The Walled City by Ryan Graudin

Author:Ryan Graudin
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Juvenile Fiction / Action & Adventure / General, Juvenile Fiction / People & Places / Asia, Juvenile Fiction / Family / Siblings, Juvenile Fiction / Social Issues / Drugs, Alcohol, Substance Abuse, Juvenile Fiction / Love & Romance
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2014-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

8 DAYS

MEI YEE

I wait for the ambassador. Sing’s cries are in my head, and the yes is on my tongue, filling my body with sparks and spit, like that firework our neighbors bought one New Year’s. I’d never seen fire that color, a cherry red so bright it burned a hole into my vision. It was so beautiful, so not of my world, that I thought it was enough. But then the fuse ran out, shot up into the clear winter sky with a pluming white tail of smoke. The night’s black filled with more colors than I could name: trails of sapphire, scarlet, and green.

The sight was so beautiful I cried.

And I feel as if I’m about to cry now when the door wheels open. There’s so much inside—fear, loss, gain, unvoiced wishes, my yes—whirring and spitting and blazing like that firework. It’s impossible to keep it all in.

But something about the way the ambassador enters the room demands silence. He looks even bigger today, hulking in the fullness of his coat. The fabric is as black as a bear’s fur. His arms are full of something I can’t completely see. Whatever it is, it’s not flowers.

There’s no hello or formal nod. He walks over to the side table and grabs my vase by the rim.

“There were no suitable bouquets,” he tells me over his shoulder. “And I wanted to bring you something special. To show you how sorry I am about what happened.…”

What happened. I wish he would say it, tell me he’s sorry for my bruises instead of bringing some other lavish gift. I wish he would keep to our routine, stick with flowers.

The ambassador steps away and I see he’s replaced my browned carnations with a shallow pot. Out of its sandy gravel rises a tree. It’s not a sapling, but a full-grown thing with limbs, bark, leaves, and roots. A tree that should be taller than me is no longer than my arm.

“W-what is it?” I stare, my yes momentarily forgotten, trying to imagine how a tree could be caged and shrunk. It seems like magic, impossible.

“A cypress tree.” He leans over to inspect the leaves, brushing them with too-careful, manicured fingers.

“How—why is it so small?” I feel stupid, asking this. I’ve never seen a cypress before. Most of the trees in my province were long gone by the time I was born, cut down to make room for rice fields. Maybe all cypress trees are this size, and I just never knew.

“It’s a technique called bonsai. Gardeners use it to keep the trees from getting too big and unmanageable. This way you can keep them inside. For your enjoyment.”

I keep looking at the tiny tree. Trying to imagine what it would look like if it weren’t confined to its pot. If men’s fingers and shears weren’t constantly picking at it, cutting it back.

“No more flowers?” I ask.

“They keep dying,” the ambassador says as if I don’t know. As if my room doesn’t fill up with sweet rot stench every time the petals wither.

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