After a few days of long bus rides and a few days on a train, I arrived at my destination. Dashang took out all the food stamps, handed them to me, and said, "Xiaofeng, you need to eat more. You are growing. I will be home soon, and I won't be hungry anymore. You have to work hard - it's not easy for us to get out of the mountains." He pointed to the red scar that had healed and said it was the price he paid for going to school.
"You cut yourself on purpose?" I asked in amazement, how cruel that must have been.
"You could say that. I was thinking of that. Then the axe struck on its way down."
I got out of the train and waved to Dashang, who was sticking his head out of the window. "Thank you for teaching me how to draw!" I yelled. The train slowly exited the station, pulling a long column of smoke towards the north. There were already classmates holding the university sign in the cold wind, waiting for students like me who came to report late.
***
I was busy adapting to the new college life: doing morning exercises, evening self-study, political studies, and shuttling between classrooms, libraries, playgrounds, and dormitories. In addition to coping with heavy classes, I liked to read extracurricular books. My library used to be the box under Siyan's bed; now, it's an entire building!
In the deep night, my heart often returned to the jungle. I left there, and my heart had not fully come out. I wanted to know if Donna was okay, if she hadn't forgotten me, or if she planned to marry Siyan as she said.
I couldn't help but write a letter to her.
Without her reply, I wrote another one. The letter was mainly like mumbled words in a sleep talk – my longing and my wishes for her. I later discovered that Donna never received my letters.
The postman at the battalion was talkative and mentioned to my mother that he had a letter from me for Donna. My mother confiscated them one by one.
When the summer vacation was approaching, Wenbin Guo, a classmate, came back from the Dean's office with a bunch of letters in his hand. He waved one in front of my eyes and asked, "Who is Donna Fang? You don't get the letter if you don't tell me!"
"It's my cousin, my aunt's daughter." I made up a lie, got the letter, put it in my shirt pocket, and waited for a quiet, unobserved time to open it.
After class, I was the only one left in the classroom, and the electric fan above my head couldn't relieve the heatwave from the window. I read Donna's letter while wiping the sweat from my forehead.
Brother Xiaofeng,
Many times I have tried to hold the pen to write something for you. The pen is too heavy, heavier than the iron pick I use every day – so heavy my hand hurts, and my heart hurts. The tears blur my eyes, and I can't write.
When I sent you across the Wildboar Ridge that day, I felt relaxed for a while. I knew that was what you wanted. I promised your mother that I would never be a stumbling block. I did it. What about Siyan? I asked this innocent uncle to help me deceive you, but you were more naïve than him.
Maybe I am the most foolish one. I thought I could handle everything by myself, but I am afraid my heart has gone with you! Otherwise, why am I thinking of you all the time, looking forward to your letter every day, and recalling every bit of our past time together? I once prayed to God to let you fly high and far, but now I regret it, asking God to return you to me. Would you laugh at me for always being too childish?
Thank you for leaving me the small stone kapok sculpture. I noted every notch on its shape as if it was a proof of our intimacy; every view and every light point of it hides the secret code of you and me. Everything was in its silence when I saw it, worth a thousand words.
Let me tell you. I went to the lookout deck alone to watch the sunrise. This time the sun did show up. I hoped you were by my side, leaning on your shoulders and watching it together. It was rising slowly from the direction of the mountain pass, like a bright red magic mirror. The ghost that locked the mountain pass quietly escaped as soon as the sun emerged. The path out of the mountain was fresh and visible, and it stretched along the river to the other side.
I was alone holding the railing and saw you repeatedly, like the last time you came to me with the net in your hand and backpack on your back. It's like I could touch you. If everything can be done all over again, I would still sing you folk songs like a fool, watching you travel to the ends of the earth. This time, I would tie a wind chime in your heart so that you couldn't forget that you were not alone. If there were a next time, I would still wait for you on this road and carry your net bag for you!
Brother Xiaofeng, something suddenly happened to me here, so I had to stop. By the time you receive this letter, I might have moved somewhere in the mountains with my uncle. When I have a place to settle, I will contact you again. Don't worry about me. I want to be like the little pine tree in your writing; where one gives her a little sunshine and rain, she will thrive.
Your Donna
I read her letter over and over again. The tears of emotion and fear mixed with sweat had already wet the paper.
During the summer vacation, I planned to go home, find her in the mountains, hold her hand, and say the words I never dared to say: "I love you, Donna!"
I hid my thoughts deeply, waiting for the holiday to come. However, during the first summer vacation, I failed to go as planned because the trip allowance my parents gave me was stolen in the dormitory. In desperation, I could only stay at school, do some study and wait for Donna's letter.
I read all kinds of books, including philosophy, history, literature, fine arts, and painting. My appreciation of and desire for Donna grew exponentially as I learned more about her mother's culture and her native roots. She was the innocent and beautiful daughter of nature. She was sweet and intoxicating, like a clear spring flowing in a mountain stream and fragrant like kapok blooming in the rainforest.
I often hid in mosquito nets or behind rocker quarries and drew her look on paper, mostly the memories of waterfalls – with shadows of sunshine, like drunken springs. I put the drawings in a paper bag, hid them in the bottom of a box, and covered them with clothes.