Water into Wine by Joyce Chng

Water into Wine by Joyce Chng

Author:Joyce Chng [Chng, Joyce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Annorlunda Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


2. Yellow Springs

I placed offerings of food and drink at the secret hiding place where the two soldiers lay buried. I hoped their journeys in the Yellow Springs were peaceful, that they weren’t destined to be ye gui, with vengeance in their dead hearts.

At the same time, I checked the spring whose waters we had hoped not to contaminate when we chose a distant spot for the soldiers’ final rest.

I held hope close to my chest, in my heart.

3. Old Ghosts

My mind was still on ghosts when I woke up one morning, chilled to the bone by a fleeting nightmare, of claws and lacerations on my skin. I sat up in bed, shaking and rubbing my shoulders. The heater was off, and the nightmare chill remained, wrapped around me and sinking into my marrow. The house was still asleep. I didn’t want to wake anyone up.

I snuggled into a sleeping robe and walked down the cold stairs on bare feet. This early in the morning, the house felt as if it was deep in winter. And dead, as if everything was gone to ground. Nothing stirred. A random thought wormed its way into my mind: I should go back for the saber. It was a grim thought, one still stuck in the flee-or-fight mode of the war months. Nevertheless, I doubled back and returned with the saber in hand.

Something drove me on. I didn’t linger in the kitchen to pour myself a cup of hot tea. Instead, I slipped my feet into my rubber work-boots. They were freezing and I shivered. I walked on, holding the saber next to me.

I heard something outside.

It sounded like a cry, a soft cry. Was it one of the migratory wild birds indigenous to Tertullian VI?

I pushed the door open and slipped out. The cold enveloped me entirely. My breath plumed white. I was making wisps of ghosts. The vineyard was shrouded in white too. I was a ghost meandering my way through.

The cry grew louder. It sounded more human. I slid the blade out of the scabbard, the metal sound reassuring to my ears. I never knew how much I loved the saber. It had tasted the blood of a man, a soldier. The stains were still faint on the tassels and grip. Animals sounded human when they were wounded. Perhaps it was an animal, a sick or dying animal, that had found its way to my vineyard. I had seen odd-looking rodentlike animals that only emerged in the twilight of dusk and dawn. Perhaps it was one of them.

It was coming from the small house where Galliano used to stay.

My heart clenched. I inhaled slowly.

I walked forward, holding the blade before me.

Another cry, this time more like a muffled sob. It sounded like a man this time. The chill grew colder still and my entire self was screaming: A soldier! Hiding in my vineyard. A fugitive! Memories of war rushed back, cold like a blade.

I hated what those memories made me feel.



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