Zhang Cōng Yàn was born on January 29th, 1987, the first day of the Chinese New Year. Her name means smart swallow.
The city was cold and wet and the walls were covered in a thin layer of grey fungus. I was sitting wrapped in a quilt with a hat on my head. My every breath turned to steam and condensed on the windows, trickling down the panes in little streams. I was alone, all by myself, with a hot-water bottle behind my back. It was raining. The polluted autumn air engulfed the university and all dormitories.
I saw her in the street, with a group of friends. It was dark, but her face was illuminated by the lantern light. I remember where she was standing, the way she laughed, her eyes and the tone of her voice. A boy on a scooter asked for directions. We looked at each other and that is how it began.
When she asked me if I'd like to visit her, I accepted without a moment’s hesitation.
A tiny village surrounded by mountains, with tombstones poking out here and there, fields of tangerines and February heat reaching 30 degrees… We arrived at a big iron gate covered with a small roof of brown tiles. The terraced houses were a mix of multi-story buildings and old traditional homes made from clay and stones. The first are a symbol of prosperity and investment in future generations. The second, the remains of traditional handiwork and poverty that are slowly slipping into the past.
A yellow dog and her parents came out to greet us. The sun was setting.
We sat down at a table stacked with shellfish from a nearby river. At the center of the table was steaming huo guo. I learnt how to use chopsticks and to open crabs without wasting any of the meat, and tried to keep up with all the food that kept appearing on my plate.
In my childhood I ate a lot of fish. My dad owned a pond where he bred carps. In July, when the nights were very warm, I would sit with my sister on the riverbank, taking care of the fish. When they needed more oxygen, we would open a dam to mix water from two reservoirs.
The air was sticky. The stars were falling.
Mìyǒu means closest friend.
Someone with whom you can sleep in one room and share all secrets.
Someone who is part of your small universe, for the rest of your life.
My grandpa loved me very much. He took care of the forest in the mountains, sleeping in a little wooden house halfway up a hill. He came down to the village only once a fortnight. When I was a small child, I would run up every morning to see him. We would go on walks together, while he checked nothing threatened the trees and animals. In the evening I ran down the same winding path back home.
When he was a young man he spent some time in prison. I don’t know why, maybe because he always said what he thought. He never wanted to talk about it with me.
Red protects from evil. Red paper cuttings, lanterns, garlands, inscriptions, good wishes, amulets... Red is Fú – fortune. Red – the color of communism. The carpet of firecracker scraps after New Year’s Day is red. Fertility is red like the seeds hidden in pomegranates. Red is warm energy from the center of every human, from within. Vitality and strength. Blood pumping through the veins. Everything that's alive is red.
