Sky of Paper: An Asian Steam-Driven Fantasy Tale

by Matthew Seaver

  A year before, the performers used stones carved in the shape of butterflies, and as their exotic shape suggested, they drifted through the air as one would expect butterflies to move. The year before that, it was stone cranes, and they dove and soared as all of us had seen birds do. That night, we were treated to a spectacle that was every bit as enchanting as their past performances. To move stone in such strange and intricate ways, I was convinced that it could not have been done with wires or string.

  I explained to my children and grand children that it was magic. The will of the sky had been altered in order to levitate the stones. I never expected them to believe me. But to have my secrets presented before curious ears always felt as if I was somehow passing on all the hidden years of my life to my family, even if it sounded a bit far-fetched.

  The end of the festival was marked with the lantern ceremony, the solemn portion of the evening where we honored the one's closest to us who have long since passed away. There was a serene air of respectful silence as everyone gathered by the river to float tiny boats mounted with red paper lanterns. Upon each lantern, was written the name of a loved one. Often, I found myself admiring the tranquility of the lantern ceremony as much as I did the energy of the stone dance performances.

  I later learned that Summer Festivals at the capital and other major cities, ended with a grand display of fireworks and exchanges of gifts and money. They danced to bellowing music and watched massive parades march down their streets. It was their tribute to a future filled with good fortune and prosperity. My town had no where near enough money for such a grand thing. And I thought it fitting, that we all remember the past through the loved ones that we've lost in order to understand that good fortune and prosperity does not simply appear out of nothing. Instead, it comes from great sacrifice, from the ones that gave everything, including their lives, so that others can live more fruitfully.

  I watched the warm, red glow from the lantern written with my mother's name float down the river with the others. Together, they formed a great trail of red light, stretching deep into the night. My sister had told me, that the trail of red lanterns was there to allow the spirits of the dead to find their way home.

  I thought very selfishly then, and wondered why we must give people direction in the after-life, when we had trouble finding our own. I’d thought of everything mother had done to raise us, and since she knew that she was dying, she did everything possible to help us think on our own. For that, I was grateful. But it wasn’t enough that we knew how to survive. I wanted her to help me understand what direction my life should take, what I should do beyond just surviving. From the moment our mother passed away, my sister knew the path her life had to follow, and that was to take care of me. Even the young man at the wood mill, who had taken over his father‘s business, knew the course of his life. It even seemed the girl, whom I often saw practicing her instrument everyday, knew what she was to do with her life as well. Yet, here I was, in my thirteenth year, gazing into the uncertainty of my future.

  A few more months past. My fourteenth birthday came and went. I went to school, helped my sister with the chores and watched her paint clouds on rice paper. I saw more dust gather on mother's pots. My studies had made me more attune to the world and I came to envy my classmates and their carefree spirits. While they played, I studied as hard as I could. I wondered every day what my life would become, what job I would be most suited to do. I thought of the only jobs I knew at the time; fisherman, farmer, woodcutter, tailor; all the ones which required the use of my hands. I asked my sister, which one I should become. She said, none of them, and ordered me to keep studying. So I continued my schooling, did my chores and watched her paint more clouds on rice paper. I recalled the girl practicing her music and asked my sister about becoming a musician. She laughed and said that those who make music for a living would be full of spirit, but have empty pockets. Confused, and unable to comprehend what my sister truly wanted from me, I decided that I would seek out the answer myself.

  I remember how chilly it was that day, the day I worked up the courage to speak to the fortune teller. It was so cold I could see the breath leave my mouth. Bare trees dotted the withered hills and brown leaves lay everywhere. The sky was a water-color painting with gray blotches covering up the sun. I stood in front of her door with a determined mind, but I imagined, with my shivering and stuttered breath, I must have looked more like a sad little beggar than a proud young man.

  I knocked on the sliding door and waited. I heard shuffling inside and after a few a moments, the door slid open, revealing a stern woman, with well-kept, gray hair tied in two neat buns. She wore the same cotton worker's pants and shirt that my sister wore, except there wasn’t a single blemish in the fabric to be found. They were clean and without wrinkles. It was as if she had just received her clothes brand new from the factory and hadn’t chosen to wear them until today. Her proud eyes seemed so intimidating, that I could hardly bare to look at her face directly.

  I bowed as deep as I could without falling over. Though I tried to speak in my most solemn, respectful tone, I must have come across as sounding more like a panting dog, shivering in the cold air. "I‘m sorry for the intrusion miss. I was wondering if you could tell me my fortune."

  I could feel the woman's ominous eyes looming, and hoped that she didn’t think it strange that a child like myself would be asking for her business. I noticed the soft, warm scent of incense through her open door and saw glimpses of fine, polished wood flooring inside. She must’ve been well off, with her neat clothes and the enticing sweet smells of her home.

  "I don’t give fortunes to children. Go home and take care of your family." Her voice sounded stern, but I remained where I was.

  "Please miss, I want to know my future. I want to know if I‘ll become anything of worth."

  "You're going to be sick. That’s what you will be if you stay out here in the cold for too long. Now go home." She went back into her house, startling me as she shut the door behind her.

  I knocked on her door again, but got no answer. I waited several more minutes before I knocked again. Still, no answer. I sat down on her porch, hugging my arms to keep warm.

  Her high, shrilly voice startled me again as she called out from inside. "I can hear your breathing from in here. Leave now. I don't bother with children, let alone disrespectful ones."

  "But I want to know something. Please miss, can you tell me my fortune? I have money."

  I heard her feet shuffle from inside as she went from one end of the house to the other, but she didn't reply. I suppose, she decided to ignore me, hoping I’d get tired and eventually leave.

  I must have looked like a fool as people walked by and saw my lazy form slumped over on the fortune teller's porch. No one came up to me and questioned why I was in such an awkward position. Perhaps the people that walked by didn't care much for the scene, or thought that I was this lady's son, being punished for something. I was embarrassing myself, and knew that if my sister found out what I was doing, I would surely receive a beating. Yet, it would be a small price to pay, just to catch a glimpse of my future.

  I stayed long after the sun disappeared under the hills. I could see the faint glow of the lanterns inside, through the paper door. Her silhouette went back and forth like some grand shadow puppet play that I’d once seen a long time ago. I could hear her sigh and the small stomps of her feet. I imagined she must of thought of me as something of a stalker, waiting for her to sleep so that I may go inside and commit terrible acts. These thoughts discouraged me a little, but it was too late for me to go home now. My sister would already be worried about me and if I went to her now, she would most likely be angry and I‘d definitely be punished, and all of this would have been for nothing.

  "Are you still out there child?"

  I answered as quickly as I could, glad to hear a voice break the uneasy silence. "Yes miss, I'm still here. Please, forgive me for not leaving. I know I‘ve been disrespectful, but I just
need my fortune told to me."

  She quickly slid her door open and I immediately bowed so low that my forehead touched the ground. I felt the warm air of her house envelope me. It was just enough to keep me from shivering.

  "You really are a sad little thing aren't you? 'I want my fortune told', is that the only thing you can say? A person of common sense would at least come back tomorrow and try asking again instead of lying in front of my house like a beggar waiting for scraps of food." I nodded, my forehead still touching the ground. "Sit up. I want to see your face."

  As I lifted my head, she knelt down in front of me and looked at every feature of my face against the pale glow of the house's lanterns. Even though I tried not to look at her directly, I saw, for the first time, the details of her face. Pronounced cheek bones, small, brown freckles and just the slightest crease of wrinkles. She looked much like an older version of my sister. She struck her palm against the top of my head. It didn't hurt, but it caught me by surprise and forced a yelp from my lips.

  "That’s for not obeying your elders. Next time an adult gives you a command, you listen and do it. Do you understand?" Her shrill voice growled like a wild tiger, but seeing her kneeling down to face me, instead of forcing me to stand, made me think about how polite she was.

  I nodded quickly. "Yes miss, I'm sorry for what I did. Please forgive me. I just wanted my fortune-"

  "Yes yes, you want your fortune told. You sound like an idiot, and you most likely are. But since you’re my only customer today, and seeing as you’ve probably scared off anyone else seeking my services, I will tell you your fortune."

  "Thank you miss, I’m very grateful." I smiled and bowed once again. She cupped her hand underneath my chin suddenly, and moved my head in such a direction, that it caught the full light of the house lanterns. She looked at me as if she had found something valuable that she hadn’t noticed before. She ordered me to look at her, and I did.

  "You have eyes that see the motions of things." She said these words as if she were reading a poem. When she finally let go of my chin, she said, "If I tell you your fortune, there will be a price."

  "I have money miss."

  "No, not for money." Her voice sounded so serious at that moment, that her words came out like a bark. I had a half confused, half startled expression on my face, that must have further confirmed to the woman that I was indeed an idiot. "The price that I ask for is a promise. You must promise to do something for me after our meeting here is done. Do you understand child?"

  "Yes miss, I understand."

  She looked at me as if she doubted my sincerity. Even so, she must have been satisfied, because she stood up and motioned me to come inside.

  The best way I could describe my feelings as I entered the woman's home, is the feeling that comes with entering a sacred temple, or a great mansion for the first time. I’d never seen so many decorations or glimmering objects gathered in one place before. The floor was clean and pristine with hardly any blemishes. As I took off my shoes and left them at the door, I was afraid that my dirty feet would stain them, so I walked carefully, standing only on my toes. On the walls hung scrolls, written with grand, brush-stroked characters, with meanings I couldn‘t hope to understand. There were pots, urns, vases and many, many small sculptures of birds, all nestled neatly in corners or on top of tables. At a glance, I suppose anyone would see this woman's home as a bit crowded with these objects lying about, but as I followed my host from room to room, I started to discover an order to the way her things were placed. Each sliding door revealed another completely different part of the house, where objects were placed in their own peculiar order and the decorations were specific to the room in form and color. In one room, there were only crane figurine, made of both wood and metal. In another, there was nothing, but elegant ink-brushed paintings hanging from the walls. It was amazing that such a small home could have so many rooms.

  Finally, we came to a place in the farthest part of the house that was completely empty, except for two mats and a single scroll hanging from a wall. Across its face was a picture of a flower that looked like a chrysanthemum and a few characters underneath, none of which I could read. She ordered me to sit on one of the mats. I obediently did as she requested. She gracefully kneeled down on the other mat, placing her hands on her lap, looking much like a geisha I had seen in a picture that was featured in a newspaper once. By the way the she looked, I suppose men her age would have found her attractive, but the minute they would have exchanged conversation, they would have realized that her shrilly voice would be more than enough to ruin the enchantment of her beauty.

  She looked at me for one, long silent moment, as if she were inspecting for blemishes on a clean piece of silk. I looked at the ground, trying to avoid gazing at her eyes, shifting uncomfortably on the mat while I waited for her to speak or do something. The stillness made me feel uncomfortable. I felt the urge to ask what she was doing, but before I could open my mouth she asked, "What is your name?"

  I kept my eyes to the ground, but answered without delay. "My name is Terr, miss."

  "Your full name child. Tell me your full name."

  "My name is Terr Wind."

  She made a sound in her throat, as if annoyed by the tone of my answer. Her hands moved to the side to pickup a large piece of paper. She flattened it on the ground between us and ordered me to look up at her. I did exactly as she commanded. "Forgetting your ignorant behavior today, it seems you’re much more behaved than the other children in this town. Perhaps you’re not so much a fool as I thought you to be. Fools don’t know they’re fools. But I can tell that you judge yourself with less pride than most. I know who you are. I know you're that boy that lives alone with your sister at the far end of town. And now, I have a name to put with that face of yours."

  I wanted to ask for her name was as well, but I was afraid of sounding rude. But before I could risk the question, she spoke again.

  "Miss Nishio. That’s the name you will call me from now on. Calling me just 'miss' all the time is like calling a cedar, cherry or maple tree just, 'tree'. Proper names are much more meaningful and deserve respect, just as you will respect me. Do you understand child?"

  "Yes Miss Nishio."

  I watched as she placed a bottle of ink and a small brush to the side. She then carefully dabbed the brush in the ink and slowly drew a broad circle around the center of the paper. I was drawn by the graceful movement of her wrist as she moved the brush in wide, effortless curves, much like my sister did when she painted her clouds. She took her time, making sure the circle was completed in one single stroke, and was as close to perfection as her old hands would allow. I had never seen anyone put so much effort into painting a simple circle. After she finished, she put the brush aside and turned her attention back to me.

  "I’ll tell you your fortune now and name the price afterwards. But before I do this, you have to understand what’s going to happen. After we’re finished, after I tell you about the path your destiny will take you, your life will no longer be in your hands. The choices you make from now on will be meaningless in the face of what you will become. This is a very big decision for such a young child to make. If you are absolutely sure you want to do this, then we will begin."

  I felt like a young bird about to jump from the nest, not knowing if I would learn to fly before striking the ground. She waited patiently for me to say something, but I remained silent.

  The fortune teller seemed to sense my hesitation. I think my expression at that moment discouraged her deeply, because she sighed and started putting the brush, ink and paper away. I gasped and quickly nodded in agreement to her proposal, but she acted as though she didn‘t see me.

  I put my hand on the paper before she had a chance to put it away and blurted my words so loudly, that I even startled myself.

  "I understand. Please tell me my fortune."

  She must have expected me to say those words, because she smiled as if she had just gained ownership over my s
oul. She placed everything back to where they were in a very neat and prompt fashion. Afterwards, she took out a very small, white feather, about the size of a coin and held it high above her head over the piece of paper. My sister had once told me that fortune tellers often used bones or cards to tell the future. I was expecting her to do just that, but seeing her holding a feather above her head seemed not only surprising, but also a little more absurd than what I was prepared for. I would’ve giggled like an idiot if not for the harsh gaze she directed at me. She waited until she felt I had given her my full attention, then started to speak slowly and deliberately.

  "This feather will land somewhere on that piece of paper. Point where it will land."

  I noticed that the feather was held exactly over the center of the circle. Since the air was still, I thought it would fall easily somewhere inside the circle, yet, as she was probably a woman of cunning, I imagined that she was tricking me into thinking that, that was exactly where it would land. I was hesitant to place my finger on the paper, not knowing what would happen if I pointed at the incorrect spot. Maybe if I guessed correctly, something even worse would happen.

  "What happens if I guess wrong?"

  "I didn’t tell you to speak child. I told you to point."

  "But I don’t know what all this means. How can I make a choice if I don’t know what’s going to happen?"

  I knew what I’d said was very rude, and the annoyed look on her face was proof of that. I pressed my lips together to prevent anymore words from spilling out of my mouth.