange didn't happen, the day I told him I was accepting the apprentice position and would never be able to marry him. We argued then, and after the fact, I painted chrysanthemums outside his door as a peace offering. Nothing ever came in return.

I touch these carved ones now, amazed at how his skill has progressed in the last two years. Bittersweet memories cling to me, and then, reluctantly, I let go of them and continue my observation.

BOTH LI WEI AND HIS FATHER
are on my mind that night when Zhang Jing and I return to the school. Seeing her reminds me of Bao and how both of them are trying so desperately to hide their blindness from the rest of the village. How many others are like that? How many other villagers are making a slow descent into darkness?

When we begin our evening work on the record of the day's events, I have difficulty staying focused. My mind keeps wandering, making it difficult to paint the scenes I need to. Elder Chen notices as he strolls by.

Are you daydreaming again, Fei?
he asks, not unkindly.
Imagining beautiful colors and wonders that you'd rather be painting?

Yes
, I lie, not willing to tell him what's truly on my mind.
I'm sorry, master. There is no excuse.

A mind like yours, one capable of appreciating and imagining beautiful things, is not a detriment, not by any means
,
he says.
But unfortunately, it is not necessarily called for here. This is the fate we have been given.

I bow in acknowledgment.
I will not go to bed until this piece is flawless.

The other girls are all asleep when I finally return to our dorm room. Once in bed, I realize I never got a chance to go over and check Zhang Jing's work. By the time I finished with mine, I was so tired I probably wouldn't have been much help anyway. We still have more work to do on the record in the morning, and I make a mental note to check her portion of it then. Sleep consumes me quickly, but I don't find peace.

I dream I am walking in a field of pink orchids, just like I imagined earlier. They transform into chrysanthemums, and the richness of their petals is intoxicating, making me run my fingers through them. Soon I find myself walking out of the flower field and onto the path that runs by the cliff's edge. It takes me to the supply line, where the crowd gathered this morning. They are here again, waiting for some important news. Only this time it's me who stands on the crate, forced to deliver a terrible message to my fellow villagers. My hands move quickly as I sign the news, and I barely process what it is I'm telling them, only that it signifies a bleak future of worse conditions and no hope. When I finish, I find the courage to look out at the faces of the crowd, and I gasp at what I see.

All of them gaze up at me with blank eyes, their irises gone white. And even though their faces are lifted in my direction, it's clear none of them can see me. Everyone around me is blind.
Only I have been left with all my senses. Despair fills the villagers' features, and they all open their mouths at the same time.

What happens next is like nothing I've ever experienced before, a sensation that's almost like a vibration and yet something more. It seems to reach a part of my brain I didn't even know existed. I have no words for it, no way to articulate this experience. The villagers open their mouths wider, and the sensation grows more intense, pulsing in my ears. My head begins to ache. Then, as one, they all shut their mouths. The sensation abruptly stops, and all is still. I feel a pull in my chest, as though I am reaching out to someone or something far away.

And then my own vision goes black.

Panic fills me until I realize I've simply awakened and am looking around the girls' bedroom of the dormitory. I sit up in bed, gasping, peering around me and waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Faint moonlight trickles in from behind the window blinds, and eventually I can see well enough to make out my surroundings. Zhang Jing sleeps peacefully in the bed beside mine, and beyond her, the other girls are asleep as well.

But something is different. Something strange tugs at the edges of my senses as I search and take in the darkened room. I'm experiencing it again—that same sensation from the dream, that thing that's almost like a vibration but not. Only it's much less intense. It doesn't make my head hurt, and it's fleeting, coming and going. As I look down at Zhang Jing, I notice that the sensation I'm perceiving seems to be timed with her breathing. I study her for a while, watching and trying to understand what I'm experiencing.

I have no answers, only the nagging thought that I must be overtired. Finally, I snuggle back into bed and pull the covers over my head to block out the moonlight. The sensation diminishes. On impulse, I take my pillow and put it over my head, covering my ears, and the sensation fades so much that I'm finally able to ignore it enough to fall asleep. This time, I have no dreams.

Morning comes, and we are awakened in the usual way: by a servant standing in the hall, turning a crank connected to a device that makes our headboards shake. But something is different today. Accompanying the usual vibration is more of that strange sensation, which I find shocking. It's still with me. What I perceive now, as my bed frame taps against the wall, has a different quality to it. This is sharp and short compared to the long, drawn-out phenomenon created when the crowd opened their mouths. I kneel down, studying the shaking frame, trying to understand how it's creating this other effect. Zhang Jing taps my arm, and I jump in surprise.

What are you doing?
she signs.

What is that?
I ask, gesturing to the bed. She looks at me, puzzled, and I notice the servants have stopped turning the crank. Gingerly, I shake the frame so that it hits the wall. To my surprise, I recreate the effect to a lesser extent and immediately look to Zhang Jing for explanation.
What is that?
I repeat.

What is what?
she asks, completely baffled.

I strike the wall with more force from the bed, making the effect more intense. But Zhang Jing doesn't seem to notice. She only looks more and more confused.

You don't notice it?
I ask.

She frowns.
Is the bed broken?

The other girls have dressed, and some are already on their way to breakfast. Zhang Jing and I hurry to follow suit, carefully checking each other over to make sure our robes are straight and hair is pinned in place. We have the same fine, black hair, and it often escapes its pins. She can tell I'm still troubled and asks me if I'm okay as we walk to the dining room, but all I can do is shake my head by way of answer. Part of it is because I have no way to explain what I'm feeling. And the other part is that I very quickly become too overwhelmed to talk anymore.

Everywhere we go, everything we do that morning, the foreign sensations follow me. They are caused by all sorts of things and come in all different forms. Two china cups hitting each other. The sliding of the door when the servants come through. Porridge splashing into bowls. Feet hitting the floor. People coughing. At first, I'm curious about what new sensation will come next, riveted as I watch cause and effect happening all around me. But soon my head is hurting again, and I'm lost in a sea of stimuli. I can't process it all, and for once, I can barely eat. Only the conditioned knowledge of the importance of food drives me to finish my porridge.

When we go to the workroom, there are fewer sensations hitting me, but they're still present as we all finish up yesterday's record. Even my calligraphy brush touching canvas creates an effect, just barely perceptible. As I'm finishing up, a much more intense, more jarring sensation occurs—one that sets my teeth on
edge and causes me to look up in alarm. I quickly find its source: Another apprentice has dropped a ceramic pot of paint, making a terrible mess of both paint and shattered pieces. I'm the only one in the room, aside from those working immediately beside him, whose attention is drawn to the accident.

Increasingly agitated, I remember how covering my ears with the pillow last night reduced the stimuli. I put my hands over my ears now, and to my amazement, things mercifully fade once more. Even though the reprieve is welcome, my heart races as the implications slam into me. What I'm perceiving when two objects hit each other, the way my ears respond . . . it's almost like the way the old writings describe . . .

. . . sound.

I immediately shake my head for even considering such a ridiculous thought. It's ludicrous and impossible. Growing wings would be only slightly more farfetched.

You are unwell?
Elder Chen's hands sign in front of me.

I realize my hands are still pressed to my ears, and I quickly lower them.
It's just a headache
, I lie.
It's nothing.

His sharp eyes take me in for a few moments and then turn to my work. Even I can see the imperfections. My mortification increases when he takes up the brush himself and repairs some of my sloppiness. When he finishes, he tells me,
Stay back today and rest.

I feel my eyes widen in astonishment. We've been taught that doing one's duty is crucial. Only the direst of illnesses should keep us in bed. The miners, whose work keeps us alive, never get days off.

Elder Chen smiles.
You are clearly not yourself today. It's written all over you. You are one of the most talented artists I have seen in a long time. I'd rather lose one day of labor than risk a long-term ailment. They will make you tea in the kitchen to help with your headache. Spend the duration of the day in rest and study.

There's nothing to do but bow at the great act of generosity he is showing me. I'm embarrassed at being singled out but even more relieved not to have to face the blur of village activity.

Thank you, master
, I tell him.

Who knows?
he asks.
Perhaps I will take a walk and keep watch at your post. If not, we still have your sister on watch over there, so that part of the mines won't go unobserved.

My sister! At his words, a jolt of panic hits me. Master Chen's presence tells me the other elders must be here as well. I didn't have a chance to check Zhang Jing's work last night and promised myself I'd do it this morning. I look across the room, and Elder Lian is strolling around, making her way to Zhang Jing's canvas. Desperately, I search for some sort of distraction, something that will slow Elder Lian and allow me to save Zhang Jing like I always do. Maybe someone will faint from exhaustion. Maybe a servant will burst in with news of another food theft.

But none of that happens. Elder Lian comes to a stop beside my sister, and I am frozen where I stand, unable to help her. It is an unusual and terrifying role for me to be in. Zhang Jing appears calm, but I can see the fear in her eyes. I think she, like me, is ready for Elder Lian to turn on her in rage, to call her—and me—out
for the deception we've been furthering. But that doesn't happen either. Elder Lian sizes up my sister's work for long, agonizing moments before finally moving on. I nearly fall over in my relief.

Things proceed as usual, and soon the apprentices are carrying the canvases to the village center. They move too quickly for me to get a good look at Zhang Jing's portion, and I pray it was a good day for her. I wave goodbye to her and then heed Elder Chen's instructions to go to the kitchen for tea. It's rare for the elders or apprentices to set foot in there, and the servants scurry and bow to me as I wait. The clothing they wear is stained with grease and smoke, only a little better than what the miners wear. One of the cooks sets an iron kettle down heavily on the counter, and the resulting effect makes me wince and grit my teeth.

At last, an older servant deferentially brings me a cup of medicinal tea. Although she is too intimidated to make much in the way of eye contact, she nonetheless explains that I should drink the tea and go to bed. If my headache isn't gone in six hours, I can return for more. I thank her and take the tea away, but I don't go to my room to rest.

Instead, I head toward the school's library, carefully sipping the tea as I walk. I haven't been able to shake my earlier suspicions about sound, despite every reasonable part of me knowing it's impossible. I decide this may be the only chance I have to figure out what's happening to me, short of asking a person for help. And I know better than to do that. If I described what's been happening to me, I'd be labeled insane.

I finish the tea as I enter the library. Immediately, I seek out
the oldest section. It contains writings from when our people could still hear. I've skimmed them before, and there is one author in particular I'm seeking. Her words meant little to me in the past, but now they are perhaps my only hope.

The writer's name was Feng Jie, and she was one of the last of our people to lose her hearing. Three of her scrolls are in the library, and I settle down with them, pleased that my headache has abated. I begin reading the first one:

I wish I was writing some great wisdom, some understanding of why this great tragedy is happening to us. But there is none.

I pause, contemplating her words. Throughout my life, the loss of our people's hearing has always been referred to as a tragedy, but I've never really seen it that way. I haven't really thought much about it at all since it's hard to miss something you've never known.

Feng Jie continues:
Those wiser than me have long sought answers for why hearing is disappearing, and their ponderings have come to nothing. I don't expect to achieve what they could not. Instead, it is my intent here to record a memory of sound, for I fear what will happen to future generations if they have no knowledge of it. Already, children born today have no understanding when those few of us who still hear try to explain it. With each passing day, my hearing declines more and more. Sounds become fainter and fainter, softer and softer. Soon what is simply quiet will become silent.

And so I want to describe sound to those who don't have it, so that the words will not be lost and so that those who will
never hear have as close an understanding as they can. And perhaps someday, if sound returns, this will guide those who might have forgotten the words of sound.

Riveted, I feel my breath catch. This was why I sought out this scroll, what I remembered from my long-ago browsing. At the time, it had seemed fanciful, the idea of sound returning. But now . . .