The Bygones

The final echoes in Phillip James’s thoughts were laments for his dead wife, and beyond that, few of them were for himself. That night, an unfamiliarly powerful fragrance permeated Phillip’s dwelling, just like what had happened a week ago, and Mollyhill was shrouded in a strangely attractive but melancholy atmosphere with simple wisps of jasmine’s scent. His unknown and ordinary truth of his life went into the mist along with his coffin into the tranquil depths, where he may sleep with a hundred butterflies and a huge pond, realizing his dreams with his dear wife Jasmine James. “Who knows?” Felix could only ask himself, as one of the few who truly knew Phillip, while scanning several villagers attending the funeral. His mind also went into mist, but the mist of unfamiliar mixture scent of jasmines, woods, and dirt pervaded from mahogany coffins to the distant hills, as he estimated, and unwittingly recalled the image of Phillip, the glistening aqua eyes dominating a wiry, weak but staunch body, glancing with energetic but deep sights. His memory of Jasmine eventually came to the head, and the scent further allured him to recall the beautiful night, although the details remained unknown, actually buried down along with the elegant Mr. and Mrs. James. This is the second night Jasmine has been sleeping in the wooden bed, with incredible beauty despite her advanced age, even more amazing than her living look. The sorrow killed her physical heart; the illness took away her elegance to another world; they did preserve the beauty, building her as a mellow angel. Phillip couldn’t describe the difference between her and the nature just standing outside of their shed. Her diary fell on the ground, accompanied by the books he read when he was younger, but they are the only chaos in this modest room.T wo ropes dangle from the roof hung with clear lanterns. One of them was broken by Phillip after a devastating catharsis one day after Jasmine’s fading, and traces of the disorder are carefully cleared by him, just like before. They have one son, and no pets; Phillip’s only and favorite interaction with the living is falling asleep surrounded by serenades from owls and foxes. Waves undulated lower than the flowers on the shore, rose silently like a star twinkling on a vast canvas, and fell. The color was transparent enough to reveal the world beneath the surface, even in the darkest nights with reflected sky. For most old men like Phillip, their dream life is to fish in ponds in villages like Mollyhill and sleep on boats in ways like Phillip. Phillip did not hate the fragrance of jasmine and nature, but he disliked them, and he had already experienced the departure twice, when the fascinating smell took away Felix first with the hopelessness, and then Jasmine with hope. Sitting on the outworn chair in front of the bed, staring at the hazy window with his long dark eyes, listening to the silence settle over the whole house, he had to think and remember everything just like Felix did. Phillip didn’t know the truth, and he didn't want to know. He may expect the same peace that Jasmine felt when she left. He didn’t forget Felix, even if he forgot most things except for William, the only son of the couple. He did have an extremely good memory when William shouted, “Don’t forget me! Remember to visit me in the city! I’ll send invitations!” nearly twelve years ago. Despite other villagers’ desperation, his face always depicted unbelievably radiant sights to old men like him in Mollyhill. They didn't learn to count how many times he mumbled during fishing in boats; they couldn't memorize as well. On the day Felix appeared in Mollyhill, Phillip almost treated him like William. “How surprising that old fingers like ours could still get in touch with youngsters like you!” Felix will always remember how Phillip welcomed him as a stranger for the first time. His smile, his complexion, looked so strange and precious to a bereaved person like Felix. He hadn’t seen such views for many years and didn’t know that he wouldn’t see any more after those couple of days. During that period, Phillip didn’t understand why Felix came to Mollyhill, and he didn’t want to understand. He asked and asked, looking forward to listening to even one piece of news about William, if it’s possible. “The war ends, at least, but we need patience,” is the first answer given. “Sorry, but please give me some privacy,” is the final one by Felix. Jasmine gave Felix a distinct impression. He could feel the same regret and anxiety in Jasmine’s hearty eyes, but it was veiled and relieved, looking exactly different from Phillip’s. Felix has his own sorrow that needs to be repressed. There were some days he could see such appearances every day! He cannot perceive any warmth from the dwelling of his parents: from the vines, the hollow air permeated with the fragrance of jasmines, every estranging element in this old village, he could only feel himself, as if every piece of joy disappears eternally. “The more painful I am, the more grieved they were during my absence! I’m definitely one of the worst sons in this world!” Felix’s wretchedness attracted Jasmine, and he would never forget the most hopeful countenance he had ever viewed in Jasmine’s elegance. “How wonderful it would be if they were like this couple.” his thoughts can only be swallowed, and fortunately, Jasmine cannot see the stain left by tears on Felix’s face. Instead, two people from two generations stayed still at that moment. They are silently filling the gap in each other. Phillip would never forget the day his old neighbor rushed down to the pond and called him back. He soon understood what she was holding in her hands, except that the words on the letter looked like unfathomable spells. Only he and Jasmine can know how significant these spells mean, and only they know who could help with their difficulties. This time, they wouldn't treat the letter like letters before: picking the sentences one by one through two poor mouths and one poor dictionary. Phillip had no reason to forget: what news in the world is better than the return of William? The couple shone even brighter; fish bit hooks even more frequently; vines grew even more rapidly: Felix’s face never changed, and he could perceive that there was no change in scents from jasmines as well. He always acted faintly and calmly. However, surprisingly, he didn’t step into his parents’ house from that day, even including the day he left Mollyhill. Felix simply packed his clothes and stayed in the couple’s house the whole day. His existence has always brought unbelievably energetic and novel atmosphere into every place in Mollyhill since his arrival. “One day, we will all disappear, and bygones always trap us in unforgettable memories.” “But young men like you have no such memories, though. You are going to look at this world as you can, and our joy comes from taking a look at you.” “So, we won’t feel bad about your departure. So, stop waiting and seeing the past. Waiting is a habit for old bones.” Jasmine added. “Don’t forget me then.” Felix left two sentences. “If you want, visit me in the city!” Felix brought away the unique charm of jasmines, and it accompanied him up until his return to Mollyhill two years later. When he attended the funeral, he couldn’t control himself from thinking of the winding vines on the wall, nearly dilapidated old houses, Mr. James’ uniquely blue eyes, Mrs. James’ spiritually placid complexion, and the most trivial details in Mollyhill. Why can’t he forget, just like his parents? Perhaps someday, he will stop hesitating and regretting every choice made in his life. He will meet the real William, telling every truth from his heart and listening to every truth from William’s heart. Phillip woke up from the memory. He woke up from his outworn chair, possibly from the boat on his familiar pond, possibly from a small land surrounded by jasmines, possibly from an imagination that everyone sits around a small dining table; what is impossible for him is to feel a young, vibrant man like William and Felix anymore. He falls into an infinite, warm, and deep dream again and never gets up anymore. After Felix’s news, expectation never fades, behind the little gate that symbolizes the entrance of Mollyhill, sitting in an exquisite valley. Even villagers are infected by the couple and start to believe that the miracle will occur in this village, regardless of how many old couples who have lost their sons and daughters live here. The expectation rose and dropped until everyone adapted to this type of life, which means there was no more confidence. Memories became older, thinner, and blurrier. “What if one day, I won’t expect him to return anymore?” Jasmine usually asked her hope, and he replied, “If he leaves, we will go to the city and find him.” The day Jasmine arrived, Phillip knew it. He calmly admitted it, admitting the truth that he would be alone from that day. Her beauty revives again, partially because of abandoning worries and hope. Sometimes, when asked, “Old man, what are you thinking about?”, Phillip only smiled and forgot this sentence in the next second. He lives like before, only slightly differently. His fishing partners couldn’t see, talk, or walk, and Felix’s image usually came up in Phillip’s eyes. The fishing rod, carved with “James,” gradually became abandoned. His only ritual now is to sit in the boat, to stare at the undulating ripples, to enjoy the pure scent of jasmines, to try to memorize: William, Felix, and his partner. Villagers in Mollyhill always entered and exited, but old people stayed. They never left Mollyhill. When Mrs. James collapsed in his life, Phillip could only feel the absence of an important part in his memory. When he held her hand, he was feeling unlimited flows of wishes, clusters of emotions, and flickering memories. They combine into a thin, wiry, and fading string of hope, flowing peacefully to Phillip’s last words. He had to think and remember everything. “I wouldn't even have such a strong desire again, and please let me recollect what I had before,” he might have thought at some moments. Nobody understood him and wanted to understand him. Felix wouldn’t know when the villager, who was told the truth in the letter two years ago, gave the real news to Phillip. It’s even possible the villager forgot it as well. Phillip’s own truth of his life buries down under this land of tranquility, where the world above the ground contains only parting, misfortune, and loneliness. However, that world should have butterflies, ponds, firm souls, rare felicity, and infinite possibilities. One thing is sure: old houses stay still, and vines still grow. Young people will enter and exit Mollyhill just as before, leaving behind different scents and carrying the fragrance of jasmine away.