Bats and songbirds
503 total views
503 total views Bao Hu sat in darkness, waiting. His cave was always silent, at first. Next to the entrance, a giant redwood tree grew. It’s only because of it that Bao Hu always found it, day after day. He was wrapped in a simple coat and a rifle sat nested on his knees. At first, the only thing he could hear were the murmurings of the Yangtze outside the cave, but as time was passing, he began to hear other things. The dripping of some waterfall deeper in the cavern, the sound of wings brushing against each other, the sound of mice biting into a pomelo fruit. He was not alone, he realized, when he heard the subtle breathing of hundreds of creatures waking up around him. It was a realization that he had every morning – he was not alone. The speckles of moonlight on the cavern walls became holy candles to him, his rifle a staff and he himself, a monk in this monastery of rodents. But he wasn’t a monk, he remembered, as the moonlight was disappearing, and the sun began to replace it – he was a hunter, and he didn’t come here to pray. It wasn’t long before the entire cavern was bathed in sunlight, and Bao Hu could finally see the ceiling. It looked pitch black at first, a dark river flowing above his head, but then he noticed the wings and the noses poking out. The bats were still sleeping, he had to do it now. Bao Hu raised his rifle over his head, closed his eyes, and fired. The rifle jolted backward, plunging into his knee, hurting him, the echoes of the gunshot bouncing of the walls. What came next was even louder – the bats, they all screamed at once, scratching each other as they tried to escape the cave. Bao Hu threw himself onto the floor, covering his head with his jacket, as a maelstrom of bats passed above him, the sound of their wings was the beating of some demonic drum coming from deep inside the cave. Bao Hu thought he had woken the Devil himself. But before he could be truly scared, the bats were gone, gone into the December morning, looking like nothing more than pidgeons from a distance. As Bao Hu rose to collect himself, a single bat fell to his feat, stretched out and bleeding. That is when he first saw them – at first, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Small humanlike beings, dressed in mandarin robes, walked from the shadows. Their raceless faces showed only solace, as they gathered around the dead bat. Speaking strange tongues, Bao Hu was unsure whether they muttered a prayer or a curse. „May dragons fly for this one“, was the only thing he understood. Then, as quicky as they came, they vanished, and Bao Hu was almost certain that they have never appeared. It was still early morning, his mind was restless. He grabbed it and put it inside a bag. Then, calmly, he walked out of the cave, into the morning light. The bag hanging loosely over his shoulder, he made his way down a steep slope that led to the banks of the Yangtze. He …