Book Club

It was a warm summer afternoon. The gentle rays of sunlight filled every crevice inside the classroom with daffodil yellow. I watched as liquid gold spilled over the opened windows, and wondered if our tiny clubroom contained the entirety of the sun within itself.

The rhythmic chirping of crickets accompanied Ms Yu’s soothing voice. She paced around the classroom gracefully, reading aloud from a book that was fit snugly in her hands. Us, attentive middle-school Book Club members, followed her every word with wide, curious eyes. She cleared her throat and pushed up her metal-rimmed glasses —

“...And because of the messenger magpies’ crucial mistake, the weaver girl and the cowherd were only allowed to meet on the seventh day of every seventh lunar month instead of once every week. On that day, Magpies would come together and create a bridge so that the two lovers can reunite, creating the milky way — ”

Before Ms Yu could even finish her final sentence, Jiyu burst out laughing, almost maniacally. “Magpies! Their lives were ruined by a flock of birds!” She held her torso and slapped her desk in uncontained delight, her pencils tumbling onto the ground. I managed to catch a few mid-fall, eyeing her to stop disturbing the peace. But she continued nonetheless —

“Imagine having your life turned upside down because of something that you have absolutely no control over! It’s hilarious!”

Ms Yu closed the book with a soft sigh, and tapped Jiyu’s head lightly with it.

“Jiyu, you are a strong-headed girl, I admire that about you. But you must remember, no one has total control over their lives. Life is unpredictable and fleeting. Sometimes, going with the flow is the easier option, lest you end up being swept away by the current.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw dust lift itself from my desk, shimmering like fractals of light, little diamonds suspended in mid-air and carried away by the breeze. I wondered whether the magpie lovers ever fell out of love, waiting so long.

“Well, I, for one, believe that we make our own rules,” Jiyu turned to me with a cheeky smile, “No one is going to keep us from meeting here every day after school, right?”

“What?” I looked at her outstretched pinky, dumbfounded.

“Promise me that we’ll stay in Book Club forever!”

About to swat her hand away in confusion, Jun, another member of our Book Club waddled into the classroom. He was carrying a tray of sweet snacks as an apology for being late. Jiyu got up almost immediately, sensing sugar in the vicinity. Soon, all other members crowded around Jun, clambering for a taste of his famous red bean buns. The scent of sweetened dough filled the room and I looked to the door, wondering if any escaped when Jun walked in.

For a split second, I saw uniformed men pass by like smoke — faint shadows in the hallway.

“Oh, if only everyone was as sweet as you,” Jiyu swooned, hands clasped together like a lovestruck maiden, already busy chewing, “I wouldn’t mind waiting seven years just to see you again!”

Jun spluttered, face as red as a setting sun, his ears glowing pink and hands fumbling with his tray trying to hide his blush. The classroom erupted in laughter as people teased the rose blooming in Jun’s cheeks. Even Ms Yu could not help but chuckle, her eyes twinkling, glasses glimmering under the fading sun.

We could stay like this forever, I thought.

Outside, the shadows have swollen. I could see that the men were moving enormous portraits. Their heavy footsteps and laboured breathing muffled by our bright laughter. I tried to look away, but in a flash, I caught His eyes staring back at me. Cold, and lightless.

*******

Frost settled on every surface it could touch. Buried under my blanket, I weighed the risks of skipping school. As I was about to close my eyes again, I heard hurried footsteps approaching my bedroom, the loud rhythmic thumps coming up the staircase a thing of nightmares. Without a second to brace myself against the imminent chill, blissful warmth was ripped away from my body with a flourish. Beaming like she swallowed the sun for breakfast, Jiyu held my blanket hostage, excitement radiating from her every pore. Her wild bed hair caught fractals of dust that floated in the languid morning air, reflecting shards of light into the room.

“Wake up, lazy! We’ll be late for school!”

I groaned, “I’d rather die.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said as she shoved me off the bed, “C’mon, the first step’s always the hardest!”

I reluctantly got up, and with Jiyu’s ushering, managed to get ready for school. I could still taste mint in my mouth as I paid my respects to His portrait. In the corners of my eyes as I bowed down, I spotted Jiyu looking away, fixing the cuffs of her blouse. I do not remember the exact day I decided to stop asking her to bow with me, she never does — at my place, at least.

Jiyu has always been a constant in my life — my closest friend. I remember when she was small and nimble enough to climb up the willow tree right next to my bedroom, banging on my window and asking me to play with her. My mother, feared by all children in our little town, would scold her every time she found out, but Jiyu would do it all over again the next day. When mother took me out of Book Club, effectively breaking our promise during middle school, I thought Jiyu would hate me forever. But she never blamed me for leaving her. Even now, in high school, we were practically glued together. We would only part when she leaves for Book Club after school.

The soft crunch of snow accompanied every step we took, soft morning sunlight cast an iridescent veil into the air while snowflakes fell within the city’s silent canvas. Hawkers were putting up their stalls quietly, fingers red from the cold, starving strays whimpered by black boots. I watched my breath dissipate in puffs when Jiyu knocked her shoulder gently into mine, eyes forward, arms crossed tightly.

“What do you think of the random schoolbag inspections that Ms Yu announced a few days ago?”, hands gripping the straps of her bag, hesitating, “I think it’s stupid and unnecessary.”

I was never one to question authority, so I was taken aback by her sudden comment. I shrugged, “I don’t really care. It doesn’t affect me at all. You really shouldn’t be worried if you have nothing to hide.”

Jiyu frowned and shook her head, snowflakes escaping the curls of her hair, eyes on the ground now, eyebrows knitted, “You don’t get it!”

Puzzled, but too sleepy to care, I kept quiet. Jiyu stayed strangely silent the entire way to school. Her hair seemed to curl even more when she’s deep in thought. With a sudden dash of clarity, I realised how grateful I am for Jiyu’s daily excursions to my home every morning — mother would not have let me off lightly for skipping school.

As students shuffled to their seats, exchanging greetings and gossip in the morning haze, still groggy with sleep, an unfamiliar man entered the classroom. The shrill screeching of chairs came to a stop when the man cleared his throat, demanding silence. His eyes were beady and sharp, his voice a hushed monotone, “Good morning,” he scanned the room, “Ms Yu will not be returning to Gaoyue High School for an extended period of time. I will be replacing her as your new headroom teacher.”

I promptly looked over to Jiyu, who was, as expected, visually devastated. She met up with Ms Yu for Book Club just yesterday — Ms Yu was her favourite teacher since elementary school. She was someone Jiyu often sought during and after school, whether for life advice or just a bit of chit-chat. Our classmates were, more or less, unaffected, already accustomed to drastic changes like this during these past few weeks. I really liked Ms Yu too, I thought. I recalled her metal-rimmed glasses, her twinkling eyes, and how they always seemed to catch the warm glow of sunlight.

Our attention quickly shifted to the loud, rhythmic creaking of wood, signalling the arrival of two uniformed men, the shadow of winter trailing behind them. They were here to inspect our belongings, the man said, observing us with those beady eyes of his.

Without a moment to collect our thoughts, the stony men began to comb through our bags with unnerving precision, predatorial shadows in broad daylight, not leaving a single stone unturned. One man paused by Jun’s side, and from his schoolbag, he pulled out a book that fit in his palm, pages yellow with age. I could see the back of Jun’s neck, it was pale, straight and unmoving. The man whispered something in Jun’s ear and dropped the book into a black bag that trailed behind him, then swiftly proceeded to my table.

By the end of the day, shadows settled by the empty space that was Jun’s desk, fading gently into the black of early dusk. As students began to file out, chairs screeching against the floor, I caught myself thinking about the pale of Jun’s neck, Ms Yu’s sudden disappearance — How my mother sat me down by the dinner table that night, with that austere demeanour of hers, the moon a hushed companion, told me about my father’s departure. How it was all his own doing, his own fault. I snapped back to reality when I felt Jiyu grab my hand, a strange urgency in her eyes. Her knuckles are as pale as her cheeks. As if the world was about to end.

“Can we head to your place? I need to show you something.”

*******

Shoving off my boots, I paid my respects to His portrait. And again, Jiyu shuffled her feet and looked away. I wanted to ask her what she thought of Ms Yu’s departure, ask her what would happen to Book Club now that she is gone, why Jun was not by his desk by the end of the school day. But I found myself unable to speak. I stood by the portrait, words tangled in my mouth like festering vines, frustrated and confused.

Jiyu grabbed me by the hand and led me to my room. Her hands have always been warm, and firm — an anchor from our childhood. But now, they were uncertain. As though she had something to say, something she was hiding. Her messy hair, under the warm sunset, was a deep brown that reminded me of that precious piece of chocolate we shared in secret five years ago. A mess of curls that seemed to have trapped a million thoughts. I tried to silence mine.

She closed the door behind her, and sat us down. From inside her cardigan, she pulled out a strange device. A light grey machine, perhaps a radio, that fit in her palm. Her eyes lost that shadow of uncertainty, and now shone a mischievous glee, sensing my apprehension.

“What is that?”, I recoiled, recalling the faces of the people that show up on newspapers, how they were taken away because of the things they had in their possession. “Are you sure you’re allowed to have that?”

“Ms Yu gave it to me during Book Club not long ago,” she fiddled around with the machine while unearthing another device from her pockets, this time a long string-like contraption that separated into two buds at both ends. Our eyes met, and I felt the air around me shift in ways I could not describe.

“It plays music.”

I did not know what to think. I immediately reached for the device and tried to hide it, overwhelmed by an unexplainable fear —

“You’ve lost your mind. They’ll hear us! — They’ll take us away —”

The creeping shadow of those expressionless men, their gloved hands reaching out from the darkness — I pictured them plucking us away from the world like they did my father, like they did Ms Yu.

Jiyu ignored my protests, and shoved one end of the device into my right ear, “Not if you wear this!” she smiled cheekily, placing the other bud in her left ear, rose-pink with anticipation. She emitted an electric joy that lit up the muted grey of my room. She was inextinguishable. I wondered how one could seem so happy.

She clicked a button on the device and, after a short while, I heard it — static, then, a strangely familiar rhythm, a soft yet powerful voice, melancholic yet joyful. I felt a pang in my heart as I saw, for a moment, a faint reflection of my parents. My father and mother swaying by the refrigerator light that night, hand in hand. They were laughing. Why did they have to part? I looked up and saw Jiyu mouth the lyrics that she had probably memorised, her eyes were closed, moving to the music. The warm glow of the afternoon sun flooded my room like liquid gold, blanketing us like a promise of never letting go —

出逢いと別れ 上手に打ち込んで

時間がくれば終わる Don't hurry

She got up, pulling me with her. Her arms were outstretched, expectant, motioning for me to join her. I hesitated. Words still stuck in my throat. I recalled my mother’s words under the cold moonlight — to never succumb to emotions, because they are dangerous. How she is afraid they might take me away.

“We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance.”

I took her outstretched hand, and a sudden thought raced past my mind — that we will never be able to do this again. There were sparkles in her eyes. I wonder if mine were sparkling too.

I accidentally stepped on her toes, and she laughed as I apologised profusely. I was reminded of when we were children, how I would follow the familiar rhythm that Jiyu sets. I would catch the embers of her joy as she smiled back at me, waiting for me to catch up. I would take her outstretched hand, and we would swear to never part. Pinkies intertwined. Eyes sparkling under that summer sun.

Jiyu turned up the volume on the device and spun me around in circles. We danced the sunset away, clumsy and dizzy, forbidden music in our ears.

*******

I can taste the ash. There is smoke in the air, black tendrils snake through the clouds, tainting the sky a sombre grey, but no one seems to be paying attention. Hurrying footsteps, eyes averting, look of pride. Despite nearing winter solstice, the air is hot and heavy with bodies crowding and lingering around the stone-grey entrance of Gaoyue High School. I never liked irregularity. Nothing good ever comes from change. I can hear my heart pound as I make my way through the crowd, too worried now to even spare a glance at the people I push away carelessly.

Even though it is day time, the moon lies lifeless in the sky. My mother’s voice, a shrill ringing in my head. Jiyu’s bright laughter, our bumbling feet, that faint refrigerator light — breathing hurts.

I can feel the air around me stop as I read the blood-red words plastered on the community billboard. A solitary crow weaving through naked branches, cawing incessantly. The snow blackening with ash until it became an ugly ink void. I read the words again and again in my head, but all I could think of was the sparkle in our eyes, sunset in my room. I should have known, I should have known they would take her away —

“Book Club Declared Illegal. Struggle Against Poisonous Teachings. Smash Counter-

revolutionaries. — Members to be hanged.”

******

I glanced over at Jiyu from the corners of my eyes, wanting to make a snide remark about her perpetual bed hair, but my breath was momentarily taken away by how peaceful she looked, napping without a care in the world. Arms folded under her head, hair sticking up in every angle. I closed the book that was left open on her desk and gently parted her hair away from her closed eyes. A picture of peace. An eternal portrait.

We could stay like this forever.