Behind The Tree

by Ai Jiang

"The tree out back." He picked at the piece of chicken floating in his bloated noodles.

"What about it?" I watched in irritation when he allowed the chicken to fall from his chopsticks back into the soup, liquid jumping out from the paper cup it came in.

"Should we cut it?" He wiped the soup from the table with his fingers rather than the tissue next to him, then licked his thumb.

I cringe at the sight before registering his words. "And why would we—should we—do that?"

I picked up my own tissue and blotted the remaining liquid from the table before he could swipe his fingers across the surface again.

"It's getting too tall. Casting too much shade over the house." He finished the chicken, leaving the noodles floating.

Outside the dining room window swayed the tree and its branches in the heavy wind. Specks of raindrops dotted the window's glass, making it look as though it was snowing rather than raining outside. A dreary snow globe with unclear skies and clear snow.

"We should do it after it rains," he said.

We carved memories into that tree. Height lines of our children, our names, our thoughts in obscure symbols that no one else knew but ourselves.

"Where's the sun?" I asked.

He looked at me, confused. "Behind the clouds."

"And where are we?" I asked.

"In the kitchen?"

"No."

"Then where?"

"Behind the tree."

"And?"

"We don't cut the clouds, so why should we cut the tree?"

He abandoned his noodles all together and shook his head, swirling his chopsticks, thinking.

"Where are the children?" I asked.

"Behind the tree." He pushed the paper cup away. I had stopped eating before, but now I continue eating.

"We'll wait for the sun to come out," he said. "Then we'll trim a few branches."

I dropped chicken, slurped soup. He reached over and bloated the excess with tissue.

There was a long pause, silence, as he watched me, expectant, with almost a sudden urgency in his eyes. Impatience. Breath held.

"Yes, just a few branches," I finally said.

He released his breath. "Yes, like the clouds."

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About the Author

Ai Jiang is a Chinese-Canadian writer, an immigrant from Fujian, and an active member of HWA. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in F&SF, The Dark, PseudoPod, Jellyfish Review, Hobart Pulp, The Masters Review, among others. Find her on Twitter (@AiJiang_) and online (http://aijiang.ca).

© “Behind The Tree” by Ai Jiang. All rights reserved.