Soundless (4 page)

Feng Jie's writings go on to detail a list of sounds. Reading them is like trying to understand another language. I can't even follow some of the words she uses to define other words.

When a small bell rings, the sound is high and sweet, clear and often staccato. It is a tinkling, almost like the babbling of a brook. When a large bell rings, the sound is deep and ponderous. It echoes in the soul, causing vibrations you can feel in your entire body.

A whistle is the sound made when you blow air between pursed lips. It is high-pitched and often continuous, unless you start and stop the airflow to create some tune. Whistling is also a primary component in birdsong, and their range far surpasses ours.

My mind struggles to hold on to all these new terms and assign them meaning.
Ring. High. Staccato. Tinkling. Babbling. Deep. Echoes. Whistle. Pitch. Tune. Song.

All three of her scrolls are written this way, and I absorb as many new concepts as I can. I think back to what I already observed in this short morning. My bed frame was
knocking
against the wall. Zhang Jing's breathing was
quiet.
The dish
crashed
loudly
in the workroom. And the iron pot on the counter . . . was that a
clang
? Or a
bang
? What's the difference?

As the afternoon wears on, my head is starting to hurt again—and it has nothing to do with sound but rather with the overload of knowledge from the scrolls, which I have now gone through several times in the hopes of memorizing them. Some of the concepts are so hard to understand that memorization is useless. Still, there is comfort in the terminology. It's a way to reconcile this unknown sense with the ones I do know.

Something startles me from my study—
a sound
, I tell myself, trying to use the terminology correctly. It seems neither particularly loud nor quiet, and I wonder if
medium
is a correct term for volume. Feng Jie didn't mention it.

The sound came from the library door opening, and I look up to see Elder Chen entering. I quickly put the scroll away and get to my feet so that I can bow to him. He told me to spend the day in study, but I'm nervous he'll ask what it is I've been researching.

You're feeling better?
he asks.

Yes, master
, I say.
Thank you for this day of rest.

He looks amused, and a soft sound comes from his throat, making me wonder which of Feng Jie's words apply.
Laugh? Chuckle? Giggle?

You didn't rest much, from what I hear
, he replies.
The servants say you've spent most of the day in here. Even when you have a day off, you still work.

There was pleasure in it, master
, I say, hoping to hide my purpose.
Not all of it was serious reading.

I used to spend much of my free time here too when I was your age.
He pulls out a scroll, seemingly at random, and opens it, revealing images of fanciful creatures. He admires it a moment before returning it to its place.
Those are the things I would read over and over—I was always off on an adventure with some fantastic beast. Dragons, pixius, phoenixes.

Something he has said stirs a memory, and I ask carefully,
Isn't there a story about pixius and our ancestors losing their hearing?

I'm not really interested in imaginary creatures, but my hope is that Elder Chen might say something about sound that could be of use to me. Still smiling at me, he nods.

Yes, just a story. One my mother used to tell me. Legend says the pixius used to roam our village long ago. Then they decided to rest and took away all the sounds on our mountain so that they could sleep in peace.

It's a silly reason for losing our hearing, but no more outlandish than most. All sorts of stories abound about why hearing went away, many having to do with divine retribution. I hope Elder Chen will say more about sound disappearing, but as his thoughts turn inward, I can see he's more caught up in the pixius than sound.

I always wanted to paint pixius
, he remarks.
Like winged lions. Can you even imagine? My master would chastise me for having my head in the clouds.

Seeing my surprise at that admission, he laughs again.
Yes, you aren't the only one who daydreams. You remind me of
myself at your age.
He pauses, and that humor fades from his features.
That's why I want you to come with me.

He turns, and I follow quickly, my heart rate picking up. Has he found out about what's happened to me? Has someone reported me? The thought is terrifying as I follow him back through the school. A part of me almost welcomes the chance to unburden this secret. Because while Feng Jie's writings were full of information about hearing, there was no mention of how or why it might come back after being gone for generations. To my knowledge, no one has ever written about such a thing—because it's never happened.

Elder Chen brings me to a small room usually reserved exclusively for the elders. There, inside, I see Zhang Jing standing before Elder Lian, with the other elders seated beyond them. One look at my sister tells me this isn't about me at all.

Elder Lian is surprised by our presence.
What is Fei doing here?

I thought it appropriate she be present
, Elder Chen responds.

This has nothing to do with her
, Elder Lian insists.

I am the only family she has
, I quickly interject, even though I know it's impertinent.
If she is in trouble, I need to know.

A gleam of triumph shows in Elder Lian's eyes.
You've known she has been going blind for some time, haven't you?

I make no response.

There is no place for blindness among the artists
, Elder Lian declares, looking back at Zhang Jing.
You've lost your apprenticeship. You must gather your things and leave.

Zhang Jing cannot speak. In fact, she goes so pale I'm afraid she'll pass out. My instinct is to comfort her, but instead I take a
bold step toward Elder Lian.
She's not blind yet!
I notice some of the other elders are holding up pieces of canvas: samples of Zhang Jing's past work.
Look at those. She still has skill. A blind person couldn't do that.

They're imprecise
, Elder Lian argues.
Flawed. We know you've been covering for her. We need perfection in the record, and that requires a perfect set of eyes.

She might get better
, I protest. Elder Lian snickers in disbelief. I do not like the sound. It is harsh and ugly.

No one's sight gets better
, Elder Lian says.
We all know that. Be grateful her vision is good enough to let her join the miners. At least that way she will be able to contribute. It's better than begging.

An image of the beggars in the village's center comes back to me, and I can practically see Zhang Jing among them. It makes me feel sick. But Zhang Jing joining the miners isn't much better. I think about Li Wei and his father, how dangerous it is to be in the mines with limited vision. I think about how even then, the rations miners receive are smaller than what we get here. It was what drove the servant to steal for his family.

Don't send her away
, I say suddenly, addressing all the elders.
There's an opening among the servants, right? After yesterday's theft? Let Zhang Jing take it. Please. Her vision is more than adequate to perform those kinds of duties.

I don't know if that's true or not. I've never thought much about what the servants do. I haven't had to. But it has to be a better fate than mining or begging.

The shock that meets me in Zhang Jing's eyes suggests she disagrees, but I make a small gesture, urging her not to protest as the others deliberate.

The elders exchange glances, and it is Elder Chen who finally speaks.
It's true that we lost one of the cleaners yesterday. Zhang Jing needs a place, and a place has opened up. It is a fortunate thing. Balance, yes?

Elder Lian looks skeptical for a moment and then shrugs.
I will allow it.
Behind her hard exterior, I catch a glimpse of regret in her eyes. Maybe her initial decision to kick Zhang Jing out wasn't born of cruelty so much as necessity. Elder Lian pities what's happened to my sister, and somehow that makes all this even worse.

The full impact of what I've just brought about hits me. My sister, a servant? Not just any servant—a cleaner? We've spent so much time as artist apprentices that I've come to take this lifestyle for granted. It's demanding, but there is a prestige to it. There's a pride in knowing our craft is what keeps the village orderly, that hundreds of years from now, our descendants will look upon what we've created and learn from it. Our art will endure when the rest of us are gone. Others rightly treat us with deference, just as the servants in the kitchen did earlier. I suddenly imagine Zhang Jing groveling as they did, bowing and avoiding eye contact with the other artists. Worse, I imagine her scrubbing the floor or doing some other demeaning task.

I see despair in Zhang Jing's face, but she is nonetheless quick to give the proper response. She bows three times to Elder
Chen.
Thank you, master. It is a great honor. I will fulfill my new duties with as much dignity as I fulfilled my previous ones.

My heart sinks. Honor? There is no honor in this, but at least I will be able to sleep easy knowing my sister has a roof over her and food to eat. Elder Chen dismisses us with a small gesture, and after more bowing, we retreat to the hallway and head back to the girls' dormitory.

Don't worry
, I tell Zhang Jing.
Once your vision comes back, they will reinstate you in your apprenticeship.

She comes to a halt and shakes her head sadly.
Fei, we both know that's not going to happen. I must accept this miserable fate now.

Miserable? But you were grateful back there.

Of course
, she says.
I had to be for the sake of your honor after you pleaded for me. But I would have rather walked away with my dignity and gone to the mines than slink around in the shadows of my former position.
As though making her point, a servant comes by pushing a broom, sweeping up dirt tracked in from the apprentices. The noise made by the broom's bristles is interesting, but my grief and outrage are too great to give it much thought. I can understand Zhang Jing's disappointment, but how could she prefer to be out on the streets?
This is a good place for you
, I insist.
You'll be safe here. Fed. Protected.

I suppose that's something
, says Zhang Jing.
At least this way I won't have to lie anymore, and I'll be able to do tasks around here for a long time, even if my vision gets worse. Then I really will have to find another place.

Don't say that
, I protest, unable to handle the thought.
Everything will be okay as long as we're together.

I hope so
, she tells me, just before pulling me into a hug.

When we get back to our room, we find another servant waiting for us.
I'm here to show you to your new quarters
, she explains to Zhang Jing.
You will sleep with the servants now.

Zhang Jing's earlier calm turns to embarrassment, and her face reddens. The other girls stop and gawk at this news, and it's all I can do not to shake my fists or kick something in my rage. I hadn't expected this when I made my plea. Zhang Jing's demotion was bad enough, and now she's also being taken from me. Who will look after her without me by her side? Ever since our parents died, we've been inseparable. How can I go on without her, especially in this new and terrifying time? How am I supposed to contend with this plague of sounds that's bombarding me if I don't have her to rely on?

Zhang Jing holds her head up, mustering every last bit of pride she has as she gathers her few possessions and ignores the covert conversations that are flashing around the room as our peers take in this new development. I want to tell them this is only temporary. . . but I can say and do nothing as the servant escorts her out. Zhang Jing gives me one last sweet smile before she steps out the door, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly alone.

THAT NIGHT, I DREAM
I am in a house with chrysanthemums carved on its walls, just like my stump. It's beautiful and elaborate but completely impractical. As I admire this fanciful house, I am again unable to shake the feeling that something is beckoning me. It's as though there's a line running out of my chest, pulling me to someone else. It's strange, but at least the dream is quiet, giving me a welcome reprieve from the onslaught of noises that has tormented me all day.

A new set of sounds rouses me from sleep, a succession of short ones that occur simultaneously, over and over, with great frequency. I sit up in my bed, trying to determine what this new source might be. The early morning light coming in through the window is sluggish, and gray skies outside give me my answer. It is the sound of rain hitting the building.

My stomach is in knots as I go about my morning duties. I want to see Zhang Jing, but am afraid to as well. Her absence pains me like a wound that cannot heal, yet I'm afraid to see her
in this new role she's taken on. Whatever they've assigned her to do, however, it doesn't involve crossing my path. I paint and go to breakfast with the others, and then we make the usual journey to the town's center and our observation posts.

The rain stops by the time I reach the mine's entrance, which is a small blessing. It's still damp and miserable, and my heart aches for my sister as I sit on my stump and touch the carved chrysanthemums, thinking back to last night's dream. My head hurts too, as I've had to contend with a barrage of new sounds all morning. I went to the library seeking information on what might bring hearing back, but now I wonder if there's a way to make it go away again. I can't see why our ancestors thought hearing was such a great thing, why they mourned its loss so much. It's jarring and distracting, making it impossible to focus on anything else. What value could all this extra stimulus add to life?

And even more confusing, why is this happening to me? The old stories say that people began to lose hearing in groups. If that sense is coming back to us, wouldn't it happen to multiple people at a time? Before bed last night, I made sure to check the record in the workroom and even ask some of the other apprentices if anything unusual had happened yesterday or if they'd noted any strange stories. I'd played it off as curiosity about missing my observation, but secretly I'd hoped that maybe others were experiencing what I was and that I could talk about it and get some understanding.

I still don't know what to do. Should I tell the elders? Will they think I'm crazy? There are times I wonder if maybe I am.
It's true that what I'm experiencing falls in line with what we know about sound and hearing, but maybe I'm just
imagining
I'm experiencing those things? Is it possible that some old story has lodged itself in the back of my mind and is now manifesting itself this way? That actually seems like a more plausible explanation than suddenly becoming the only miraculous recipient of hearing.

My dark spiral of worries pauses when I hear what I've come to recognize as the sound of feet and people moving. I look up, trying to determine its location, and realize it's coming from the mine's entrance. I get to my own feet and hurry over in time to see a group of workers emerging, carrying something—no, someone—between them. I back up to give them room and watch in horror as they lay Bao out on the ground. Someone signals for water, but another man shakes his head and signs,
It's too late.
Bao's eyes are closed, and there's blood on his temple—new blood, different from yesterday's wound. He isn't moving.

Sorrow wells up in me, but I push through it, knowing I have a job to do. I tap one of the workers and ask,
What happened?

Recognizing me and my status, she bows before answering.
A section of wall had become unstable. The foreman put a placard up with a warning to keep us away from that area, but Bao didn't see it.

Someone pushes his way through the crowd, and I feel my breath catch when I see Li Wei. He pauses to wipe sweat from his brow and peers around avidly, his dark eyes sharp and concerned. When he spies his father, Li Wei hurries over and kneels
down by the old man. Whereas yesterday Li Wei was fiery and indignant, today he is all tenderness and compassion. I feel myself choke up as I watch him gently touch Bao's face, hoping for a response. An overwhelming urge to run over and comfort Li Wei sweeps me, but I stay where I am. Resignation soon fills his features as he realizes what the rest of us already have: Bao is gone. That resignation turns to a mix of rage and grief. Li Wei clenches his fists and opens his mouth.

A sound comes out like none I have heard so far. Really, I've heard little in the way of human sounds. There is no need for us to make them. We stopped communicating with our mouths and voices ages ago. But the instinct is still there, especially in times of high emotion. I've felt the vibrations myself when I've sobbed, when I've let out little cries of sorrow, though of course I had no idea what they sounded like.

I do now, and it sends chills through me as I listen to Li Wei. A section of Feng Jie's words comes back to me:

A scream is a sound we make that is born of intense feeling. A scream of fear, of being startled, is often high-pitched. It may be short or prolonged. A scream may also accompany delight or amusement, though often that is more of a squeal. And a scream of sorrow or rage . . . well, that is an entirely different thing. That comes from a darker place, from the depths of our souls, and when we scream in those times, because we are sad or angry, there is a terrible knowledge that accompanies it, that we are giving voice to our emotions, to what is simply too big for our hearts to contain.

And as Li Wei cries out, I know Feng Jie is right. It is his heart I am hearing, a way of expressing what he feels over his father's loss that is both primal and far more eloquent than any words can convey. It is terrible and beautiful, and it comes from his soul and reaches something within mine. It is the sound my own heart made when my parents died, only I didn't know it until now.

Li Wei attempts to pull himself together and peers at those gathered around.
This shouldn't have happened!
he tells the crowd.
He shouldn't have been working down there, with his vision failing. Many of you knew it was. The foreman knew. But everyone pretended not to notice. How many more of you are like that? How many more of you are hiding your failing vision so that you can keep working?

No one answers that question, but one man at last bravely says,
We have to work, or we can't eat.

Only because you allow it to be that way!
Li Wei protests.
You further the system by continuing to be a part of it! So long as you keep sending metals down the mountain without question, nothing will ever change.

A woman responds,
As long as we send metals down the mountain, my children continue to have dinner
.
If there is no food, they will starve. I will work my fingers to the bone to stop that from happening.
Several other miners nod in agreement.

But there must be another way
, Li Wei tells them.
At the very least, if you are losing your sight, don't go back to work. Don't go down there to risk your lives and the lives of others.
Don't end up like him.
Tears brim in his eyes as he clutches his father's sleeve.

The other miners shuffle uncomfortably, but no one takes up his rally. One man finally claps Li Wei on the shoulder in sympathy and then simply says,
We must get back to work. The priest has been sent for to tend to your father. I'm sorry for your loss.

Others make similar gestures of condolence and then trudge back to the mine's entrance. Not long after that, the village priest's acolytes come and deferentially cover Bao's body before lifting it and taking it away for preparation. They tell Li Wei he will be able to view the body at sunset, and the funeral will follow. Li Wei makes no response as they take his father away.

Soon we are left alone. Li Wei slams his fists against the muddy ground and lets out another cry of frustration. Again, I am awed, overwhelmed by the strength and emotion conveyed in the human voice. For the first time since this phenomenon started happening to me, I begin to understand the power it could have and why our ancestors mourned its loss. Every sound around me—the renewed pattering of rain, the wind in the leaves—all of it suddenly has a new meaning. I can see how these sounds don't interfere with the world so much as enhance it. The scope and potential are huge. It's like having a new color to paint with.

Li Wei gets to his feet and notices that I am still here. His dark eyes lock with mine. There is a remarkable contrast in the emotion playing over his face and the imposing figure he makes with his height and build. Sorrow radiates off him, and I know I should say something, offer condolences, at the very least. But I'm
still stunned, still awestruck by the effect his cry of grief had on me. His voice was the first human one I have ever heard outside of that first dream, and its impact was staggering. I can only stand there.

Li Wei snorts in disgust and storms away. His abrupt departure snaps me from my daze. I realize I must have come across as rude and cold, and I instantly feel terrible. Abandoning my observation post is a serious offense, but I can't stand to let him go off like that, not when he thinks I was indifferent to his father's death. I hesitate only a moment before leaving the mine and running after Li Wei. When I reach him on the path near the cliff's edge, I tap him on the shoulder, and he spins around with a ferocity that makes me take a few steps back.

What do you want?
he asks. I know the anger he wears is an attempt to hide his heartache.

Li Wei, I'm sorry about your father. I'm so sorry
, I say.
I know how you feel.

He scoffs.
I sincerely doubt that.

You know I do
, I chastise.
You remember when I lost my parents.

Yes.
Legitimate compassion flashes in his eyes, but soon that outrage returns.
They died in the fever, just as my mother did. But that was different. None of them could've stopped that. Not like with my father. He had no business working when his vision was failing! It was agony watching him go into that mine day after day. It was a death trap. I knew it would only be a matter of time, but he refused to stop working and become a beggar.

I understand that too
, I tell him.
Zhang Jing . . . she is going
blind.
I pause, hit with the full impact of finally admitting this to someone.
Our masters found out, and she can no longer be an apprentice. We had to take other action, make a big decision in order to save her from being a beggar.

Li Wei is very still now, regarding me with new interest.
What did you do?

I take a deep breath, still having my own difficulties resigning myself to Zhang Jing's fate.
She is going to become a household servant at the Peacock Court.

He stares at me in confusion and then throws up his arms in disbelief.
That is your big decision? To move her to a comfortable, safe job, where she'll be well fed and face no risks? You actually deliberated about that and think you have
anything
in common with me or the other miners?

I know his harsh words are born from grief, and I try to respond calmly.
I'm saying I know what it's like to be scared for your loved one in that way. To have your life turned upside down. You aren't the only one going through this.
That earlier urge returns, the one that makes me want to go over and put my arms around him, comforting him as I would have years ago. But I can't, not when others might see. Not when so much distance has built up between us.

He's still upset but works to calm himself.
Your life has changed, but I wouldn't say it's been turned upside down—not yet
, he says.
And that's what no one seems to realize, Fei. Everyone knows things are bad, but everyone thinks if we just go forward like we always have, it will all be okay. Instead, we're
just moving toward darkness and ruin. Can't you see that?

I start to reply, but then a sound I've never heard before catches my attention. It's incredible, and I want desperately to hear it again. Unable to help myself, I immediately turn my head toward its source, and I see a flash of blue. It's a thrush, just like the one I spotted the other day. It's perched on the branch of a tree, and it opens its mouth, producing that exquisite sound . . . a song? I long for the bird to sing again, but it takes flight and disappears out of sight.

I stare after it, awestruck, and then quickly turn back to Li Wei in embarrassment. He stares at me, understandably confused, and then shakes his head.
Clearly, this isn't a discussion you care about.

No, wait. I do care
, I say. But he's already turned from me. I reach out to grab his arm, and as my fingertips touch his bare skin, he tenses and glances back at me. Something of my heart must be in my eyes, because his expression softens. My hand still rests on his arm, and I am dizzyingly aware that there are only a few scant inches between us. I'm also suddenly reminded that no matter how often we held hands or dreamed of the future, we've never actually kissed. There'd always been a spark between us, one we were both hesitant to acknowledge until the day we realized we were being torn apart.

I quickly snatch my hand away and take a step back, hoping my thoughts aren't obvious.
What is your plan then?
I ask him.
What do you think we should do to save ourselves from darkness and ruin?

He studies me intently for a few more moments, and I'm breathless as that gaze wraps around me.
We start by ending this line system
, he says at last.
It's what's enslaving us, what has put us in this miserable situation.