The next afternoon, Song’s feet swished softly through the underbrush. Above his head sunlight filtered between the trees, creating a dappled pattern on the forest floor that quivered each time the wind jostled the branches. He had rambled far but the hut was just ahead, and the basket he carried brimmed with mushrooms, tender bamboo shoots, onions, and wild greens. He could hardly wait to taste whatever Grandfather might concoct with such ingredients.
Song’s eyes fastened on a figure sitting in the shadow of the chestnut tree at the near end of the clearing. “Karina!” he called, rushing forward with delight. The village girl came often to help with odd jobs, but the only payment she sought—the only payment they could afford—was companionship. This they offered gladly.
Karina kept her eyes on a length of coarse cloth laid across her lap. Song recognized a tunic he had torn on briars only last week. The girl’s needle moved without pause, but her voice was as warm as the breath flowing up from the valley. “Hello, Song. I saw you in the village yesterday. Were you on an errand for your grandfather?”
“It is the only reason I ever visit the village.” Song wedged himself in the nook where the chestnut’s trunk met its lowest branch.
“Is he well? I have not seen him yet this day.”
“He is well.”
Karina tied a knot in her thread and set the garment down. Tipping her face upward, she offered Song a sweet smile. “And how are you?”
This was the face for which he risked his safety in the village. A warm, open face, displaying acceptance and sincere friendship. It was a face that made him feel comfortable. A face that made him feel special. And when she smiled, when her eyes sparkled up at him in such a way, he hardly saw the scar that pulled half her face into a shiny, discolored mask.
“I am also well.”
“Truly?” she asked. For even in the dark shadow of the tree his swollen lip and the purple bruise enveloping both of his eyes was visible.
“I am not dead,” he quipped.
Karina turned again to her work. “You make light of the beatings, but I know how helplessness twists within you, for the same knife twists within me.”
Her admission soothed him in a way Grandfather’s words had been unable to. It bridged the feelings of separation brought on by being singled out and abused. But Song did not want to dwell on something neither of them could change. He reached a hand into his basket. “I found this while I walked. What do you think it looks like?”
She took the knobby chunk of wood he held out, turning it this way and that before her face brightened. “Why, it looks almost like a panda!” she exclaimed.
He smiled with satisfaction. He knew she would also see the figure in the wood waiting to be released with skillful strokes of his knife.
“Tell me,” she said, shooting him a sidelong glance, “when you are finished, will you show it to anyone?”
“Perhaps.”
“Song,” she frowned, “your carvings are exquisite. They would fetch a good price in the village.”
“Who would buy them?” He had no desire to share the little figurines. They were too personal, each like a private thought. He didn’t even show them to Grandfather. Instead, he hid them in a rock cleft just off the village path.
“Then show them to Lord Dolisu. He can afford to appreciate beautiful work. Maybe he would even send them downriver in his boats to the city near the great waters.” Her eyes grew bright with possibilities. “Perhaps one day your art will even draw you off this mountain.”
“I have no wish to leave the mountain.”
“But someday wouldn’t you like to see the sun rise out of the waters that have no end? Would you not wish to set foot in the city where it is said more people live than all the leaves on the largest tree?”
“Would you?” he asked doubtfully.
“Of course I would! There is much that lies beyond the village.”
But Song’s heart belonged to Kamiratan. “When you have seen everything,” he asked hesitantly, “would you return?”
Some of the sparkle faded from her almond eyes. “Oh, Song,” she sighed, “you know it is all fancy. I will never be able to leave. Someday I will die here where I was born.”
Her words reassured him. He did not favor the thought of her absence.
“You should at least show your carvings in the village,” she continued. “They deserve to be seen. Surely someone would offer you something in trade.”
But Song shook his head stubbornly. “I will not go to the village unless I absolutely have to.”
Karina’s eyes softened, her gaze reaching again to touch his battered face. “It is because of this.”
Song stiffened. At his sides, his hands clenched into tight fists.
“Song, you must not hate them.”
“They make themselves hateful, Karina! They strike and cut and destroy.”
She shook her head. “For my sake, you must forgive. Keeto is my brother.”
“Keeto is their leader! He is the worst of them all!” Song spat out. “I cannot forgive him!”
Karina searched his face for a long moment. “There may be a reason for his actions that you know nothing about,” she suggested quietly before returning to her sewing.
An awkward silence dropped between them. Grandfather, emerging from the village path, blundered into the middle of it.
“Ah, Karina,” he beamed, “it is always a pleasure to see you, my child. You are like a fresh breeze on a sweltering summer day.”
The girl, after stealing a quick peek at Song, greeted the old man warmly. “Hello, Li-Min,” she said and allowed him to kiss her cheek. “Have you been fishing?” She indicated the twine he carried, strung through the gills of two good-sized bass.
“Alas, no. I am too old for such a task. A bad-tempered fish, I’m afraid, could give me quite a ducking,” he chuckled. “No, this is a gift from Madam Sanochi. The disappearance of her headache left her in generous spirits.”
“Your remedies are remarkable,” she admitted.
“And so are my culinary abilities. You will stay to sample them, will you not?”
She smiled. “I could be persuaded.”
“I gathered these,” Song said, exchanging his basket of wild food for the string of fish. These he took to a flat rock at the edge of the creek that they used for cleaning game. In his sullen mood, he was glad to escape the pleasantries the girl and the old man exchanged, though he could still hear them.
Grandfather stirred the ashes from their noon meal, added a few sticks of wood, and soon had a blaze dancing in the fire pit. Over this he hung a kettle of water.
“Ah,” he sighed, settling himself beside it with a knife, a board, and the basket of vegetables, “this fire reminds me of the man who once planted two trees.”
Song rolled his eyes at his grandfather’s obvious attempt at a story invitation. He had no desire to hear it, but Karina took the bait. “Tell me about him, Li-Min.”
Grandfather’s voiced flowed above the sound of the busy knife. “There once was a man who lived high on the side of a mountain.”
“Was it our own Kamiratan?” she interrupted.
“I do not know, my child, but it does not matter. It was a grand mountain, and on its height the man planted two trees. The first was a cypress that grew straight and tall and picturesque. All those who saw it commented on its majesty, and the man grew very proud of it.
“The second was an ash tree, slender and lithe. It had a beauty all its own, but in the shadow of the cypress, there were few who noticed its qualities.
“One day a storm fell upon the mountain and a great wind battered the trees. The mighty cypress withstood the assault for a time, but in the end its strength failed. The rigid trunk snapped, and the cypress crashed to the mountaintop.
“The wind then poured all its fury out upon the little ash tree, and though it ravaged its branches and tore its leaves, it could not knock it down. For with each strong blast, the ash tree bent, suffering the onslaught with a resilience the cypress could not match.
“When the tempest blew itself out, the ash tree stood alone on the mountaintop where it grew for many years. The broken cypress, however, was soon chopped into firewood.
“Now which, I ask you, was the stronger tree?”
“The ash, of course,” Karina answered.
Grandfather smiled. “You have answered well.”
Song snorted softly as he folded the fish into thick leaves and laid them at the edge of the fire. Grandfather’s old ears did not hear his contempt, but Karina glanced at him with an expression of concern.
Rich smells of cooking food began to waft about the clearing, briefly fading away only to tumble back to the forefront of awareness like a thought one cannot dismiss. Like a thought that presses itself upon memory again and again until it becomes a singular focus. Even as Song’s stomach growled at the flickering fragrance, his mind fixed on the moment he lay on the ground beneath the feet of the village boys, and he marveled at how the shadow of that memory could darken an afternoon that had begun so cheerfully.
The meal was a quiet one. Song knew it was his own moodiness that projected onto his companions, but he could not seem to force it away. Or perhaps he chose not to. Oddly enough, he didn’t enjoy Grandfather’s delicacies nearly as much as he anticipated.
When Grandfather retired to the hut with the lowering of the sun, Karina moved closer to Song. He was suddenly aware of the warmth of her knee where it brushed against his own. “The twilight beckons me home,” she told him.
Suddenly he regretted his actions of the evening. What a fool he’d been to squander this time with his dearest friend. “Stay,” he urged, “just a little longer.”
She nodded. “A few more minutes.” She regarded him thoughtfully, her scarred face beautiful in the dusky light. “Song, this sourness is not like you. I’ve always admired the way you navigate misfortune with good humor. Never with brooding silence.”
Her words made him uncomfortable, and he couldn’t decide where to settle his eyes. He took in the clouds shredding themselves on Kamiratan’s heights. He shifted to the stream gurgling at the edge of the clearing. He examined the ragged hem of his tunic.
“You are letting them win.” She touched him lightly on his hand. “Don’t allow them to change you, Song. You must let it go.”
At last he looked into her eyes, and he found he could not fight against their intensity. He heaved a sigh. “All right, Karina. I’ll try.”
Her smile washed away any lingering reservations he may have had.
“Come then,” she beamed, rising. “If you walk me home, we can hide away your new carving with the others.”