How The Cranes Be Silent In Thy Winter Garden

Golden rays of a sunset after a storm filtered through the billowing, tattered curtains, inundating the small dwelling in a soft, orange hue.

Shen Fulan shivered. From the cold, or the shock, she did not know. It was, perhaps, a combination of the two.

She stared at the pockmarked dirt floor in front of her in a daze – in an uncomprehending stupor.

Where was she?

Her eyes flickered, slowly scanning the wooden walls surrounding her. Outside, as the sun steadily sunk towards the horizon, it was gradually becoming darker and darker.

What time was it?

Yet again, she looked down, fearful but morbidly curious, at the young and tender hands grabbing onto her knees.

Who was... She?

***

Shen Fulan liked to call herself a capable woman. Like countless others, her family was originally from the countryside, but they moved to the city, chasing for a brighter and more successful life.

She worked herself to death in order to get good grades, attended university, graduated, and got a job at the local news station, training to become a presenter. Every once in a while she enjoyed going out with her friends for drinks, and, thanks to them, she was even introduced to a nice man that she then ended up marrying.

After recently having a baby, she felt like her life was complete at the young age of thirty-one. She felt happy, she had her own place with a husband and child by her side, no financial issues, and a stable career. She had been looking forward to a smooth road to retirement and old age...

...But then, how did it all go so wrong?

The last thing she remembered was her watching the news whilst laid down on the sofa, feeling great amounts of pity as they reported on a typhoon hitting the south-eastern coast of the country. Then, she gradually fell asleep as she was halfheartedly shelling some peanuts. It was the weekend, and she always loved taking a long nap and lazying around on Saturdays.

But...

When she regained consciousness, everything felt wrong. 

The first thing she felt was the heat. Scorching hot. Burning. The sun was battering over her back, so strong she could even smell a faint sizzling scent wafting from her hair. 

How could it be? She should have been inside, and it had been nearing evening when she lost consciousness. 

Why is it sunny? Did I sleep through the night?

Frowning deeply, she groggily opened her eyes. They hurt and felt swollen, as if they had been stuck together for a long time. After her blurred vision cleared, blinking repeatedly, the first thing Fulan saw in front of her was dry, cracked soil interspersed with gravel and pebbles.

She was lying down on her belly, her face turned to the right. Scrunching her brows in confusion, she moved to prop herself up.

At the smallest twitch, everything hurt. Her neck seemed to be locked, as if it had been in that position for hours. Fulan groaned and gritted her teeth. Without realising it, she had been holding her breath because of the pain. She dropped her head back to the ground, heaving. 

She could now smell the dirt. Taste it, even. 

She felt like she was surrounded by earth and fire. 

Her eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the aching waves to crest and fall. In the stillness, her ears suddenly started to be inundated by noise. The rustling of leaves in the breeze. The whooping and screeching and tittering of unknown birds from multiple directions. 

The deafening chorus of the cicadas surrounding her.

It was… A peculiar dream.

Fulan kept her eyes closed.

As the soreness and pain subsided, she thought to make slower and smaller movements. She gradually flexed her shoulders, then gingerly managed to raise her upper body to rest her weight on her elbows. With a groan and clenched teeth, she heaved herself up.

That’s when she saw her arms. 

Her hands.

Frozen, her eyes unblinking, Fulan stared at those two extremities as if they were unknown creatures.

Coming from a traditional, country family meant that she had been put to do house chores from a young age. Later, when she moved to the city, she went through many different part-time jobs in order to make ends meet. At her age, as would be expected, her hands weren’t youthful anymore. They hadn't been for a long time. 

They definitely did not look like whatever she was seeing at the moment.

Were these… Hers?

She bent the fingers, then opened them, then bent them again. She squeezed the hands into fists, tightly, feeling the nails pressing sharply into her palms. She raised them, tremblingly, and touched her face, feeling the novel contours, and the smooth, soft skin…

She quickly lowered those hands again, her breath becoming feeble and shallow. Wide eyed, she looked around, then quickly rose to her feet, stumbling a couple of times before stabilising herself. Everything hurt: her neck, her eyes, her back, her limbs, her head, her chest…

She was surrounded by fields, with what seemed like farmhouses and huts dotted sparsely in-between. Farther, to the horizon, the relatively flat and verdant land rose into hills, then mountains topped by mist and clouds. 

Seeing the odd farmer labouring in the fields, Fulan walked towards the closest one. With legs shaking like a newborn foal, she staggered towards the man hacking at weeds growing near a ditch on the side of his field.

“E- Excuse me,” her voice came out cracked and hoarse, and was mostly stolen away by the breeze. She adjusted her throat. 

“Excuse me… Where are..."

She had to stop again, to breathe.

"...What is this place called?”

The farmer stilled and raised his head, looking at her curiously. He seemed to be middle aged, with deep and dark furrows on his shiny forehead. He squinted and raised his hand to block the sunlight, trying to see her better.

He said something, but by then, Fulan couldn’t hear anything anymore. A curious high pitched sound started ringing in her ears. Her mind felt strangely detached. For a second, she did not feel like she was truly there. 

The man asked something, his tone rising and questioning, but she was still unresponsive.

His clothes… Regardless of how poor he could have been, simply… 

And the footwear…

The man seemed to become impatient. He suddenly grabbed her forearm, and Fulan snapped back to attention from the strange sense of dissociative vertigo. Her heart missed a beat, and she screamed, and choked, her voice cutting off on a gargle. Desperate, she swatted that hand away, then swung around, running from the surprised shouts coming from behind her.

She ran, her breaths stuttering, her heart beating inside her chest like a drum.

She ran, and ran, and ran, hoping she could wake up from this strange dream soon.

Hoping she could, somehow, immediately return home…