Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 52

Sylvia pulled the quill from behind her ear, holding it in a gentle caress, “She loved to write.” Her voice sounded
dreamy, “She wrote many things with this quill. Somehow I felt she was still with me when I look at it.” She lifted her
head up and met Xing’s eyes, “Just like you, I talked to it and even gave it a name, Feather.”
“That’s exactly how I felt!” The words escaped from Xing before she realized it. She uncurled her fingers around
me and showed me to Sylvia as she saw Feather the quill lay motionless in Sylvia’s palm, the edge of the feather was
embroidered by golden thread, a letter “S” drawn on one side of it with ink. Sharing a tragically unusual experience in
common has brought them closer. It then occurred to me that perhaps a bond has formed between me and Feather as well,
since we were both forced to bear the weight of our owners’ grief, pain, and their unwillingness to let their loved ones go.
*
*
*
Sylvia started to drop by more often since that day. Xing would invite her in and make a cup of Jasmine tea for her;
the two of them would chat for hours. Xing liked listening to Sylvia talking about the concessions, it would always evoke
her distant but pleasant memory of her childhood; when she had nothing to worry about, when her family was still
“whole”.
“Mr. Fan was my dad’s main trading partner, he was a nice man.” Sylvia grinned from ear to ear as she talked, “I used
to walk pass your house quite often, you and your brother were always…” She stopped abruptly and glanced at Xing
nervously, “Anyway, where does Mr. Fan work now?”
“The Central Mint.” Xing heaved a deep sigh and said, “Minting the commemorative coins.”
“Oh.” Sylvia nodded, “I’ve heard of it…it’s linked to the Central Bank of the Republic of China, right?”
“Yeah.” Xing looked away from Sylvia, she took a deep breath and said, “He was a Nationalist, had different beliefs
from Yu. They used to quarrel a lot.”
Xing had never brought Yu up to anyone ever since he died; listening to her telling Yu’s story to Sylvia was the
sound of miracle. She told Sylvia everything, from the point when Yu joined the Communist party to when he was
captured. She didn’t miss a single detail.
“He made a deal with them…said if he told them the whereabouts they’d have to guarantee our safety.” A tear
rolled down Xing’s face as she approached the end, “The Communists called him a traitor then…they have no idea that
this bitter rivalry between them and the Nationalists are tearing families apart…”
Sylvia remained quiet as Xing was sobbing too hard to continue the story. She pulled Xing in for a hug and
whispered, “It’s all right; it’s all over now.” Feather told me Sylvia played the most important role in Xing’s life: A listener.
*
*
*
Unlike Xing, who dwelled on the memory of the concessions, Sylvia was deeply intrigued by everything in the
Longtang. Her eyes would twinkle with excitement as she saw the children holding bowls, going to every neighbour’s
house during dinnertime, sampling different dishes; she liked seeing people sitting on cane chairs outside, enjoying the
night breeze in summer; she was astounded by the fact that everyone in the Longtang would get involved when two
families quarrel.
“It’s always noisy here, hope you don’t mind.” Xing said as she took the clothes off from the clothesline outside,
“Where you live is much quieter.”
“No, no, I like this place a lot!” Sylvia shook her head ferociously, “It feels like a big family here, everyone in this
narrow alleyway.”
Xing smiled and took the clothes inside.
Feather and I would keep each other in company as Xing and Sylvia chatted. “Her parents have an unhappy
marriage.” She once told me about Sylvia, “They are cold and distant people, Sylvia doesn’t talk to them very much;
especially after she lost Lorraine…she has been isolating herself until she met Xing.”