Chapter 106: A Song, A Kind of Longing 3_1
At this moment, the only image in He Zhilan’s mind was a scene with three people. She couldn’t remember the faces of the two people next to her, but she knew they were her grandparents.
In the small courtyard of the deep alley, in their little garden brimming with grapevines and a variety of flowers, her grandpa held her on a rattan chair, gently rocking it back and forth. Her grandma brought over a plate of grapes, occasionally peeling one and feeding it to the two of them, all the while smiling warmly. On a wooden table, an old cassette player played the tune of their favorite song.
After so many years, He Zhilan could no longer remember the lyrics, but she could vaguely recall the rhythm because her grandpa, who held her securely to prevent her from falling off the chair, would leisurely tap out the rhythm in the air with his hand. His palm closed contently, with only his index and middle finger slightly raised, occasionally moving to the rhythm of the music, pointing and retracting in the air.
In her childhood, that song’s rhythm always played gently beside her ear. She couldn’t understand the lyrics but would hum along. Her babyish voice was soft, but her attention was entirely focused on her grandpa’s hand.
She never understood why her grandpa liked to tap his hand in the air while listening to music. Seeing him looking so happy, she began to mimic his movements. Every time she heard that song, she would raise her chubby little hand, imitating the rhythmic pointing and retracting.
Unlike the contentment her grandpa expressed, her movements would always provoke incessant laughter from the adults, even her grandpa would tease her.
After more than a decade, her memories faded like an ancient ink painting, whose vague contours were still visible, but one could no longer make out the faces of the people within.
After all these years, the familiar melody suddenly echoed in her ears, teasing out memories she had almost forgotten. Against her will, tears uncontrollably streamed down her face.
Why can’t she remember their faces? Their names? The way to the small courtyard in the deep alley?
Why is it that all these intense longings have no outlet?
In this city, which intersection should she pass? How many turns must she make? How many crossroads to choose from, in order to cross the boundary of twelve years and find the relatives she has missed for twelve years?