Cacophony: A Novel

By Ruby Wei

Ruby Wei's Cacophony is the first novel in a series that explores empathy through the lens of minorities in the US and in China.

Meet Dolkar: victim combating her vulnerability. "...abandoned, I first met him when I got here, his white fur tainted a dirty brown. I couldn't say I liked the human race too much... Wit

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Dec 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637309612

Book preview

damn straight, right into his balls

---

Arno

Flash forward: two years later

Had I attempted this in America, I would’ve been shot. Picture the Wild West, cowboys and horses and Texas Rangers from back in the day. They would’ve shot me the second I barged in. Okay fine, tarnish that picture, smear some dust on it, think Homestead Act era.

Each step I took exhausted me more, dehydrated me further. I need water, I croaked to a nearby armadillo and six vultures finishing off something I couldn’t recognize. Raccoon, maybe. If it wasn’t for the kind little boy who gave me a meal and water six hours ago, it would be me they were finishing off. The land was cracking for want of water itself, and wind caked everything my eyes could see in a red-brown tint. There was one road—the one I was staggering on, careful not to fall into any cacti. The broad-brimmed Stetson hat on my head and the neckerchief bandanna around my neck were there out of necessity, not for Hollywood to romanticize an era less violent than you would assume. Settlers cared more to live than to strip people of their livelihoods.

I would’ve stumbled onto the ranch and, before I could head closer, a rifle would sound and soon I’d be history. As I lay dying, I would’ve heard something like mighty stupid of you kid, no point risking your life tryin’ somethin’ like that, we tame our women like we tame our land. Then Dolkar’s husband would’ve cleaned up the blood, wiped his hands, and thrown me out to the wolves.

Except this wasn’t the Wild West.

Except it wasn’t as easy as getting shot.

Except I didn’t have the time to be picturing; I didn’t even have the time to breathe.

Half the village came at us with knives and sticks, hollering, Stop, you bastard! I took Dolkar’s hand in mine, and we were sprinting out of there in screaming colors.

If only it was that simple. The leader of the pack coming after us was her husband. He had the most at stake, makes sense for him to be running the fastest. We ran to the market we met in. Sitting on top of a small hill, this wet market stocked everything from live fish and poultry to fresh fruit, vegetables, herbs, and spices, all on open-air display. Our story isn’t what you think it is, and it certainly isn’t what it looks like.

Chaos was perfect. The market becomes a hullabaloo on Saturday mornings. Every chance we got, I threw whatever produce I could grab and chucked it at someone. As close to someone as I could in the middle of dodging what currently looks like bok choy to me.

Damn straight, right into his balls. That celery stick made a whole three pointer. I am Bruce Lee himself. I mean Michael Jordan. Lebron James. Whatever.

These villagers did not play nice. Two humongous grapefruits hit Dolkar in the ear, knocking her thin body off balance.

Duck! I screamed, forgetting that she couldn’t understand me. Dolkar got the hint as soon as two more flew over her head.

I stole a box of watermelons from a poor man selling them and rolled them down the road. That bought us some time as I glanced back to see a few of the guys trip. Knocked out like bowling pins. Boom.

Ay, my watermelon! The man roared as he jolted awake from his dozing. Pay me back! Not that I needed one more person after me, but this one I at least deserved. Needless to say, I probably just rolled days’ worth of his income down the street. But our lives were at stake! He will live; we won’t. I paid him back in my mind.

Dolkar was falling behind and my arms were exhausted from the watermelons. Gains, baby! They were getting closer, wrapping in on us now that the road broke off into a wider one for cars. Except there weren’t any. The traffic came from motorcycles, bicycles, or tuk-tuks. We zigzagged through like mice on wheels running through a maze.

A few minutes later, we knelt down next to a buggy to take a breather. The villagers also stopped, looking confused.

Just when it seemed like they’d lost us, I heard, Behind the yellow shirt!

Who decided it was a good idea to hide behind a man in a yellow shirt? Me, you idiot. They were back on the chase. We kept running toward the red and blue light bars flashing at the end of the street, thinking that was the light at the end of Dolkar’s endless tunnel of misery.

I wish I had known it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing was ever that simple.

What does their law say about domestic violence? I read up on it the day before. Prevents it explicitly, of course. Yet, the law was zilch compared to what people chose to believe and who they listened to in that village.

As we raced toward the flashing lights, I wish I could tell you I woke up from a restless dream and rolled into school the next day like hooks filmmakers use all the