What woke him up he did not know. Only the fleeting shadow of a kiss on his forehead. Seeing as he
was wide awake now, he walked into the night.
The Wall was a swathe of void against a star-dusted sky. The silence was as enameled and cold to feel
as a Ming vase.
They had torn entire sections down, leaving yawning gaps through which he could see the other side.
He climbed up the rubble onto the Wall proper.
Eight meters above and it was another world. The stars were as sharp and bright as dagger-points and
the moon bathed the valley in silver light. He looked across and inhaled sharply.
He could see his village.
It was unmistakable. The clock tower and the rings of mud brick houses festering over bare dirt; the
patchwork of farmland. Who knew it was just a wall away? He had left his home to seek a new life, only to be
brought back.
The sun was beginning to kiss the horizon. Warm gold smothered the stars’ silver. He turned to the east
to feel the warmth and as he did so, caught sight of the silhouette of a woman poised on the edge of the tower
ahead of him, one foot delicately placed over air. An imperceptible motion: the earth beckoned. Time shrank,
dilated, stilled, sped.
He started to run.
*
His children are back.
The memory floods in. He remembers her, but who is she? Is - was she real?
Does it matter?
He is gripped with an urgency so potent he can barely breathe.
“
Xiao. Xiao,” he croaks. The gangly man by the window half-turns. The other children are buzzing
around the nurse, concerned for their oh-so-beloved father. Xiao is the only one who shows that he doesn’t care.
That’s why the dying man is asking for him.
“
What is it, father?” Xiao bends awkwardly over.
He tries to speak.
“
Father?”
The other children, hawk-eyed, swoop in. Father, what is it? Do you need anything? They are pesky
sparrows.
“
Take me to the Wall.”
*
His announcement ignited a row. Xiao and him against the others.
He was now cocooned in a private ambulance. They moved agonizingly slowly – a concession he’d
had to make for his other children. He didn’t understand why they bothered. Prolonging his life did nothing for
their wallets.
“
Father. Are you comfortable?” one of the sisters looms over. He has forgotten her name.
He grunts. He feels that he is entombed in a white, portable mausoleum, sliding to his final resting
place. If he closes his eyes and ignores the beep-beep of the machines and the sister’s horse-like heaving, he can
pretend he is already free.
*
The Wall is exactly as he remembers it.
He ignores the shouts of angry tourists who have been shunted off. He focuses on the white-fluffed
blue above, the marching grey below, and the ruffled green around. His children buzz over him like harpies,
feasting on the fruits of his thoughts. He sighs.
It’s some time before he notices the silence.
They are all gone. Everyone. He inches his head to each side. Not a single soul. Silence reigns supreme.
Has he died?
He forces himself up, surprising himself in the process. It’s been nearly a year since he has sat up. He
gingerly maneuvers his legs over the bedside. A flush fills him – it feels as though he is getting younger. He
stares at his hand. Before his eyes, liver spots shrivel, wrinkles un-wrinkle, and skin straightens. Everywhere he
feels the tautness of youth.
He breathes deeply and relishes the fresh air in his lungs.
For once, he is alone.