Chapter Seventeen: A Fleeting Dream

The hall was vast and silent, the howling blizzard outside relentless.

“Do you know how to dance?” Without warning, the girl in the hall suddenly asked.

“No... I don’t.” The little boy looked timid, as if he had been asked the same question countless times before, yet his answer remained unchanged.

“That’s normal if you don’t.” The girl standing in the center of the hall wore an expression that suggested it was only natural: “You’re Asian. I’ve noticed that Asian girls here have short legs, and people with short legs obviously can’t dance.”

“But you’re Asian too...”

The boy wanted to argue, but his voice was so faint that the girl ignored him and said, “So, do you want to learn how to dance?”

The boy hesitated for a moment, then nodded instinctively. “Yes.”

“I can teach you,” the girl said. “I’m Soviet. Soviet girls all know how to do ballet. It’s in our genes; we start rising and falling even in the womb.”

“Why teach me? Why not... someone else?” the boy asked.

“Because I like slow learners.” The girl stated matter-of-factly, “Teaching smart people is no challenge. I feel no sense of achievement. But if I can teach you, it proves I’m smarter than the smart ones.”

“Um... um.” The boy didn’t know what to say and could only nod. Watching the girl dance alone in the empty hall—rising, falling, spinning—the lines of her arms and calves were as beautiful as a painting. He couldn’t help but whisper, “Can I not learn ballet?”

The girl stopped dancing, her loose golden hair falling behind her as she turned to look at him. “Why? I know you’re slow, but I’m confident I can teach you.”

“Ballet is a dance for girls,” the boy murmured, hugging his legs.

“Oh, you’re worried about that.” The girl walked forward as she spoke. “Actually, ballet suits you very well.”

“You mean I look like a girl?”

“No. I mean ballet suits you because its meaning is very much like you.”

“Meaning?”

The girl stood in the center of the empty hall, spun smoothly, raised her long neck, and looked down at the timid boy in the corner. Softly, she said, “Ballet imitates swans. Every ballet dancer is a swan—some swans remain silent all their lives, but before they die, they sing a song. I think the usually quiet swan’s final song must be especially mournful and beautiful.”

“Are you saying I’m going to die?”

“Everyone dies. It’s just a matter of time.”

Half of the boy’s face hid behind his crossed arms as he looked at the girl in the center of the hall. The light flowing from her eyes reflected the hall’s resplendent golden brilliance.

*

The shaking of the airplane woke Lin Nian. He opened his eyes to see golden hair shining like gold. For a moment, he couldn’t distinguish dream from reality. He reached out to touch the soft, smooth hair, but suddenly someone lightly tapped his hand and brought him back to reality.

“If you want to play with hair, dye your own,” Lin Xian said, looking at Lin Nian who was still groggy. “Didn’t you see how big her boyfriend is?”

Lin Nian blinked and looked up. He was seated on a United Airlines flight. Not far ahead was a blonde American girl, the very woman whose hair he saw upon waking. Beside her sat a large man, like a bodybuilding coach, wearing sports headphones and nodding rhythmically.

The cabin speaker announced in a sweet voice that the plane had encountered some turbulence within controllable limits and that passengers need not worry.

Lin Nian recalled—they were on a flight to Chicago O’Hare International Airport, a nearly 13-hour journey. Kassel Academy had generously booked them first-class tickets. He had succumbed to boredom and dozed off.

“I didn’t recline your seat fully because you were sleeping soundly. Are you having a nightmare?” Lin Xian asked.

“No, probably not a nightmare.” Lin Nian bent down, pressing his temples. The memories of the dream faded like melting snow in the sunrise. He tried to recall but it was like holding fine sand—memories slipped through his fingers until there was nothing left.

“If you can’t remember, just forget it. Some people just can’t recall their dreams,” Lin Xian said.

Lin Nian glanced at Lin Xian, who had tied her hair back today for convenience during boarding—a smooth, sleek black ponytail.

Lin Xian noticed and raised an eyebrow. “If you want to touch it, just say so. The girl ahead probably won’t agree, but my hair is fair game.”

“No, forget it,” Lin Nian shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of fetish.”

“Right,” Lin Xian said. “I should know your fetishes by now.”

Lin Nian couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her and sighed, saying nothing more.

“You woke up just in time. We’ll land in about an hour,” Lin Xian checked the electronic watch on her wrist. “I set it to Chicago time. When we get to the airport, it should be around two in the afternoon. You look like you didn’t sleep well, so no need to worry about jet lag—you’ll fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow tonight.”

“The real trouble starts after we land—we still have to find the train.” Lin Nian yawned. “Mandy senior warned me not to look for the CC1000 express train at Chicago station. It’s not on the schedule, and even the station staff don’t know about it.”

“Then where are we supposed to look?” Lin Xian frowned.

“Mandy senior said one of her senior classmates will pick us up.” Lin Nian recalled. “His name’s Fingal von Flins, a sixth grader.”

“Sixth grade? Kassel Academy has a high school division?” Lin Xian was surprised.

“No, technically he’s a fourth grader but repeated two years. He’s a legend at the school.” Lin Nian hesitated. “Mandy said that at the start of the semester, the only person free to run errands and come to Chicago to pick us up was this big idler. Since he’s a fourth grader with little coursework, he spends his days loafing around school. He apparently owes the school a lot of money, but Mandy bribed him with some perks plus travel and meal expenses, and he happily agreed to pick us up.”

“That sounds unreliable.” Lin Xian’s face showed caution.

“Me too. But Mandy said this senior is a close student of Professor Manstein and can be trusted. At least he won’t kidnap us to work in some coal mine.” Lin Nian said.

“Fingal von Flins,” Lin Xian repeated the name. “Sounds German. Won’t there be a language barrier?”

“Kassel Academy promotes Chinese; after six years, he should be fluent.” Lin Nian hesitated.

“Did your senior mention any other precautions?”

“Yes.” Lin Nian nodded. “She said if this Fingal sincerely invites me to join the journalism club and urges me to pay the membership fee early, I should not hesitate to slap him in the face. She’ll take responsibility afterward.”

“Hm.” Lin Xian nodded thoughtfully, seeming to gain a better understanding of this Fingal senior.