The Embroidered Shoes by Can Xue

the other person. You will imagine forever. Both of you have once lived among crowds of people, and therefore both have learned about logic and imagination. The game is pretty simple, yet effective. But I’m only an observer. In the shadows of the mountain, the eternal light is pulsating. And I have become the only witness of the spectacle.
    â€œYour ears are just suitable for listening to that sound; your eyes started shining as soon as you arrived here. As a result, you’ve forgotten the past. However, I remember everything, but I’m not going to tell you. No matter if you ask me or not, I’ll tell you some anecdotes about the other person; for one example, how he bent to pour the sand and dirt out of his shoes, and how he disappeared right after that. For another example, he seems to have a brother who left home with him that day. After the disappearance, the young man’s shrill voice stood our amidst those calling for the vanished one. However, the person who disappeared did not hear anything. He walked very fast. What he did could be described either as duty-bound and regret-free, or as hasty action. At the corner, he kicked off his shoes. Barefooted he arrived at the foot of the mountain, and fell down in a sleep.”
    This imaginary dialogue could probably go on forever. But if you watch the two speakers carefully, you will realize that their lips have never moved. The dialogue recorded above is merely an episode that the author has written down without any foundation. Many things can never be decided, and many people’s lives have been wasted in trying to solve unresolvable puzzles. But the mountain remains silent.
    As for those people who have voluntarily disappeared, what have they been thinking? It seems nobody will ever know, and the author can only imagine, on and on.
    Why didn’t anybody at that kind of grand gathering near the river notice that a person was about to disappear forever? I have heard that such occurrences happen very rarely, yet the relatives of the vanished person never search for long. They gather at the riverbank and call out loudly until exhausted and then return home the very next dawn. The second night, they call at the riverbank again. But the number shrinks sharply and only a few show up. After the third day, nobody goes back to the riverbank, but instead everybody discusses the odd event at home. By the turn of the new year, nobody raises the issue anymore, as if everybody had agreed beforehand to fall silent. The clothing of the vanished person would still be kept in the wardrobe. His bowl and chopsticks would still be placed on the table at mealtime. The family members would pretend that he still lived with them in the house.
    I once visited the relative of a vanished person. This relative was a tragic character with long hair and beard and an expressionless face. Yet his hands were restless with anxiety. One after another, he tore the buttons off his jacket. He repeated, “It was completely unnecessary to take such extreme action.” His tone sounded quite superficial. I asked him to talk about what happened that night. “I bid him goodnight, not having the faintest idea that he would leave. Isn’t that funny?” That was all he could remember.
    I strolled to the riverbank and looked around. I found a horse galloping against the wind, and the dead rider had a secretive expression on his face.

A DREAMLAND NEVER DESCRIBED
    The Recorder sat in his roadside shed writing down the various dreamlands described by passersby. This had gone on for many years, and he had recorded a nearly infinite variety of images. Usually a session went like this: the passersby—all ordinary people who appeared a bit confused as they entered the shed—walked in and sat down on the floor. Their descriptions differed from person to person and ranged from vivid to dull and mechanical, confusingly meditative, or obscure. The Recorder sat before them, showing