The Dancer

The auburn hair girl was always there at night, wearing a red knee-length dress. The water in the fountain never stopped flowing, and the night breeze never stopped whispering faintly. She always came at eleven and danced till one in the morning, without music accompaniment but the cricket’s, or the water flow’s, or the rustling leaves’. And when she grew tired, she would sit at the huge, bronze statue’s feet, and started telling him about what had happened in the day.

He was always standing there, day and night, night and day. He could not leave the place, anyway. He wore a hat and a suit, and that was all. He stood there for many decades, perhaps already one century. People always refer him as some poet who once lived many years ago and the bronze statue was built of the remembrance of him. The bronze colour was not as brilliant as before, but he was still in great shape. He stood there quietly, watching the people jogged past him, or observing the colour change in the sky, or listening to the stars talking among themselves. He never interrupted a thing, nor did he care to bother about them.

When she came, he did not bother about her either. He thought she was just another girl. And when he saw her dancing, graceful and elegant, he thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She came everyday, wearing the same red knee-length dress, bringing nothing with her but just her dance moves and her stories.

She was the eldest of four children of a poor family whose parents did odd jobs to support the family. Her father was broke several years ago. After school, she would work at a fast food restaurant until eight at night to ease her parents’ burden. And then she would dance, here in the Square with no applause, cheers and audience. He was the only audience. It was clear that she had a fondness for dancing “since forever,” he was told. Before her father was broke she attended ballroom dancing and performed in annual concerts in her school. After the horrible incident she stopped dancing in public.

She always wanted a dress, a dress that she wore specially for dancing. She did not dare to tell her parents about her wish, so she worked extra hard and saved the money she earned for the red dress. She felt like she was on stage and was being in the centre of attention, when she wore that dress and danced. “It was heavenly,” she said, but she knew that no matter how heavenly it was, she still had to face the harsh reality.

~

For a period of time, he never saw the dancing girl again. He heard from the wind that her remarkable dancing talent was discovered, and she was making big in the field.

Life returned to its normal state again. It was the same people he saw everyday, the same dogs, and the same sunsets. It was never the same at night, though. The water in the fountain never stopped flowing, and the night breeze never stopped whispering faintly. In his thoughts she would dance without music accompaniment, just the crickets’, or the water’s, or the rustling leaves’. And when she grew tired, she would sit at the huge, bronze statue’s feet, and started telling him about what had happened in the day.

~

He was nearly asleep, then. The stars were whispering among each other, and the wind left the leaves rustling, sometimes blew the brown, dried ones down to the ground.

The sound of the clicking high heels woke him up. He seldom heard this sound. Even so a gush of familiarity returned to him.

“It’s been a long time, Mr. Statue. Did you miss me?” said a female voice. With the help of the street lamps he could see clearly now. It was the dancing girl, but she looked more sophisticated. She must have become a famous dancer, then. She wore make-ups, but she practically looked the same, with her flowing brown hair in the wind and that usual red knee-length dress. She touched his feet. And then, like before, without music accompaniment but just the nature’s, she danced, for the one last time.

~

After that dance he never sees her again. Does she miss the sound of the cricket, or the water flow, or the rustle of the leaves? The wind sends a message to him that she is no longer a dancer. She is now helping out the poor ones in Africa, especially the children. She wants to help them and make the world a better place for living. To her, fame and fortune are nothing compare to seeing the innocent smiles on the children’s faces. Even though she is not living as luxury as she is when she was a famous dancer, the wind says, she is happy and blessed. She is as carefree and contented as she was when she wore the red knee-length dress and danced only to him.

He smiles.

*

This is the original version from the Chinese version.