This was what happened. When I woke up, the snow storm ceased to howl outside, yet the man and his puppet were gone. The only proof of their existence was the charcoaled wood and ashes from yesterday's fire.
I could see things that most people cannot ever since I was little. For as long as I could remember, I was followed by strange events one after another. A shadow hiding in a corner, tucked inside a music box; Bubbles emerging from empty swimming pools; A hand that reached out from a cherry tree; and countless times where I pointed out a peculiar person, but they told me I was pointing to nothing. I had grown used to expecting the unexplained, I was never particularly frightened by it. Perhaps I was too young, too young to understand the implications. However there was one incidence where I could not find it within myself to forget. Something so…so bizarre that the memory is still etched in my mind. I liked to think that it had a happy ending, but I'll leave that for you to decide.
When I was still in school, I used to walk past an old abandoned temple on the way home. If anything used to dwell inside it, it had long left before I was born. In one year, on a December night, with snow raging through the streets and barren forests, I had to stay behind in school for helping out the annual Christmas play. By the time I was done, daylight was already no more. Believing foolishly I could somehow make it home, I raced against the storm. Blinded and chilled by the falling coldness, I sought to take refuge at the temple.
There I saw an old man holding a small puppet.
The man had wrinkles boring deeply into his skin, yet his eyes glimmered with untold memories. His hair was pure white-undifferentiated from the drifting snow. Dressed in tattered, patched-up clothes despite of the weather, he held his precious possession as if it was his shield, his blanket, his source of warmth. But it was only a wooden puppet. Although it was clearly man-made, I had never seen such fine craftsmanship. Delicate and beautiful, the puppet appeared to be carefully painted, strange that it seemed to escape the wrath of time. With beads of teardrops drawn as if brimming from his eyes, I could imagine it garnered people's sympathy back in the days when children weren't glued to their television screens.
Noticing my presence, the old man smiled at me. It was a kind smile. "Hello," he said, his voice was kind too.
I answered back and asked if I could take refuge with him while the blizzard continued to rage. We sat side by side facing the fire, the flame danced in the beat of the howling storm.
His name was Ivan. And he told me that his tiny companion was called Yao. Yao-Yao, he said happily, his finger moving the puppet's arm to give me a wave.
"Hello Yao-Yao," I waved back at the small puppet.
Maybe it was because of the cold, maybe it was because of the mesmerizing flame, but for a second I thought that the puppet blinked.
How can we be together, when I lack a heart?
I remember the bells ringing clear and melodious; the lights between the curtains shining dimly.
"Do you want to hear a story, young one?" The man spoke softly, violet eyes staring into the fire.
I nodded, waiting to hear the tale.
He looked out at the snowy night before uttering his nostalgic memory. "When I was a young boy, even younger than you, I loved watching puppet shows. To see those beautiful dolls dance and twirl on stage with grace and elegance. They looked so welcoming…It always put a smile on my face." A faint smile appeared on his face as he reminisces. "We didn't have much back in my days, back in my town, but I was happy watching puppet shows. I loved it so much that I made my own doll…I was obsessed with puppetry. As I grew older, it became my life. Regardless of what people around me said, I made it my career. In the beginning even though I was struggling, I was happy with those human-like dolls. We lived through the good times and the bad together. We travelled through the most desolated alleys and also places where there was no end to cheering crowds. I never settled down…I left my family and never found anyone to start a family with…" His voice began to grow somber. "I ended up wandering my whole life. My only companion being this lone puppet."
You in tatters, while I, painted in brilliant red; together side by side, we walked through mountains and seas.
Though you appear haggard, I will shine as your light.
A single tear slid down from his tired eyes, he blinked as if he was surprised. But another followed suit, then another one, and another one. Soon a steady stream of salty tears flowed down his pale cheek releasing the old man of unspoken sadness and sorrow.
In an attempt to cheer up the old man, I asked if I could see him play his instrument and if he could still put on a puppet show.
You were the one who kissed open your brush and pen, and dyed the teardrop at the tail of my eye.
For whom do we put on the stories of partings and unions, sadness and happiness?
They may not truly understand, but I will only dance for you.
The man wiped away his tears and tied red strings onto the puppet. The song played with sweet melancholy and the puppet moved as if devoid of the strings. Like it was alive. Its long hair swayed, its eyes twinkled despite of the painted tear drop.
On the red platform one meter tall, all the stories are blown into songs.
Singing farewells times and times again, this prolonged sadness is no longer sad.
Magnificent red reduced to ash grey.
I wish you would remember, the best years we had together.
When the performance came to an end, the man quietly held the puppet to his heart. His chin rested on its silken hair, his bony fingers tightly gripped its wooden body. Then his body started to tremble, violent shakes took over his frail frame. When he spoke again his voice sounded different. It was bitter and accusing.
"Y-you…" He muttered angrily to the doll. "It's all because of you! All of my life! All of my damned life I have been this pathetic because of you, Yao! Because of this damn puppet, I never had anything! I don't have anything except for this pathetic doll! What good are you anyway? I don't even have money to buy winter clothes! I might as well burn it for warmth!" With fury he tossed the puppet into the fire.
"Wait no!" I shouted. But I was too late to stop him.
The fire ate him up the moment his feet touched the crackling flame. The glowing embers leaped and devoured the doll.
If you are wrong, I refuse to be right.
If you wilt, I will never wither.
In thick and thin, I shall follow; be it my arms or legs you move, I will not disobey.
What can I do to warm you for a thousand years?
The boy sat down beneath the white birch trees. His round cheeks pink from the cold. Snowflakes fell down around him, melting when they touched the hint of warmth. His fingers toyed with the arm of a wooden figurine. Eyes still red from crying, he sniffled and wiped away the tears with his puffy sleeve.
No footsteps in the snow.
Closer the figure walked towards the boy.
Casting a faint shadow over the child, he stopped in front of the barren tree.
The boy looked up and immediately smiled at the visitor.
Dressed in a thin white robe, the man was pale all except for his wine-red lips and hair resembling the strokes of ink. His touch was colder than winter itself, but the boy snuggled up to him, relishing in his embrace.
Frost was his fingertips. Ice was his breath.
He softly cooed the child, whispering lullabies of foreign sentiments.
"Vanya," the wind seemed to rustle. "Spring is coming."
"A-are you leaving?" The boy gripped the Cold tighter.
He smiled apologetically at him. "This is my last winter…"
"No…" The boy shook his head stubbornly. "No, no! I don't want you to leave! I'll be alone again!"
"I'm sorry, my sweet child."Sadness was reflected in his faint murmurs.
"No y-you're not," the boy shuddered. "If you're sorry then y-you'd stay."
"I wish I could."
His eyes landed on the wooden doll in the boy's hand.
Cold lips. A kiss. A life awoken.
He returned the doll back to the boy.
"Now you won't be lonely even when I'm gone." His frozen fingers glided through the boy's soft hair. "He will look after you. He will always be here for you if you treat him with care."
The boy stared at the wooden puppet in his hands. "Really?"
"Yes," he smiled with warmth that signaled his own end. "Yes, my dear Vanya. You will look after him, won't you?"
He nodded eagerly. Hugging the doll close to his tiny body, he momentarily forgot about the spring that was approaching.
Ice eventually thawed away. Flower buds emerged from the stark trees. The wooden puppet was painted a familiar face. But the dream became forgotten.
We stared into the fire. Crimson regret arose from the burning blaze. Then his eyes widened as the puppet rose slowly from the flame. "Y-Yao…" he uttered, shaking hands reaching out into the flame. The puppet bowed, gesturing a farewell—the tears on his painted face clearly visible. With a final smile, his mouth moved to say something perhaps only the old man could understand, and then his form dispersed and disappeared in the dance of fire.
The man fell to his knees, bawling his eyes out. The cries echoed throughout the decayed temple—tears crumbled down, threatening to break his bones. He suddenly remembered the boy who cried when his parents stopped him from watching the puppet shows.
A lifetime of loneliness for a fleeting moment of warmth.
How foolish he was.
Standing up from the fire, he walked to the door where fresh tears froze on his wrinkled face.
"Where are you going?!" I asked.
"To find him," he replied.
By the time I rushed to the door to call him back, he was already gone. No footsteps in the snow.
The blizzard vaguely resembles the strands of your hair.
If you are willing to give up a single tear drop,
If I can accompany you even when you are aged,
Even if I am reduced to ash in a stream of smoke, I'd be perfectly happy to go.
我和你 最天生一對
AN: The last sentence roughly translates to "You and I, the most perfect pair".
This story was based on the song "Puppet Show"(牽絲戲) and the tale that went with the song. The italized sentences are roughly the translated lyrics from the song, and they are the inner monologue of the puppet himself. Thank you, to that friend who introduced me to the song. And thank YOU, for reading.