Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

¡°China has become the second largest economy, the world wants to know more about China. This is perfect timing for Chinese contemporary culture to decide its main priority: to define who we are on our terms, from literature to film industry, from visual art to music to indie pop. It¡¯s an opportunity not to be missed. It¡¯s time for us to choose direction.

Identity politics, cultural imperialism and define Asia, the three sensitive, almost taboo topics we touch upon [¡­] The avant-garde initiatives place China and Asia in the centre. It¡¯s a very different perspective, but a very organic and authentic perspective. From here, made here, and of here. It¡¯s a new perspective, and the new always decides what¡¯s familiar.

Placing Asia in the centre complicates perspectives, it is uniqueness and freshness born on the stage of a global/glocal economy. Edward Said, author of Orientalism, attempted to give a rational face to the cultural imperialism in his sequel, Culture and Imperialism. ¡°Just as none of us is outside or beyond geography, none of us is completely free from the struggle over geography. That struggle is complex and interesting because it is not only about soldiers and cannons but also about ideas, about forms, about images and imaginings.¡± Creating for somebody will be replaced by creating from somebody. Everything is possible. Affluence means influence. Creative industry is about power. China is on the verge of being a cultural ²õ³Ü±è±ð°ù±è´Ç·É±ð°ù.¡±

Fragment from Julie O¡¯Yang¡¯s essay on (defying) cultural georgraphy ¡ª Read?full article in XiN magazine autumn edition, pb. September 2013

Julie O¡¯Yang is an Europe-based fiction writer, essayist, and screenwriter. Her fiction, essays and film reviews have featured in international renowned publications. Check amazon.com?for her recent book titles. Currently Julie is working?on her next novel (the only statement that does not need to be updated from time to time;) ).

Julie O¡¯Yang |?Editor-in-Chief

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Cervical cancer cell, close-up portrait

Medea holding a sword: Roman fresco painting, Herculaneum, Naples, detail

Unravel

¡°Back home, back where we came from originally, the word for ¡°trouble¡± has both a masculine and feminine form. The literal translation would probably be ¡°unravel¡±, but trouble is what it means. These days the masculine is for big problems, and the feminine for smaller ones. Back then it was to distinguish between the troubles of men, and those of women. That spring day when my Grandmoth¡­er cried out the masculine form and smashed a dish, then threw another and began to cry; we knew, my sisters and I, that our Father would not be returning from the war.¡±? ¡ª by Doug Mathewson

Sun in German is feminine, Die Sonne. In Japan, the Sun is Goddess Amaterasu omikami (ÌìÕÕ´óÓùÉñ).
Enjoy your sunny weekend!

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The night that hides things from us

by Julie O¡¯Yang

¡°The village stands on the bank of the broad river with her white, wild water gushing forward to the east. Shhhimmeringo-chamchockpour-glissandi-ferochower!¡±

In the dark his voice lowered from a pressing, bottomless fortissimo to a driving undercurrent of hissing pianissimo. The Yangtze then turned into triplets of a recurring motif. Smooth, silver ripples traversing an immense level of rice fields, open to the horizon walled in by a range of blue peaks, and on the west a dark patch of woodland. This was the place he was born and raised, in a thatched hut on the hill overlooking half a mile of rustling rice paddies. In the shadow to the left, immediately adjacent to the cemetery that in the summer also served as playing ground for children, a Buddhist temple emerged dedicated to Kwannon-of-the-Eleven-Faces, accompanied by a shrine with a handsome tiled roof in honour of the Deity of Silkworms. All the details she had envisioned as she saw them vividly in her mind¡¯s eye, distinguishing every infinitesimal thread of an imaginary tapestry she could have perceived through the magic of his voice. His voice was the only proof that they were together in that moonless night ¨C the darkest of all nights ¨C on the 4th of June 1989 on the Tiananmen Square, in Beijing, China¡¯s capital.

¡°You never saw each other¡¯s face, did you?¡± Lune interrupted her mother¡¯s account of the day she was conceived.

¡°It was the night of oblivion. We shut our eyes in order to see. It was anonymous love. We were the nameless lovers. Nine months later, after long way round full of unlooked for ventures, I arrived in London and gave birth to you. I called you Lune, the moon child. You don¡¯t have a family name, because both his name and his body are erased forever ¨C crushed deliberately by the army tank.¡±

¡°The protestors were camping out on the Tiananmen Square, the Gate of Heavenly Peace. For how long?¡±

¡°44 days. We only met on the last night, a few hours before the People¡¯s Liberation Army moved into the streets of Beijing and opened fire on us. A danse macabre of 44 days ending in the horror on the 4th of June.¡±

¡°Lots of 4s in there. Do you believe it¡¯s written in the stars, mom?¡± The child knew that 4 has the same sound as ¡°Death¡± in Chinese she never learned to speak.

¡°Perhaps it was. I sang Der Tod und das M?dchen for him. Ich bin noch jung! Geh, lieber, Und r¨¹hre mich nicht an. Und r¨¹hre mich nicht an¡­¡®I¡¯m still young! Go, death. Don¡¯t touch me, don¡¯t touch me,¡¯¡± she hummed in a quavering mezzo soprano. ¡°I was going to take the entr¨¦e examination for the Beijing Central Conservatory shortly and all the time I was practising. Schubert turned out to be prophetic. But he »å¾±±ð»å!¡±

¡°Besides his voice, what else do you remember of the nameless lover?¡±

¡°His skin. That milky sheen like will-o¡¯-wisp down the bank of the Yangtze that I could only have imagined! His skin still makes me cry. It¡¯s difficult to find someone to take the place of the nameless lover¡­¡±

In the black, pitiless summer night his weight on hers strangely elevated her and made her float like a feather. They soared, their bodies fitly joined in young love, enkindled, luminescent and powder-white, almost angelic, like two sweethearts from a Chinese opera. His chilly touch in the sultry, oppressive hours of darkness drugged her and diminished her terror. It still haunted her, like Demon¡¯s fiddler cutting tender yet deep lines across your soul with his capricious, virtuous notes to leave you forever tormented and thrilled.

But Mother was not the only one who fed the demons from the past. Lune was diagnosed with a rare bone disease. Like Oskar from The Tin Drum, the girl didn¡¯t gain any height since the age of four. 4! ¡°Prenatal anxiety disorders. I give her ten years,¡± the English doctor had informed her mother dryly. But the child was strong and survived her medical condition that was tantamount to a persistent pain. Lune may never have had met the man the women called the nameless lover, yet she inherited the impenetrable, mercurial quality that seems only to belong to dead people. The child kept herself alive for a reason. She wanted to know the truth. The truth, you can bend it and twist it. Over the years truth had become an obsession. Lune wanted to know what the nameless lover looked like. She wanted to pronounce the sweet sound of the word she had never pronounced once in her life: daddy.

¡°Tell me about the Yangtze, will you?¡± the girl pursued. At the age of twenty two she still wanted her bedtime story, which was exactly the same one told the evening before.

¡°He told me that the Yangtze River is the longest river in Asia and third longest in the world, and that he was a dragon boat racer.¡± Breathing a sigh of tedium, Mother repeated the same sentence said yesterday. After years dealing with the sick child, she was exhausted, at the end of her rope. It seemed that not only the girl¡¯s body ceased to grow years ago, her mental age equalled to the number of trees in the Gobi. She didn¡¯t know Lune had been lying to her all these years. She didn¡¯t know anything as people often have no idea what¡¯s really going on in a child¡¯s head. The elfin, stubborn creatures who can love the way adults lie.

¡°Are all boys in China dragon boat racers?¡± Lune asked again.

¡°The boys who grew up on the river are, and they are good fishers. But your daddy was different. It was his childhood dream to become an Olympic Champion. He was a born dragon boat racer ¨C ¡±

¡°What does it mean?¡±

¡°It means he is a time traveller.¡± If it were true. How she longed to be touched by him again, now in broad daylight so they could look each other in the eye and say ¡°I love you¡±. Love was absent, waiting for death in her memory.

¡°Why he should be here with us then! Why doesn¡¯t he come to us on his dragon boat? He can still become a champion in one month time, in London!¡±

¡°He can¡¯t. If he did, that means someone must die. It MUST.¡±

¡°µþ³Ü³Ù why? How?¡±

¡°Because darling child, in this life we learn how to live; we learn how to die. There is always death and taxes.¡± That¡¯s what the protestors believed that brutal night two decades ago when they stood on the Tiananmen Square, voicing disapproval under the immense portrait of Chairman Mao, taken down by live fire and gnashed and minced as the military vehicles swept into the city. ¡°Free will¡± or ¡°Free kill¡±. One letter difference but that¡¯s all the choices there was. But for the first time China believed in change! For the first time China believed that she could change the course of the Yangtze. Change the old river that sticks to an old moon. Change old rules that are not better not worse but exactly the same. The same, unquestioned hardness, cruelness against its people and human race.

¡°Next, the tale of the nightingale?¡± the child shook her head, pretending to read from the list her mother made to help her remember things on the advice of the English doctor. Lune had heard the story hundreds of times and knew it by heart. This evening she wanted her mother to stay a little while longer, because this was the last time they spent together. Tonight, past midnight, the child will get up and sneak out of the house and take a walk to the Thames to meet someone. She had circled the date on her calendar, which was an ancient Chinese Moon calendar. The 5th day of the 5th Moon month.

¡°How often do I have to tell you, darling girl? It¡¯s not a nightingale. Jingwei bird is so small that it¡¯s almost invisible to people in China. Jingwei bird is the spirit of freedom. Legend tells that the bird lives in a city of gardens under the River Yangtze. Once upon a time, the youngest daughter of Emperor Yandi, the Emperor of Fire, went boating on the Eastern Sea. Suddenly a storm rose and her boat capsized. The girl was buried by surging waves. Her father, the emperor who loved her very much sent out the best dragon boat racers to search for her body. To prevent the fish from eating her remains, they threw rice cakes wrapped in lotus leaves in the river. This is the origin of the ancient sport that dates back to at least two thousand years. Each year in the summer, on the 5th day of the 5th Moon month, dragon boat racers from all over China would gather on the Yangtze. They would bring rows and rows of brightly decorated dragon boats to be lined up the long, wide river, and the spectators would throw their home-made rice cakes to their favourite dragon boat racers. The champion of the race is the fastest, cleverest boat who knows exactly how to plot a course through the festive chaos. The hero will receive loads of rice cakes at the end of the day plus flowers and love letters from girls.¡±

¡°Did they find the drowned girl?¡±

¡°For several weeks they had hunted for her body. One day something beached. It was a shoe, one of the pair the girl wore on the tragic day. Attached to the red silk they found a feather. People understood immediately that the girl was captured by the Dragon King who owned a palace under the Yangtze River, in the tangerine garden bounded by the subterranean city. It is said that the Dragon King saved people who drowned in his river. He fed them tangerines and let them grow wings so that one day they could travel back to the world they came from.¡±

¡°What¡¯s the journey like?¡±

¡°No one knows. I believe it¡¯s a passage through the womb hole that connects parallel worlds. A bit like Alice¡¯s looking glass, I would think. Weird, tough. Most people gave up. Few who made it are the real time travellers.¡±

¡°Did the daughter of the fire king make it?¡±

¡°The Dragon grew attached to the girl and didn¡¯t want her to leave him. He would come to her every day to feed her bite for bite for hours on end. Slowly the girl turned into a beautiful bird, with a shock of fiery feather on her little, round head and two red claws. But her body had the alternating bands of light and dark. Obscured this way, Jingwei appeared unseen for the mortal eye, for that was exactly how the Dragon King wanted it to be. Next he put her in a cage made of pure gold to make sure she wouldn¡¯t fly away! But then, on the 5th day of the 5th month, the tangerine moon rose above Yangtze, something that only happens every 823 years. It is a sign that the magic doors connecting the parallel worlds are open on the peculiar day. In the dead of night a young man went to the river, carrying his racing boat. He was one of the dragon boat racers who worked for the emperor. And although he had never had the courage to tell her, the young man had been in love with the drowned girl for a long time. Even now he couldn¡¯t believe that she was dead, since she was still alive in his heart! Tonight he made up his mind to speak the truth. He came to the shore, rolled up his trousers and moved his boat over the sad, wet pebbles towards the tumbling waterway; the guttural timbre of the Yangtze reminded him of a choked, shrieking flute. He told himself to be brave, not to be disheartened by the cold river. As he started to row to the middle of the water, the huge orange discus followed him behind his boat. He stopped rowing and whispered to the floating, orange face of the moon. ¡°Jingwei, Jingwei, say it ain¡¯t so,¡± he said. ¡°Jingwei Jingwei, I speak your name in spite of fear of your silence. Say nothing back, my sweet girl, but say you love me because I love you ever since the day I knew you were born. Jingwei, Jingwei¡­¡± The poor guy. He went on and on and was so single-minded until in the end his voice became hoarse, until he started to cry blood tears. At the crack of dawn, shortly before it would disappear behind the horizon, the circle of burnt orange rumpled in water, and ruptured like a wrinkle in time. The flowing river stopped in its track. Arrested in the magic, for the first time the Yangtze halted the continuation of its ancient monotone. Then the water started to travel again, first in jerky movements which became a wild roaring of tones and notes like an angry musician playing from his raw strings. From the restless, unremitting stream a thin thread of light materialised piercing the morning air. The dragon boat racer caught a moving mark hardly larger than half his fist. A little girl took wing to the first sun, with a shock of orange hair on her little, round head and two red claws, and her body had the alternating bands of light and dark on it so that it was obscured and appeared unseen in broad daylight. The end.¡± Mother stood up to kiss her child on her forehead. ¡°Good night, little one! See you in the morning!¡±

But I won¡¯t be there anymore, the little one answered determinedly in silence.

The clock in the living room struck twelve times. Lune counted in the dark. She got up and groped for the clothes hidden under her mattress. The white layered summer dress she had had for years, which still fit perfectly around her not fully formed body. As she arranged the straps on her childish shoulders, she stuck her head out of the window to find a strangely clear night. A huge tangerine moon greeted the sultry, tropical night in the city reigned by a damp, grizzled wind from the ocean most time of the year. This year the 5th day of the 5th month of the moon calendar fell in mid-summer. Still more than one month away from the Summer Games so he would have some time left to train himself and become an Olympic medallist! She pondered, picturing the first dragon boat champion in the midst of the Olympic stadium. The first ever!

The huge moon coloured the apathetic waves of the Thames in an oily brew of black and orange, cascading in soundless, sleepy motion under the bridge. Lune climbed over the railing and mounted the cement girder. Someone called from the dark; she had to hurry.

She closed her eyes, ruminating the words her mother said last night: ¡°If he returned, that means someone else must die. Death and taxes.¡± The golden moments in the stream of life rushed past her, she saw nothing but sand. The Thames spoke softly in muddy undertone. A moment before she fell and sank in rings of liquid flames, she saw the dragon figurehead rising from the black water, and the face behind it, luminescent, powder-white, almost angelic. ¡°Daddy, call me Jingwei, I¡¯m free,¡± she whispered. The little girl lifted her layered summer dress like a white heron and floated to dreamland. She made love to the sky. She let her hair hang down. She was beginning to fly. From above, far, far, above, she saw her father and mother kissing in broad daylight in the midst of Olympic stadium. They are both champions, the freedom fighters, and around them people are throwing rice cakes and roses at the winners. They are the heroes.

?

*The Night that hides things from us was first published in 9.69 seconds Anthology (Vaani, London, 2012) on the occasion of London Olympic Games.

{Note from the author: The Tiananmen Square protests of 1989, also known as the June 4th Incident were a series of demonstrations in and near Tiananmen Square in Beijing in the People¡¯s Republic of China (PRC). The pro-democracy movement lasted seven weeks. Hundreds of thousands students and citizens all over China demanded open political system and freedom of speech. On 20 May the Chinese government declared martial law. No military action took place until 4 June, when the tanks and troops of the People¡¯s Liberation Army moved into the streets of Beijing, using live fire while proceeding to Tiananmen Square to clear the area of protestors. Until this day the exact number of civilian deaths is unknown, the Tiananmen Massacre remains a subject of controversy in China.}

*

Julie O¡¯Yang, Europe-based novelist, screenwriter/filmmaker & visual artist, will soon launch China Noir, a political thriller; plus a resplendent 10-epidode drama series set in the Tang Dynasty. Her fiction, short fiction, essays and film reviews have featured in international renowned publications. Her most recent title, Butterfly, a novel, received praises from global audiences as well as literary reviewers and critics around the world. Visit for more.

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Umi, the kiss of the ocean

by Julie O¡¯Yang

**Short sotry first published in Japan Anthology, Pirene¡¯s Fountain, Chicago, 2011. See cover below.

His name was Kawa, meaning river.

Today Kawa gave a party to celebrate his 9th birthday. It was not the kind of party he had expected, since everyone told him 9 is a cool number. But his grandfather did come when others had left. Grandpa brought him a very special present.

¡®I found it in the Pacific when I went out fishing one summer night last year. I have kept it for this occasion,¡¯ Grandpa said, showing him something he held out in his fisherman¡¯s palm.

¡®What is it, Ojiisan?¡¯ Kawa cried out, his eyes glued to the object of almost unbearable brightness, which seems to rouse from an infinite slumber as he touched it. Dazed, Kawa felt a shudder through his entire body.

¡®Are you going to take it or not?¡¯ Grandpa urged. ¡®Has your mother already told you 9 is the number of forever, kyu? When she gave birth to you, you were so little, we didn¡¯t think you would make it. I guess it¡¯s our genes. I came six weeks too early, on New Year¡¯s eve. My mother believed it was her fish soup I couldn¡¯t wait to taste! You collect them, don¡¯t you, boy. Well, add this one to your treasure trunk. Go on, don¡¯t be shy. It¡¯s a magic charm of unimaginable power. Wait and see,¡¯ a smile flickered on the fisherman¡¯s face.

¡®The boy doesn¡¯t collect marbles anymore,¡¯ his mother interposed. ¡®Kawa-san is a pianist now, giving his first solo concert soon!¡¯

¡®But yeah, of course. I almost forgot to thank you for the invitation, Kawa-san! Believe me, this is not a marble, this is a star fallen into the ocean from the sky!¡¯

¡®Whoa!¡¯ Kawa let go a small sound. He nipped the bright sphere between his gingerly fingers. It was only a tad bigger than a marble, with convincing weight. He felt convinced by Grandpa¡¯s words, because when he played Debussy, his favourite composer, his hands moving on the keys, he had the feeling he was touching the stars in the sky, ebony and ivory stars. He was guided into the realm of forever!

He peered again into the depth of the shining in his hand. A sudden storm of nausea hit upon him, as if the ground had suddenly turned liquid ebbing away under their feet.

¡®Are you all right, Kawa?¡¯ his mother flashed him a worried look, reaching out one hand to feel the pale face covered with a thin film of sweat. ¡®You haven¡¯t caught a cold, have you? This weather is treacherous.¡¯

It had been hellishly hot the past few days, it was not even spring yet.

Kawa pushed his mother away. ¡®I¡¯m OK. Grandpa, tell me how you found it¡­the Pacific, you said?¡¯

¡®I have dived for conch shells my whole life,¡¯ Grandpa answered, detouring, the way old people talk. ¡®We fishers believe every shell holds a dream of the ocean, a memory. What do you think, Kawa, am I a dream diver or a memory keeper?¡¯

¡®What kind of memory, Grandpa?¡¯

¡®Shells are like fossils. Every loop, every mark and hole can tell what has happened in the past. People, mythology and ships; earthquakes, volcanoes and tsunami¡­¡¯

¡®What is tsunami?¡¯

¡®How many times do I have to tell you, my boy? When the tsunami hits, it¡¯s impossible to imagine what that is like,¡¯ the fisher raised his eyes high to look in the air, his clear voice clouded in awe. ¡®Your grandma used to work as a nurse in a sanctuary a long time ago. She told me when a patient got unmanageable, they¡¯d always try the art therapy. They give the patient paper and crayons and tell him to draw the Big Washing. Because tsunami is something beyond a sane man¡¯s comprehension ¨C you won¡¯t forget what I told you last time, eh? When the ocean starts to disappear?¡¯

¡®Drop everything and run.¡¯

¡®Even when you are kissing a girl on the moon-lit beach, drag her up a hill first thing. Now, you were asking where I found it, Umi?¡¯

¡®Umi is her name?¡¯ Umi,the ocean.

Kawa didn¡¯t know why he said ¡°her¡±, it just felt right for him. Tempted to steal glances, not quite knowing what to expect, he discerned, to his amazement, that inside the blinding brilliance it had slowly turned a cobalt blue. Mini tidal waves multiplied from its core to the edge, fading and starting all over again. Celestial sea.

¡®I told you it has magic, now you believe me!¡¯ Grandpa said, winking. ¡®I found it on the day of Tanabata. As usual, I went out to the water to talk to your grandma.¡¯

Tanabata is an ancient tradition. On the 7th day of the 7th month, the two lovers, Vega and Altair, two stars who are in love but separated by the Milky Way are reunited for one night, on the heavenly bridge made by magpies lining up in endless rows. That was the story at least. On this day swarms of birds would be found flying in one direction to finally disappear behind the horizon. Some regarded it as an auspicious sight, a fabulous sight as it is; others found it gloomy, like a Delphic oracle, always a bag full of surprises. Come what may, Tanabata is the traditional Valentine¡¯s Day. Grandpa and Grandma met each other during the festive occasion long ago. Even after she died, Grandpa celebrated Tanabata, alone. He would sail out in his little fishing boat to somewhere on the open sea. Kawa¡¯s mother had tried to convince the stubborn man that he was too old for this kind of adventure, but without much success.

¡®I prepared my boat in the early evening,¡¯ Grandpa continued. ¡®I had cleaned it, it SHONE like a spring blossom. I packed a little jar of wine with me and some sweet seafood, ready to fight the sea monsters ¨C that¡¯s why your Grandma fell in love with me, she always said I looked like Moby Dick when we first met.¡¯The old man chuckled, baring his unflawed teeth.

¡®Now you ask,¡¯ he paused to think for a moment . ¡®I think it was Umi that found me instead of the other way around ¨C ¡¯

¡®±á´Ç·É?¡¯

¡®I heard it. It called ³¾±ð.¡¯

¡®You mean Umi spoke to you?¡¯

¡®Didn¡¯t you know, my little pianist? The sea is absolute music. You can never get tired of sea like you never of love. Flute for cooing conversation: you are seducing the girl, you make her believe you will rip out your heart this instant to feed her, and she

threatens she will eat it out your hand right away! Piccolo, oboes, clarinet, bassoon, contrabassoon, trumpet, cornets, trombone, tuba, cymbal, triangle, shrieking strings¡­The lovers are going through every stage of love making just like going through life ¨C you give everything. His gossamer stroke in her hair, her translucent kiss on his throat¡­every gesture, every minimal movement a worthy, exciting quest. Finally the two of them have toiled enough, then comes the bass drum. Thunders bring along the ultimate question: What is this? Will it last?¡¯

Kawa was surprised to know that Grandpa was an expert. He had just named almost every orchestral component of Debussy, La mer.

His mother laughed. ¡®It must be the sake that made you talk this way. You found the answer to your BIG question, father?¡¯

¡®I thought I was drunk too. But the answer was illuminated from below, a frothy yellow and pink light like a shattered neon. At first I believed it was a giant shell, you know, the ones that give light in the dark. I quickly stepped out of my clothes and jumped into water to find out. Then I saw it, suspended in midair, a calmness absorbing all the chaos in itself in order to give birth to¡­a kiss.¡¯

¡®A kiss?¡¯

¡®Katsushika Hokusai? He depicted true love¡¯s first kiss in that famous print of his, Tsunami. This is how I found it. I named it ¡°umi no fukami¡±,depths of the sea. When I held Umi in my hand, I didn¡¯t know why, but I was crying. Keep it. She is yours.¡¯

After the concert, Kawa and his mother boarded the train back home. The route was Kawa¡¯s favourite, with the bullet train curving along the east coast, hugging the green and grey cliff at the back, the Pacific a stone¡¯s throw away, white chains of wave crashing without ever being exhausted. He loved the unhelpful passion, wild, wasted.

¡®Let¡¯s visit the temple, shall we?¡¯ His mother suddenly decided that she wanted to stop at the large Buddhist temple complex she had once been to as a child. ¡®It¡¯s a lovely town with inns and hot springs. Buy some mochi cakes while you wait for me outside.¡¯

¡®But I don¡¯t like mochi, you know that, Okaasan,¡¯ Kawa complained. He didn¡¯t like sweets, neither did he temples. But he understood his mother. She wanted to pray for Grandpa who passed away one week ago.

¡®The pink cakes here are delicious. Next month, in the hanabi season, they will be selling them in piles. All fancy tastes cut into flower shapes, offer food for cherry blossom goddesses and sea demons.¡¯ His mother made a ridiculous face to cheer him up.

¡®Wait for me at the tree, I won¡¯t be long,¡¯ she instructed as the train came to a halt.

Kawa sat down under the large Zelkova tree facing the ocean. He didn¡¯t know the Pacific could be calm despite its name. He ate the rice cake with gusto. He didn¡¯t have lunch; before the concert he was too nervous to think food. Munching, Kawa felt sad. Grandpa would be proud of him if he had heard him playing Debussy. ¡®Kawa-san you are a genius,¡¯ he would have said, ¡®writing a symphonic poem, dancing on stars of ebony and ivory.¡¯ His mother had had his ash spread out over the ocean from his fishing boat, Moby Dick went back where he belonged.

He put the rest of the rice cake aside and took out his talisman. Held against the sun, in the peculiar translucency a shadow curved like a rainbow. He thought of Grandpa.

¡®The vision stone is a point in space that contains all other points,¡¯ he had told Kawa. ¡®Anyone who gazes into it can see everything in the universe. Umi will give you the answer you look for!¡¯

¡®But I¡¯m not looking for an answer. I¡¯m looking for a question!¡¯ Kawa whispered, holding the brilliant star to his eyes. The rainbow pulsed inside, filled with shots of orange floods. Glowing intensely, suddenly, it split into a loop hole, bleeding. The dream of last

night rushed back to him, in accurate, heartfelt details. The bright, liquefied silhouette touched his face and called his name, Kawa, my river. Is she the tooth fairy his mother talked about? He had never met her before but it was as if he had known her his entire life ¨C the life before this life.

A hundred yards away the ocean retreated without Kawa¡¯s noticing. When it came back again, Kawa raised his eyes to the sky smashed to smithereens, wiped out. A lazuline, abysmal blue wall rose to ink black, liquid flames, foaming, ear-splitting rage, gashed open by its own, unknown strength. True love¡¯s first kiss. From the bowels of the earth came a ferocious, unruly, unreasonable music. Kawa dropped the stone in his hand. He saw the gazelle eyes he remembered from his dream, dark, pure tiger green¡­

Say Sea, Take Me! I¡¯m Kawa¡­He muttered. The ocean didn¡¯t wait for the feeble, puny little spot to finish his sentence. It¡¯s that kiss¡­the one you lose yourself in.

Umi, the kiss of the ocean

by Julie O¡¯Yang

**Short sotry first published in Japan Anthology, Pirene¡¯s Fountain, Chicago, 2011. See cover below.

His name was Kawa, meaning river.

Today Kawa gave a party to celebrate his 9th birthday. It was not the kind of party he had expected, since everyone told him 9 is a cool number. But his grandfather did come when others had left. Grandpa brought him a very special present.

¡®I found it in the Pacific when I went out fishing one summer night last year. I have kept it for this occasion,¡¯ Grandpa said, showing him something he held out in his fisherman¡¯s palm.

¡®What is it, Ojiisan?¡¯ Kawa cried out, his eyes glued to the object of almost unbearable brightness, which seems to rouse from an infinite slumber as he touched it. Dazed, Kawa felt a shudder through his entire body.

¡®Are you going to take it or not?¡¯ Grandpa urged. ¡®Has your mother already told you 9 is the number of forever, kyu? When she gave birth to you, you were so little, we didn¡¯t think you would make it. I guess it¡¯s our genes. I came six weeks too early, on New Year¡¯s eve. My mother believed it was her fish soup I couldn¡¯t wait to taste! You collect them, don¡¯t you, boy. Well, add this one to your treasure trunk. Go on, don¡¯t be shy. It¡¯s a magic charm of unimaginable power. Wait and see,¡¯ a smile flickered on the fisherman¡¯s face.

¡®The boy doesn¡¯t collect marbles anymore,¡¯ his mother interposed. ¡®Kawa-san is a pianist now, giving his first solo concert soon!¡¯

¡®But yeah, of course. I almost forgot to thank you for the invitation, Kawa-san! Believe me, this is not a marble, this is a star fallen into the ocean from the sky!¡¯

¡®Whoa!¡¯ Kawa let go a small sound. He nipped the bright sphere between his gingerly fingers. It was only a tad bigger than a marble, with convincing weight. He felt convinced by Grandpa¡¯s words, because when he played Debussy, his favourite composer, his hands moving on the keys, he had the feeling he was touching the stars in the sky, ebony and ivory stars. He was guided into the realm of forever!

He peered again into the depth of the shining in his hand. A sudden storm of nausea hit upon him, as if the ground had suddenly turned liquid ebbing away under their feet.

¡®Are you all right, Kawa?¡¯ his mother flashed him a worried look, reaching out one hand to feel the pale face covered with a thin film of sweat. ¡®You haven¡¯t caught a cold, have you? This weather is treacherous.¡¯

It had been hellishly hot the past few days, it was not even spring yet.

Kawa pushed his mother away. ¡®I¡¯m OK. Grandpa, tell me how you found it¡­the Pacific, you said?¡¯

¡®I have dived for conch shells my whole life,¡¯ Grandpa answered, detouring, the way old people talk. ¡®We fishers believe every shell holds a dream of the ocean, a memory. What do you think, Kawa, am I a dream diver or a memory keeper?¡¯

¡®What kind of memory, Grandpa?¡¯

¡®Shells are like fossils. Every loop, every mark and hole can tell what has happened in the past. People, mythology and ships; earthquakes, volcanoes and tsunami¡­¡¯

¡®What is tsunami?¡¯

¡®How many times do I have to tell you, my boy? When the tsunami hits, it¡¯s impossible to imagine what that is like,¡¯ the fisher raised his eyes high to look in the air, his clear voice clouded in awe. ¡®Your grandma used to work as a nurse in a sanctuary a long time ago. She told me when a patient got unmanageable, they¡¯d always try the art therapy. They give the patient paper and crayons and tell him to draw the Big Washing. Because tsunami is something beyond a sane man¡¯s comprehension ¨C you won¡¯t forget what I told you last time, eh? When the ocean starts to disappear?¡¯

¡®Drop everything and run.¡¯

¡®Even when you are kissing a girl on the moon-lit beach, drag her up a hill first thing. Now, you were asking where I found it, Umi?¡¯

¡®Umi is her name?¡¯ Umi,the ocean.

Kawa didn¡¯t know why he said ¡°her¡±, it just felt right for him. Tempted to steal glances, not quite knowing what to expect, he discerned, to his amazement, that inside the blinding brilliance it had slowly turned a cobalt blue. Mini tidal waves multiplied from its core to the edge, fading and starting all over again. Celestial sea.

¡®I told you it has magic, now you believe me!¡¯ Grandpa said, winking. ¡®I found it on the day of Tanabata. As usual, I went out to the water to talk to your grandma.¡¯

Tanabata is an ancient tradition. On the 7th day of the 7th month, the two lovers, Vega and Altair, two stars who are in love but separated by the Milky Way are reunited for one night, on the heavenly bridge made by magpies lining up in endless rows. That was the story at least. On this day swarms of birds would be found flying in one direction to finally disappear behind the horizon. Some regarded it as an auspicious sight, a fabulous sight as it is; others found it gloomy, like a Delphic oracle, always a bag full of surprises. Come what may, Tanabata is the traditional Valentine¡¯s Day. Grandpa and Grandma met each other during the festive occasion long ago. Even after she died, Grandpa celebrated Tanabata, alone. He would sail out in his little fishing boat to somewhere on the open sea. Kawa¡¯s mother had tried to convince the stubborn man that he was too old for this kind of adventure, but without much success.

¡®I prepared my boat in the early evening,¡¯ Grandpa continued. ¡®I had cleaned it, it SHONE like a spring blossom. I packed a little jar of wine with me and some sweet seafood, ready to fight the sea monsters ¨C that¡¯s why your Grandma fell in love with me, she always said I looked like Moby Dick when we first met.¡¯The old man chuckled, baring his unflawed teeth.

¡®Now you ask,¡¯ he paused to think for a moment . ¡®I think it was Umi that found me instead of the other way around ¨C ¡¯

¡®±á´Ç·É?¡¯

¡®I heard it. It called ³¾±ð.¡¯

¡®You mean Umi spoke to you?¡¯

¡®Didn¡¯t you know, my little pianist? The sea is absolute music. You can never get tired of sea like you never of love. Flute for cooing conversation: you are seducing the girl, you make her believe you will rip out your heart this instant to feed her, and she

threatens she will eat it out your hand right away! Piccolo, oboes, clarinet, bassoon, contrabassoon, trumpet, cornets, trombone, tuba, cymbal, triangle, shrieking strings¡­The lovers are going through every stage of love making just like going through life ¨C you give everything. His gossamer stroke in her hair, her translucent kiss on his throat¡­every gesture, every minimal movement a worthy, exciting quest. Finally the two of them have toiled enough, then comes the bass drum. Thunders bring along the ultimate question: What is this? Will it last?¡¯

Kawa was surprised to know that Grandpa was an expert. He had just named almost every orchestral component of Debussy, La mer.

His mother laughed. ¡®It must be the sake that made you talk this way. You found the answer to your BIG question, father?¡¯

¡®I thought I was drunk too. But the answer was illuminated from below, a frothy yellow and pink light like a shattered neon. At first I believed it was a giant shell, you know, the ones that give light in the dark. I quickly stepped out of my clothes and jumped into water to find out. Then I saw it, suspended in midair, a calmness absorbing all the chaos in itself in order to give birth to¡­a kiss.¡¯

¡®A kiss?¡¯

¡®Katsushika Hokusai? He depicted true love¡¯s first kiss in that famous print of his, Tsunami. This is how I found it. I named it ¡°umi no fukami¡±,depths of the sea. When I held Umi in my hand, I didn¡¯t know why, but I was crying. Keep it. She is yours.¡¯

After the concert, Kawa and his mother boarded the train back home. The route was Kawa¡¯s favourite, with the bullet train curving along the east coast, hugging the green and grey cliff at the back, the Pacific a stone¡¯s throw away, white chains of wave crashing without ever being exhausted. He loved the unhelpful passion, wild, wasted.

¡®Let¡¯s visit the temple, shall we?¡¯ His mother suddenly decided that she wanted to stop at the large Buddhist temple complex she had once been to as a child. ¡®It¡¯s a lovely town with inns and hot springs. Buy some mochi cakes while you wait for me outside.¡¯

¡®But I don¡¯t like mochi, you know that, Okaasan,¡¯ Kawa complained. He didn¡¯t like sweets, neither did he temples. But he understood his mother. She wanted to pray for Grandpa who passed away one week ago.

¡®The pink cakes here are delicious. Next month, in the hanabi season, they will be selling them in piles. All fancy tastes cut into flower shapes, offer food for cherry blossom goddesses and sea demons.¡¯ His mother made a ridiculous face to cheer him up.

¡®Wait for me at the tree, I won¡¯t be long,¡¯ she instructed as the train came to a halt.

Kawa sat down under the large Zelkova tree facing the ocean. He didn¡¯t know the Pacific could be calm despite its name. He ate the rice cake with gusto. He didn¡¯t have lunch; before the concert he was too nervous to think food. Munching, Kawa felt sad. Grandpa would be proud of him if he had heard him playing Debussy. ¡®Kawa-san you are a genius,¡¯ he would have said, ¡®writing a symphonic poem, dancing on stars of ebony and ivory.¡¯ His mother had had his ash spread out over the ocean from his fishing boat, Moby Dick went back where he belonged.

He put the rest of the rice cake aside and took out his talisman. Held against the sun, in the peculiar translucency a shadow curved like a rainbow. He thought of Grandpa.

¡®The vision stone is a point in space that contains all other points,¡¯ he had told Kawa. ¡®Anyone who gazes into it can see everything in the universe. Umi will give you the answer you look for!¡¯

¡®But I¡¯m not looking for an answer. I¡¯m looking for a question!¡¯ Kawa whispered, holding the brilliant star to his eyes. The rainbow pulsed inside, filled with shots of orange floods. Glowing intensely, suddenly, it split into a loop hole, bleeding. The dream of last

night rushed back to him, in accurate, heartfelt details. The bright, liquefied silhouette touched his face and called his name, Kawa, my river. Is she the tooth fairy his mother talked about? He had never met her before but it was as if he had known her his entire life ¨C the life before this life.

A hundred yards away the ocean retreated without Kawa¡¯s noticing. When it came back again, Kawa raised his eyes to the sky smashed to smithereens, wiped out. A lazuline, abysmal blue wall rose to ink black, liquid flames, foaming, ear-splitting rage, gashed open by its own, unknown strength. True love¡¯s first kiss. From the bowels of the earth came a ferocious, unruly, unreasonable music. Kawa dropped the stone in his hand. He saw the gazelle eyes he remembered from his dream, dark, pure tiger green¡­

Say Sea, Take Me! I¡¯m Kawa¡­He muttered. The ocean didn¡¯t wait for the feeble, puny little spot to finish his sentence. It¡¯s that kiss¡­the one you lose yourself in.

*In memoriam of the May 4th Movement*

May Fourth Movement, intellectual revolution and sociopolitical reform movement that occurred in China in 1917¨C21. The movement was directed toward national independence, emancipation of the individual, and rebuilding society and culture.

In 1915, in the face of Japanese encroachment on China, young intellectuals, inspired by ¡°New Youth¡± (Xinqingnian), a monthly magazine edited by the iconoclastic intellectual revolutionary Chen Duxiu, began agitating for the reform and strengthening of Chinese society. As part of this New Culture Movement, they attacked traditional Confucian ideas and exalted Western ideas, Mr. Sci(ence) and Mr. De(mocracy). The movement also marked the birth of the Chinese Communist Party.

Chen Duxiu: the founding father of New Culture Movement/May 4th Movement. May 4th served as?turning point in China; it was a seminal event that radicalised Chinese intellectual thought. Their ¡°new thought¡± and ¡°new literature¡±?would inspire and dominate the intellectual revolution and sociopolitical reform for decades to come.

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Newspaper ads from the New Era

¡°Ook Hollandse lezers kunnen wat opsteken in het nieuwe blad XiN, voor de Chinese diaspora¡± Janna Laeven?wrote in the Netherlands¡¯ daily evening newspaper?NRC. Below is?a PDF file of the NRC media section, for a good?impression:

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>>>Wiki has one English page about NRC Handelsblad, just for curiosity¡¯s sake: ?

//

Julie O¡¯Yang | Editor-in-Chief

XiN Media

Badhuisweg 74

2587 CL The Hague

The Netherlands

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