“And I will have you and no need to remember you by”
-A Memorial For a Better Age, [REDACTED]1
“My mother was a storyteller,” I’ll say. “After dinner, sometimes, she would lead my brothers and I out of our small seaside house’s back door, carefully making sure it didn’t slam shut, to pass on the numerous myths and fairy tales that her mother gifted her when she was but a child. She would act stern and threaten that if we didn’t pay close attention, she would end the story and drag all three of us to our bedrooms. We all knew that she loved telling us stories, though.”
“Something about the smell of sea-salt wafting through the night air and the clamorous cries of seagulls set my mother’s stage perfectly. Ambiance was her specialty. Armed with her lantern, she would weave tales intricate as tapestries. By the end, we were all begging for one more sentence—what happened after the ‘happily ever after.’” I will turn my head towards him, roll onto my side to meet his eyes, and continue my story in a hushed tone.
“My mother never told the same story twice. And yet, I remembered every one of them, beginning to end. May I tell you my favorite one?” I’ll ask timidly, and he will nod his head, a faint smile forming on his lips. I will sense that he’s eager for one of my mother’s tales, so I’ll waste no time in getting to the point. I will tell it like she did.
“‘It is said like this,’ because that’s how she started all of her stories, ‘that in the East Sea there grew a marvelous and stately mulberry tree, the Fusang. On the Fusang’s branches, there resided ten three-legged birds, birthed from the legendary Sun Maiden Xi-he. Every day, the ten birds would fly above the mortal realm, scorching the earth with their flaming plumes. Wildfires burst wherever crops grew. One day, the splendorous Jade Emperor called upon his greatest archer, the Noble Yi, to save the burning land and ensure prosperity. Grabbing his trusty bow, the Noble Yi aimed at the three-legged terrors and began shooting them down, one by one. Within minutes, only one of the birds remained. As the Noble Yi readied his bow for a tenth time, the Sun Maiden intervened, pleading with the young hero to spare her only surviving child.2 The Noble Yi, taking pity on the Sun Maiden, acquiesced. In thanks, the Sun Maiden gave the Noble Yi two pills of immortality, one for himself and the other for his beautiful wife Chang’e.’”
He will interrupt me then, voicing his pity for the poor Sun Maiden. I will laugh and seeing this, he will smile a full smile and ask me to continue. He will not be able to wait for the next part of my mother’s greatest tale.
“‘The Noble Yi’s wife, however, grew greedy upon seeing both immortality pills. She promised her husband that she would wait until they grew old to take her pill with him. But the temptation of the glittering pills grew too strong for fickle Chang’e to ignore. One night, while the Noble Yi was sleeping, Chang’e rose from her bed and snatched both pills of immortality, swallowing them in a flash of avarice. Instantly, Chang’e began ascending to the skies, unable to seize any of her possessions save for her porcelain-white rabbit. Chang’e floated higher and higher into the firmament until she landed on the moon, where she remains to this day, accompanied only by her dearest pet.’ And… scene,” I will conclude dramatically.
He will bring his hands together in soft applause. I will grin. As the Sun sets completely into the horizon, the two of us will lay on our rumpled bed sheets, gazing understandingly into each others’ eyes. With a bedtime story for the ages, it won’t take long for both of us to drift off into an uninterrupted sleep. Neither of us will wake until the Sun rises, and he will joke about how thankful he is that only one exists. That evening, unbeknownst to me, he will get down on one knee just as a light rain settles.
The following morning, I will go to see my aged mother at her quaint home by the beach to show her the brilliant diamond on my hand. I will help her to our swing on the back patio, where she used to spin her fantastical chronicles.
“It’s just like I told you, bao bei3,” she will say triumphantly. “Don’t you see? God creates rocky paths up the mountain so that we can bask in the view that awaits us at the end.”
“I know, mama.” I will roll my eyes. But I will know that she is right. We will gaze out at the line where sky and sea embrace, and the heavens will shower us with hues of orange and purple. What comes next, I will never know.
Footnotes:
(1) – “A Memorial For a Better Age” was written by S. W. Jacobs in his school years. His reason for redaction is unknown.
(2) – Accounts vary on whether it was Xi-He who entreated Hou Yi to spare her child or if it was a human boy who stole Hou Yi’s last remaining arrow.
(3) – A pet name that Chinese mothers call their children. It loosely means “flesh of my flesh, front and back.”