While waiting for spring in the ancient capital, I miss a woman who is in a foreign country…

   
What a coin­ci­dence yes­ter­day.
 
   
This morn­ing, Xiao­dan, an edi­tor I had­n’t seen in a while, dropped by unex­pect­ed­ly. We chat­ted about her recent­ly com­plet­ed book, “The Com­plete Works of Seaton’s Ani­mal Sto­ries,” and it was a delight­ful con­ver­sa­tion. How­ev­er, I’ll always remem­ber anoth­er book Xiao­dan lov­ing­ly edit­ed and pub­lished: “The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times.”
 
   
In the after­noon, I received two calls. I unex­pect­ed­ly dis­cov­ered that on this Thurs­day night, I had become a “free man” for the first time. I could go wher­ev­er I want­ed and do what­ev­er I want­ed. Haha! I imme­di­ate­ly thought of “Youth Unend­ing-Spir­i­tu­al Growth Group”, there is a chil­dren’s book club every Thurs­day night, but I nev­er had the chance to go before. Well,I opened Qing Wei Liao’s blog and saw that tonight’s dis­cus­sion was: “The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times”!
 
   
How could such a coin­ci­dence hap­pen? — I quick­ly texted An Lan, ask­ing if he could add me to the group. He replied, “Great! Come on, be there before 7.” — Haha, that’s heart­warm­ing. Lat­er, I learned that An Lan was still on the road.
 
   
There were still sev­er­al hours until sev­en o’clock. So, I spent the rest of the after­noon think­ing about the woman in a for­eign coun­try — Ms. Yoko Sano.
 
   
We met in Bei­jing in May 2007. I record­ed the fol­low­ing:
    [Review] Record of Yoko Sano’s 2007 Bei­jing Read­ers’ Meet­ing
 
   
She returned to Bei­jing that time to revis­it her child­hood home once again (and pos­si­bly for the last time):
    Yoko Sano’s life ends in Bei­jing (Bei­jing Youth Dai­ly)
 
   
This after­noon, I found the record­ing file again and lis­tened to it qui­et­ly.The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times, read by Yoko Sano and Tang Yam­ingI won­der if this beau­ti­ful lady is doing well now?
 
   
In 2007, near­ing her 70s, she was diag­nosed with can­cer and doc­tors gave her only two years to live. So, in May of that year, she decid­ed to return to the ancient cap­i­tal of Bei­jing, where she was born and spent her child­hood in a court­yard house at No. 16, a small alley­way. She said she was work­ing on a pic­ture book about the sky above the court­yard house.
 
   
In June 2009, she still had new works com­ing out, but the pic­ture book about the court­yard house had not yet been seen.
 
   
I think, no need to rush, I’d rather wait a lit­tle longer, until the spring of 2010, and then until the spring of next year…
 
   
In the evening, I walked all the way to Qing­weilai. In Bei­jing, an ancient cap­i­tal that is now not much dif­fer­ent from oth­er inter­na­tion­al metrop­o­lis­es, dur­ing the evening rush hour on a week­day, there is prob­a­bly no more pleas­ant way to get around than walk­ing.
 
   
Nor­mal­ly, when I walk down the street, I lis­ten to some­thing to replace the clam­or of traf­fic. But this evening, I hap­pi­ly recit­ed a poem to myself, obliv­i­ous to the sur­round­ings. The poem is called “The Day the Birds Dis­ap­peared from the Sky,” and it’s writ­ten by the Japan­ese poet Shuntaro Tanikawa—you might not be famil­iar with him, but you’ve undoubt­ed­ly heard the chil­dren’s song he wrote, “Astro Boy’s Song.”
 
   
This is a deeply prophet­ic poem, incred­i­bly pow­er­ful and deeply mov­ing. I won­dered how Yoko Sano fell in love with the poet? How did she become his wife (rumored to be his third wife)? How did they have a child? How did she con­tin­ue to cre­ate while rais­ing her child, and even one day, she saw the cat that had been reborn a mil­lion times? And how did they final­ly break up? …
 
   
I remem­bered what Mr. Sano said at the meet­ing: “I now under­stand that this book actu­al­ly reflects a wish of mine, my own wish.”
 
   
At the “Qing Wei Liao” book club, every­one had a great time chat­ting. What every­one said might have been some­thing I want­ed to say, or some­thing I had­n’t thought of but was also part of my under­stand­ing, and per­haps also some­thing Yoko Sano want­ed to express. Although she always insist­ed that she did­n’t think the sto­ry was that com­pli­cat­ed, she just had a sud­den inspi­ra­tion and quick­ly wrote it down and drew it.
 
   
How­ev­er, this writer and painter also said, “I express and burn every­thing in my life in my works.”
 
   
So, last night’s book club ses­sion also gave me a lot of inspi­ra­tion. I dis­cov­ered why those clas­sic fairy tales and pic­ture books are so cap­ti­vat­ing. One rea­son is their per­fect sim­plic­i­ty, omit­ting count­less details and leav­ing end­less blanks. Into these non-blanks and blanks, the author pours his or her entire life. And if read­ers can be equal­ly atten­tive, pour­ing their own life into the process of read­ing, burn­ing it out, they too can gain a com­plete life expe­ri­ence. So, a small book is mere­ly a medi­um through which we can read the great book of life.
 
   
This is prob­a­bly what Broth­er An Lan said, “What we read is our­selves.”
 
   
I would like to add that every “self” you read about is “I.” This “I” includes every­one who is read­ing this book, includ­ing Yoko Sano, and prob­a­bly also those who have not read this book.
 
   
Last night, the ques­tion that was asked and explained the most about this sto­ry was: Why did the tab­by cat fall in love with the white cat? This is a ques­tion that was rarely asked in the book clubs I par­tic­i­pat­ed in with chil­dren or moth­ers. It was real­ly inter­est­ing!
 
   
My answer is: the tab­by cat just hap­pened to grow up to be able to “see” the white cat and have the abil­i­ty to love her! — This answer is obvi­ous­ly talk­ing about myself, O(∩_∩)O haha~
 
   
In my mind, Sano is as beau­ti­ful as that white cat. To be hon­est, some­times I won­der if I were born 30 or 40 years ear­li­er, would I have the chance to imi­tate that tab­by cat and brave­ly say to the white cat, “Can I stay with you?”
 
   
This morn­ing, my wife and I were chat­ting about last night’s book club, and we almost simul­ta­ne­ous­ly remem­bered that in 2007, the three of us went to the meet­ing with Yoko Sano! What a coin­ci­dence! I half-jok­ing­ly said to her, “The more I look at you, the more you look like that white cat!” Hehe ^_^
 
   
Milan Kun­dera said that life is a sketch that can only be drawn once…
 
   
I wish Ms. Yoko Sano all the best!
 
Ajia …
Jan­u­ary 29, 2010, Bei­jing
 
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Yoko Sano vis­it­ed the For­bid­den City in May 2007
 
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Vis­it­ing my child­hood home, I met an old man in the alley who I had seen the last time I came back.
 
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There seemed to be a small square here before
 
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She just remem­bered that there used to be two trees at the entrance of the alley, but it was def­i­nite­ly not…
 
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The scene of play­ing in the yard with my broth­er in the sum­mer of my child­hood…
 

Attached is a short poem:

The day when the birds dis­ap­peared from the sky
Writ­ten by Shuntaro Tani­gawa and trans­lat­ed by Tahara

 
The day when the beasts dis­ap­peared from the for­est
The for­est is silent, hold your breath
The day when the beasts dis­ap­peared from the for­est
Peo­ple are still paving the way
 
The day when fish dis­ap­pear in the sea
The surg­ing waves of the sea are groans in vain
The day when fish dis­ap­pear in the sea
Peo­ple are still build­ing the port
 
The day when chil­dren dis­ap­peared from the streets
The streets became more live­ly
The day when chil­dren dis­ap­peared from the streets
Peo­ple are still build­ing parks
 
The days when I dis­ap­peared in the crowd
Peo­ple become very sim­i­lar to each oth­er
The days when I dis­ap­peared in the crowd
Peo­ple con­tin­ue to believe in the future
 
The day when the birds dis­ap­peared from the sky
The sky is qui­et­ly shed­ding tears
The day when the birds dis­ap­peared from the sky
Peo­ple con­tin­ue to sing in igno­rance