Lanterns

Lantern trees. Everywhere. The rain had stopped, but overhead the sky was still dark and filled with clouds. The canopy of the forest hissed and drops of icy water fell on me as I walked with my grandfather along the path. It was dark, but also not dark. The forest was filled with lantern trees.

I squeezed my grandfather’s hand, and he smiled down at me, the faint crease of his face lit up by the lights growing on the branches above us. The small lights made the dark seem darker, but it made the pathway look as if it lead to a magical kingdom, hidden away in the trees. We didn’t speak; it would have drowned out the musicians in the woods. The soft, whisper-crunch of our steps did not seem disturb them as they chirped and called and whistled, composing their nighttime lullabies.

A bird fluttered from a branch high overhead, and we listened as the shaken raindrops pattered on the pine-needle path. Not too far from where we walked, the path grew darker as the lantern trees thinned, replaced by other tall, menacing trunks, creaking under the weight of thick, shadowy foliage.

My grandfather must have noticed how I shrank back from the dark, for he turned to me and said gently, “Don’t worry. We’ll pick a lantern fruit.”

Then he reached up over his head and plucked a shining fruit from the branch of a lantern tree and handed it to me. “It’ll fade after a little while,” he said, “but it’ll last through this dark patch, here.”

The chorus’ song seemed louder in the dark. The lantern fruit cast its soft white light in a circle around us, the edge fading into the shadows just before our next footstep and right after our last. It was a ring of protection, a patch of daytime in the middle of a dark, wet night.

“Grandfather,” I asked, “what makes the fruit glow?”

He made a thoughtful sound, like a deep-throated hum, and slowly stopped walking. I stopped, too, afraid he might disappear into the night if I took one step away from him. “I’ll show you,” he said, “but if I do, the light will go out, and we’ll have to walk the rest of the way in the dark.”

I thought about this for a long time. Then I looked up at my grandfather and nodded.

He knelt down in front of me, stiffly, as if he were a large tree himself, unable to bend like a sapling anymore. Cupping the fruit in his hands, he pressed his thumbs into the rind until we heard a little pop. Juice trickled down his wrinkled hands and got trapped with the small shadows in folds of skin. Then he pulled the fruit open and showed me. A hundred tiny insects were crawling about inside, and all of them were glowing. I recoiled and grimaced in disgust, especially when the insects started crawling out of the fruit and onto my grandfather’s hands.

But he kept smiling. “See how the trees and the insects work together?” he whispered. “The tree makes the fruit, and then the insects come inside and make their home in it. The fruit provides them nourishment, and the rind makes a good shield from the wind and rain. But the insects help the tree spread its seeds.”

“How do they do that?” I asked.

The light was beginning to fade. The tiny insects opened their wings and took flight, still faintly glowing as they danced off into the woods to find other lantern trees. I moved closer and snuggled up against my grandfather as the darkness closed in around us. I watched the last of the insects fly away, and I was sad to see them go. Now it was dark.

“Here. Taste this.” I felt my grandfather squeeze my arm gently as he followed it down to my hand. A small piece of rind was pressed into my palm, and my grandfather’s rough fingers close my hand around it. I lifted it up in the dark. I couldn’t see it, but I could smell it. It smelled sweet but woodsy, as if citrus juice and sugar had been squeezed onto the freshest, greenest leaves. I was nervous about sticking my tongue out and licking the rind, but I felt my grandfather pat my shoulder. I tasted it.

The pleased squeak that escaped me made my grandfather chuckle, and I could hear his clothes whisper as he stood up. “The lantern fruit is hard and sour, not something people and animals like to eat,” he said. “But the insects love it. They eat the fruit and leave behind their honey and other animals eat it and throw away the rind where the fruit stores its seeds. Then another lantern tree sprouts and the forest continues to grow.”

“Why do the bugs glow, Grandfather?” I asked.

He found my hand again and gave me the rest of the fruit, filled with the strange honey. “They glow so that their friends can find them and enjoy the fruit too. The best lantern fruit to pick is the one that glows the brightest because it means all the bugs have come and made lots of honey. But come on, now,” he said. “Let’s start back.”

“But it’s too dark,” I whispered. “We’ll get lost.” His arm brushed over my head as he patted my shoulder. I pressed against him, closing my eyes. I’d forgotten about the darkness for a moment. I’d been so surprised and pleased by the honey, I’d forgotten how frightening it was to be swallowed by the woods at night.

“Don’t be afraid,” my grandfather whispered. “Look. It’s not so dark once your eyes get use to it.”

I blinked and looked up at him. It was still dark, but somehow I could see him faintly, like a shadow. Around us, I could see where the trees parted to make the path back home, and a ways down the trail I could see the faint glimmer of the paper lanterns everyone in the village hung from their porches. I hadn’t seen them earlier. The darkness made the glow stand out.

The music of the creatures in the woods seemed louder as the two of us started down the path again. I held on to my grandfather’s hand, and every time I grew frightened and squeezed a little too hard, he would ask me how the honey was. I’d take another lick and its sweet, wonderful taste would make me smile. It surprised me when, suddenly, all the honey was gone; it didn’t feel as if we’d been walking that long. My hand was starting to tighten again when my grandfather lifted his arm and pointed up ahead. “Look,” he said. “We’re home.”

The bright paper lanterns lit up the whole village; on every height and in every hollow, the wooden homes glowed. I grinned with relief and my grip loosened on my grandfather’s hand. “I’m glad we have lanterns,” I said. “Otherwise I don’t know how we would have found our way back.”

“Indeed. The lights bring us back together.”

We started down the path toward our home. “We’re kind of like the bugs, aren’t we, Grandfather?” I said, the warmth of the lantern lights surrounding us made me smile.

And when I looked up at my grandfather, I saw he was smiling too.