Echo of the Ladder

Author: Liu Xinwu
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-01-01
Features: This year I arrived earlier, and the leaves that should have turned yellow were only half shedding their green, while those that should have turned red were shyly not fully red yet. The long-distance bus had a stop in Lao Zhao's village. After getting off, I looked towards Lao Zhao's small shop and suddenly felt something was missing in my eyes; every autumn, whenever I looked from there, there was always a tall, crimson umbrella-like canopy glistening with gold, standing there as if to welcome me. But today, it wasn't there? I exclaimed in surprise, "Huh?" Could Lao Zhao have cut it down? I hurried towards it and saw Lao Zhao hurrying towards me as well. As soon as our hands met, I gasped for breath and asked, "Where are the persimmons?" He quickly replied, "There are still persimmons, still— you arrived late, so I didn't keep any!" I walked with him to his doorstep and suddenly saw that the persimmon tree was still there, but it had bent to the ground. It had broken about one meter above the ground from the main trunk. The fallen crown lay in a round heap, the branches still moist and vibrant, with lush leaves, most of which were still green. What was striking and heart-wrenching was that the branches were covered with numerous green fruits, their skins still brightlying as if they were still struggling to turn yellow and red.
In the afternoon, Lao Zhao and I sat on his kang (traditional bed) drinking Erguotou (a type of strong baijiu). He gave me a detailed explanation. A few days ago, a strange wind suddenly blew in the evening, and the persimmon tree cried out "Ah!" and broke off from the bottom. A few other tall trees in the village also broke, all of them exposed to the fierce wind from the northwest, which had torn them down. His wife brought fried eggs and remarked that it was really bad luck. Why hadn't they dealt with it properly? They had left it there for several days, just waiting for Lao Liu to come see the spectacle. He scolded his wife, telling her to go away and stop being superstitious. He then told me that he had left it there out of reluctance. Over the past few days, many villagers, passersby, and onlookers had gathered to discuss the persimmon tree. Some drivers and passengers passing by said it was all because of the gaps in the windbreak forest in the northwest, blaming ecological destruction and the southward shift of the desert for the unnatural wind that snapped the trees. Officials in town responsible for family planning had a different explanation, saying that the tree bore too many fruits this year. Indeed, as you just saw, it had so many fruits this year—about double the usual density. The crown was too heavy, making it easily susceptible to wind damage. This tree could even serve as a living textbook for family planning! Others said the tree had simply reached the end of its life and was destined to fall. I disagreed. The tree was old, but it shouldn't have borne fruit anymore. Look at the break in the trunk—I can see that the bark and flesh were still firm, the sap thick and fragrant, almost overpowering my nose.
I brought back a whole branch of green persimmons from Lao Zhao. They filled my study with a unique aroma. In the past, if I had written a (s) using these green persimmons, my reflections would have focused on one point—such as warning against ecological deterioration, the dangers of overproduction beyond capacity, the folly of old age trying to imitate youthful recklessness, or the fragility of life and the unpredictability of fate. But now, as I gaze at this cluster of green persimmons and inhale their scent, I feel that calmly narrating the facts and leaving the space for readers' imagination is the most appropriate approach.