Mu Xin - An Empty Room

“The 26th, it was October the 26th that day. The afternoon air-raid siren started at one o’clock and the all-clear was announced around three o’clock. Your trip home would take no more than an hour. But when you came home it was already seven o’clock. Where were you during the other three hours?”

Silence.

It’s now completely dark in the living room. The silver doesn’t shine anymore.

“Alice, remove the tea set.”

I feel pardoned and hasten to the kitchen to clean up. The clinking of cups and saucers is music to my ears. I cherish these antiques and often feel pleasantly moved by their delicate refinement.

“Alice, are you finished? You can turn on the light now.”

I dry my hands and turn on the light — everything’s the same as it was before. This is merely a dream.

Another day. The three of us watch the gardener mow the lawn; we enjoy the fragrant smell of fresh-cut grass. But Aunt soon finds the smell too strong and starts to itch. She goes inside to take a bath.

I take the chance to whisper in Uncle’s ear, “What day was that?”

“What day was what?”

“The air-raid siren.”

“Oh, that was World War II, forty, fifty years ago.”

“You were just married then.”

“Just married. Every other day or two days the air-raid siren would blare. But it didn’t necessarily mean there would be bombing.”

“When it was clear, where did you go?”

“Nowhere.”

“During those three hours?”

“Ah … it was like this. When there was a siren and the all-clear wasn’t heard until after three o’clock, you didn’t have to work for the rest of the day. Some people would wait for the sound of the siren and once inside the shelter keep looking at their watches for fear that there would be an all-clear before three.”

“But you came home at seven?”

“I always came home immediately after work — that was the case every day. If there was an air-raid siren and I didn’t have to work for the rest of the day, I’d go home directly.”

“What about October 26th, between four and seven?”

“I was home.”

“But Aunt said you didn’t go home until seven?”

“I was home by four.”

“How can that be?”

“It cannot be clearer. I came out of the shelter and looked at my watch. A few minutes to three. Of course it meant I didn’t have to work. So I took a bus and came home earlier than usual. The wooden fence in the backyard was broken and I went to assess what repairs were needed. .”

“You did the repair?”

“No, I had to hire someone.”

“What happened next?”

“I put my briefcase in the study and went to the living room. No one was there. I walked upstairs and didn’t find your Aunt in the bedrooms either. The doors to the kitchen and the bathroom were open. The door to the basement was closed. So I assumed that she wasn’t home.”

“Did she go somewhere?”

“Where could she have gone? She had mentioned that she wanted to learn how to make pickled cucumbers from our neighbor behind our house. So I went next door and Miss Toby said she had indeed come, but that was at noon the day before. Miss Toby also said that Mr. James’s dog Hairy had some puppies and maybe she had gone to see them. I thought that was unlikely. .”

“So Aunt was at home?”

“But she wasn’t. Mr. James invited me in to see the puppies. I thought the puppies were dirty but didn’t say so. I only said that we didn’t know how to raise animals. Mr. James suggested that we go fishing and he showed me his fishing set. I said that I didn’t smoke a pipe. He said that had nothing to do with fishing. I said that the fish wouldn’t bite so easily and it would take too long to catch anything. He replied that waiting was the interesting part. .”

“Where did you go next?” I asked, deliberately cutting him off.

“I didn’t go anywhere. I looked at Mr. James’s collection of plant samples. There were even some beautiful imitation plants made of glass that looked nearly the same as the real ones. He also had a butterfly collection. There were several varieties that I had never seen before, incredibly beautiful. .”

“What next?”

“I went back home.”

“About what time?”

“About. . not sure. I didn’t look at my watch as it was getting dark.”

“Where was Aunt?”

“She was sitting against a pillar on the front porch. Her hands were cold.”

“She questioned you, I assume?”

“She said, ‘So you are back then?’ and I said, ‘Yes, I’m back.’”

“What next?”

“Nothing.”

“How can you say nothing?”

“Because nothing else was said.”

“Why, then, did she ask you again, just a few days ago?”

“Of course it wasn’t the first time you heard that. For forty years she’s asked every now and then.”

“Why don’t you explain?”

“In the beginning, I thought why ask about such a simple thing and why answer it, so I said nothing. I thought if I didn’t say anything she would stop asking. Later, as she asked more frequently, I thought if I answered she wouldn’t believe me. She would say: ‘If it was really nothing, why didn’t you say that before?’ How can I respond to that?”

“And you never asked why she wasn’t home that day?”

“No. I suspect she must have been waiting on the front porch by four o’clock. I didn’t know because I entered from the backyard. I guess this is what happened.”

“Now what?”

“Now?”

“I mean if she asks you again, are you going to answer her?”

“I cannot explain myself clearly now.”

“Don’t you feel uncomfortable during afternoon tea?”

“Oh, yes, very uncomfortable.”

“If you explained yourself, you wouldn’t feel so tortured.”

“It’s too late. I can never clear it up.”

“But you told me just now as if it had happened yesterday. You have a very good memory. You don’t have to wait till she asks. Simply go to her and explain.”

“She won’t believe me. She will never believe me. She’ll think that I’ve been concocting this tale for many years. As for Miss Toby and Mr. James, one is dead and the other moved to Canada. Maybe he, too, is dead. Even if he is still alive, who can remember what happened between four and seven o’clock forty-some years ago on October 26th?”

“That doesn’t matter. You don’t need a witness. Let the truth out and you won’t have to suffer anymore!”

“Even as an observer you must have felt tortured?”

“Yes, me too.”

The gardener is gone, leaving behind a flat carpet of a lawn. It suddenly occurs to me that Aunt might suspect Uncle and me of talking about her behind her back. So I quickly enter the house. Aunt usually needs a nap after a bath. I tiptoe back downstairs.

“How is she?” Uncle asks.

“Asleep. It’d be better if you find an opportunity to tell her tomorrow.”

The next day nobody mentions afternoon tea. If either Uncle or I proposed it, it would have seemed like a conspiracy, making it even more difficult to convince Aunt. She might even suspect that Uncle and I had planned to entrap her. That would put my status and future at risk.

Without urging Uncle on, I let things take their own course. I even try not to talk to Uncle when Aunt isn’t present.

Two weeks later: a clear day after a rain. Birds chirp all morning into the afternoon.

“What a fine day!” I say, stretching myself.

Uncle glances my way.

Aunt looks out the window. “Alice, it has been quite some time since we had our afternoon tea, has it not?”

“I bought some Dutch biscuits a few days ago.”

“It’s still early. We shall have our tea in a little while. Tea, of course, not coffee.”