Free Song of the Silk Road by Mingmei Yip

his loving parents and doting grandparent. May his beautiful body and soul rest in heaven.

    I couldn’t even imagine the overwhelming sorrow to have lost a child at this tender age. What had happened?
    Later, I asked Keku more about the burial sites, but she only widened her eyes. “Nobody knows. Nobody goes.”
    Then I told her about the sad-faced stranger. “Do you think it was his son buried there?”
    “Don’t know. Never ask. Bad luck. Better not go there yourself.”
    “You’re not curious about this man and his dead relatives, friends?”
    She didn’t answer my question, but sighed. “Miss Lin, now understand why rent cheap?” She paused, then, “Why no people, no thieves come here steal?”
    I felt a shudder inside. Who were this village’s real residents, the Muslims or the phantoms?
    But I thought it might actually turn out to be something good. Maybe I could know this area better by communicating with spirits—ancestors who might tell me tales about the mountains and the desert that the living didn’t know or wouldn’t tell. Of course, I would not tell anyone about this ability of mine, for I had no intention of being stigmatized by my new acquaintances as crazy or, worse, a witch.
    Since my teens, I’d been attracted to graveyards—perfect places for me to read without the slightest disturbance, since the dead stay out of your way and don’t try to engage you in boring conversations. I’d never had more than one or two friends for I never had much in common with my classmates.
    Besides the ordinary dead people, there were other kinds of spirits I connected with, especially deceased authors. So from time to time, I’d skip class and take the bus to the graveyard in Happy Valley where I would read Sense and Sensibility, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Alice in Wonderland, The Sun Also Rises . . .
    When I tired of reading my books, I’d walk around to read inscriptions on gravestones. I found it fascinating when a person died either very young or very old, since I was alive but stuck in between. I also tried to talk to the deceased, easing my teenage angst and filling my mind with otherworldly romances. The graveyard was an escape from the boredom of school and life into a world of fantasy and magical possibilities.
    After I found the graveyard, my nocturnal feeling of suffocation stopped but the cold, empty feeling lingered.

    A few days later, I was eating my simple breakfast of bread and milk and listening to cheerful, exotic Xinjiang tunes when I heard stirring outside the door. I went to lift the curtain, peered outside the window, and was astonished to see Alex Luce fidgeting in front of the entrance.
    Like a hungry ghost, this kid just wouldn’t leave me alone!
    I flung open the door and screamed in his face, “Alex, what are you doing here? You following me again?”
    But his young face, agonized and exhausted, instantly melted my heart.
    “Don’t be mad, Lily. I just wanted to be sure you’re OK.”
    “I’m fine.” Seeing that he was sweating heavily under the hot sun, my heart melted again. “You want to come in?”
    He nodded.
    Inside, I signaled for him to sit on one of the floral “sofas.” After that, I poured water for him in a tin cup, then sat opposite him.
    “I just moved here.”
    “What do you mean by moved here?”
    He pointed to the far distance outside the window. “I’ll camp over there.”
    “At the graveyard?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Why, are you out of your mind?”
    “So I can look out for you, Lily, in case anything happens.”
    “So you followed me here?”
    “I paid the guy at the hotel to tell me where you are. I hope you aren’t offended.” He lowered his head. His voice came out tender like water, just what I needed in the desert.
    Then he gulped down his water, put down the cup with a gentle clink, and looked me in the eyes. “Lily, I’m in love with you.”
    I tried to sound calm despite my desert-hot emotions. “But, Alex, we