The room glowed with candlelight, while outside, under the shed, a zombie sat motionless. The night breeze was slightly chilly, and occasionally, the chirping of insects could be heard from beyond the courtyard. Alex White had been gazing at the light streaming through the window for a long time, watching the shadows move inside. Only at this moment could he drool without worrying about being seen.
This felt wrong.
Alex White chastised himself, turning towards the wall to practice speaking. Transforming thoughts into words and then arranging those words into coherent sentences was surprisingly difficult.
Yet, things were getting better.
Just two days ago, he couldn't even notice whether the stars were shining, the breeze was cool, or if there were insects chirping.
Everything was improving.
Alex White felt a renewed sense of confidence. Then someone inside knocked on the window. He turned, pondered for a moment, and then realized he must have disturbed someone's rest.
After all, no one wants to hear a zombie howling in the middle of the night, even if it's not a wild howl but a low, continuous, irritating one.
Alex White quieted down and continued to sit cross-legged. The candlelight inside soon went out, and the night brought a certain calm to his heart, unlike the restlessness of the daytime.
Light, sound, and the presence of living people made zombies restless, but the nighttime environment allowed them to stay still in one place or wander leisurely in open spaces, chasing moonlight.
Alex White felt he could sit quietly all night, something only certain monks or Taoists could do.
He clasped his hands together.
May the Buddha grant the regression of the zombie virus.
In the morning, when she opened the door, she paused, her expression complex, casting a curious glance his way.
Alex White took a deep breath, trying hard not to look at her. The morning air was so fresh, so invigorating that it made him feel hungry.
Since he no longer needed to worry about disturbing anyone's sleep, he continued practicing his voice.
Alex White believed that the most significant difference between humans and zombies was consciousness and the ability to communicate. And the most effective way to demonstrate the former was through the latter: simple and direct communication.
He practiced speaking, calling out sporadically. The other person paid him no mind, engrossed in their own tasks. Alex White occasionally observed them, wary that they might suddenly produce a scalpel or some other ominous instrument and start experimenting on him.
Communication requires at least two participants; otherwise, it's merely talking to oneself. He thought that if the other person spoke more, it might aid in restoring his language skills. However, he didn't know how to convey this need.
Today's breakfast porridge had a welcome addition of finely chopped cabbage, bringing a bit of variety that pleased Alex White. He noticed that the other person was eating the same meal.
When the other person saw Alex White looking at her bowl, she smiled and said something. Alex White put down his bowl and gestured from his mouth to his ears.
The other person regarded him with curiosity and attempted to speak again.
Alex White strained to decipher her words. He was becoming increasingly certain that there was a problem with his language-processing abilities. Although he could vaguely make out the words, understanding them was a challenge. This confusion was profoundly frustrating. He closed his eyes, his bloodshot eyes reflecting his growing frustration, and took a deep breath, unsure if he would ever recover.
Noticing his distraction, the other person resumed eating after a pause. Alex White collected himself, retrieved the paper and pen that had been tossed over the day before, and gestured to them.
The other person observed him for a moment, then scribbled a few words and handed them to him. Alex White shook his head and pointed insistently at the small notebook in her hand.
After a moment of surprise, the other person raised the notebook. Alex White nodded, and after a brief hesitation, she tossed it to him.
Alex White felt a surge of joy, almost wanting to shout. He recalled reading that one way to help aphasia patients improve their communication abilities was through reading and engaging in conversations. While there were no newspapers available, the notebook filled with words could serve a similar purpose, helping him rebuild his comprehension skills.
The other person picked up a new notebook, watching his actions closely. She occasionally tapped her forehead with her pen, deep in thought.
After a day of careful observation, she finally understood what Alex White was attempting to do. She went inside and returned with a few books, tossing them over. Seeing Alex White's joyful reaction, she felt more assured of her guess. She eagerly returned to the house and, after a longer while, came back with a radio.
Alex White stood up excitedly.
However, despite her efforts, the radio remained silent. Alex White watched for a long time, feeling disappointed. The batteries were nearly corroded, and without power, the radio was just an empty shell, unable to emit any sound.
How could there be electricity? Alex White sat back down and carefully opened a book.
The woman stopped fiddling with the radio and abandoned the idea of getting it to work. She glanced at Alex White as he read, suddenly smiling. She took the radio back inside, picked up a hammer and saw, and continued with her work.
It wasn't until evening that Alex White realized she was making traps. She was sharpening one end of steel pipes and stakes, then digging pits by the courtyard wall, placing the sharpened ends upright, and lightly covering them.
It wasn't clear whether these were meant to fend off wandering zombies or animals.
To her, this unexpected visitor seemed like just another part of her routine, not significantly disrupting her life, or perhaps only slightly.
Alex White appreciated kind and diligent people.
For several days, one person and one zombie coexisted peacefully, with one staying inside the house and the other in the yard.
Although Alex White occasionally exhibited bouts of agitation, which could be frightening, the protective measures in place seemed sufficient. The woman showed no particular concern until a few days later, on a morning when Alex White suddenly picked up his bowl and said, "Eat."
The woman looked up in surprise, glanced at Alex White, then at the bowl, and gestured, "Eat."
"Eat!"
Alex White felt a joy akin to that of a parent hearing their child speak for the first time, though the melancholy lay in the fact that it was he himself uttering these first words. Although still slightly slurred, the woman clearly understood him. She too seemed pleased, "Eat!"
"Eat!"
"Go on, eat then," she said, noticing Alex White could only say this one word. She looked down and continued eating.
"Eat you," Alex White said.
"What?" She looked up, wide-eyed.
"You eat," Alex White corrected.
"..."
"You eat," Alex White said slowly, enunciating each word. He watched her intently, then sighed and raised his bowl again, repeating, "Eat!"
"I'll fry you," she quipped with a grin, shaking her head before returning to her meal.
After they finished eating, she didn't immediately clear the table. Instead, she sat there with her hands supporting her chin, staring at Alex White.
She had long been aware that this zombie retained some capacity for communication. Whether it was mimicking songs, scribbling nonsense on the ground, communicating through gestures, or even reading, he showed signs of understanding. The question that puzzled her was whether he retained his pre-infection consciousness or had somehow developed a new awareness after becoming a zombie.
She blinked, her gaze fixed on the zombie, deep in thought.