Extra Chapter 18
Star Calendar 278, September 21, Clear
Today Baldy is going to kindergarten. In the morning when I called him to wake up, his four paws firmly grasped the blanket and refused to get out of bed.
He complained in a pitiful voice, “Papa, I’m grown into the bed!”
Normally when he doesn’t have school, Baldy can wake up at eight, but for school he has to get up at seven-ten.
I simply wrapped Baldy in the blanket and brought him down from the bed. When I carried Baldy to the bathroom, I saw Bobo, who was dressed neatly, standing in front of the window with hands pressed against the panes and his little nose slightly tilted, sticking to the glass —
He tiptoed to look outside.
There’s a small balcony outside, with several pots of flowers and some vegetables planted. Last night when I was watering the plants, I found a mud nest blown off by the wind next to the flower pots.
A whole family of birds once lived in that nest, but after the fledglings grew up, they all flew away, leaving only an empty mud nest under our eaves.
I think during the month our entire family was away from Star 17, on some rainy night, this mud nest got wet and was blown off by a strong wind, finally landing on the balcony.
I had just showered last night and was afraid of getting my hands dirty, so I didn’t clean up the mud nest in time. Come to think of it, I’ve spared this bird’s nest twice before.
The first time was in the spring after the swallows flew away. I once wanted to clean up that mud nest, but Bobo stopped me with his voice.
I still remember he held onto my pants leg, softly saying to me, “Papa, if the swallows come back next year and find their home gone, what will they do?”
Bobo might have had some special feelings for that nest. In the spring not long after Bobo was born, swallows came to nest here and hatched their chicks. At that time, little Bobo would look up at the bird’s nest on the round window every day.
Once, out of curiosity, I asked Bobo, “What do you see when you go to see the bird’s nest every day? Do you know how many chicks are in the nest?”
Because from his angle, he could only occasionally see the adult swallows flying out to forage.
But to my surprise, Bobo nodded seriously and said to me, “There are five baby swallows.”
I stood on a chair to look at the swallow’s nest, and sure enough, I found five baby swallows. The group of baby swallows must have heard the noise coming from my side and collectively stretched their necks, opening their mouths towards me.
Their appearance waiting to be fed wasn’t the least bit cute; I found it rather ugly. I asked Bobo if he wanted to see the baby swallows, and Bobo nodded and said he did, so I put Bobo on my shoulder and showed him.
I asked him, “How do you know there are five baby swallows?”
Bobo earnestly told me, “I heard them. Each baby swallow’s chirp is different.”
Those swallows would chirp incessantly every early morning.
To me, every “chirp” sounded the same, and I didn’t know how Bobo could distinguish different chirps.
Thinking of this, my steps carrying Baldy to the bathroom paused. “What are you looking at?” I asked Bobo.
Bobo said, “Papa, the swallows’ home fell down. Do you think they will come back next year?”
I don’t know.
Bobo looked back outside, his gaze landing on the balcony. He softly, almost to himself, said, “They can’t come back…”
I didn’t understand what Bobo meant.
After kindergarten today, when I picked Baldy and Bobo up, I saw Bobo resting his little head against the car window, humming softly, “The sun sets and will rise again tomorrow, flowers wither but bloom again next year, beautiful little birds disappear once gone, my youth little bird is gone forever~ my youth little bird is gone forever…”
What was Bobo thinking?
Star Calendar 278, September 22, Light Rain
I was awakened by the sound of autumn rain tapping against the windows. When I opened my eyes, I suddenly saw Bobo had opened the large, field-shaped window, a small side window.
He stood on a small stool, stretching his hand outside to catch the rainwater.
I don’t know when Bobo woke up. I’ve grown accustomed to the small movements of Baldy and Bobo, sometimes they can’t wake me up. Like Baldy’s little snoring, and like Bobo’s quiet getting up.
Today I took Baldy and Bobo to school because it was raining. Baldy and Bobo wore their new raincoats, I held a large black umbrella, and we slowly walked in the rain. Baldy was delighted with his rain boots and raincoat, thinking he was fully armed and not afraid of getting his clothes wet.
So he deliberately stepped into the puddles, making a “splash” each time, splashing water everywhere. Today he wasn’t a little tractor but a tiny water truck.
I picked up this little water truck to prevent him from splashing clean Bobo next to him.
As we approached kindergarten, the rain suddenly stopped. A rainbow appeared in the sky, and in that instant, everything in this world seemed to have been washed clean by the rain, appearing so pure and beautiful.
“Papa, what’s this?”
Baldy exclaimed loudly upon seeing the rainbow.
The guard heard Baldy’s words and came out of the guard room, crouching in front of Baldy,
“Little Baldy, have you seen a water truck? The water flows out of the top of the car with a splash.”
With the two fingers of the hand broken, he drew an arc in the air.
Fingers stopped at the end of the arc, “On a sunny day, there will be a small rainbow here, chasing after the water truck all the time.”
Baldy’s blue eyes flickered, filled with yearning, “Wow—this is great—”
The old guard who retired from Star Wars used only his remaining fingers to wipe the small drops of water from Baldy’s nose.
“Go to class quickly, you haven’t been here for a long time, you should listen to the teacher’s lecture.”
The tail in the raincoat swung, Baldy leaned at the entrance of the school, asking, “Where is the sprinkler?”
“After school, Little Baldy came to ask me, and this old man can’t remember now.”
He patted Little Baldy’s shoulder, urging him to hurry into kindergarten, then turned to Bobo and chuckled, “Is Bobo still thinking about ‘one flower, one world’ today?”
Bobo shook his head and softly replied, “Thinking about rain.”
“Bobo thinks about so many things. Hurry off to class!”
I watched the backs of Bobo and Baldy as they walked away. Baldy deliberately stomped into the water, splashing happily. Bobo walked slowly, taking off the hood of his raincoat and looking at the rainbow in the sky every few steps.
“The ground is littered with coins, yet he looks up and sees the moon.” – Maugham
Suddenly, I recalled this phrase and Bobo’s full name, He Zhuoyue.
I am a failed father; I haven’t even understood my own child better than a gatekeeper.
“One flower, one world, one leaf, one bodhi.”
This was a phrase that Ruge mentioned when he told the story of the little monk. I’ve always known Baldy likes the little monk, but I never knew that Bobo liked ‘one flower, one world’.
Baldy is an outgoing child. Whatever he likes, he talks about incessantly, clinging to me all day long, telling me everything he likes and dislikes.
Bobo is different. He doesn’t cling to people; he enjoys being alone. Sometimes I can’t even find him. He always manages to find a quiet place for himself, staying there for a long time. At those times, I’m hesitant to disturb him.
Bobo’s personal space is so small and so quiet. It feels like if I enter, I’ll disrupt that small space.
Tonight, I asked Bobo if we could throw away the mud nest on the balcony. I forgot to clean it up yesterday, and today when I remembered, my first thought was whether Bobo would mind.
Bobo nodded in agreement, saying he was ready to help.
Bobo and I cleaned the balcony together. He wore little gloves and put the broken bird’s nest pieces into a bag. It was a quiet autumn evening, no cicadas, no croaking, and no annoying buzzing.
“Does Bobo like rainy days?” I asked him.
Bobo pursed his lips, smiling shyly. He didn’t say he liked them, nor did he say he didn’t. I remember when he was born, he used to smile broadly with his toothless mouth, so sweetly.
When did he become shy about smiling like this?
“Like it,” Bobo answered me.
“Does Bobo like stretching his hand outside the window to catch rainwater?” I continued.
Maybe I’m really not good at chatting. My questions probably carried a hint of pushing forward. What Bobo said next made me regret even more.
Bobo seemed uneasy.
“Dad, did I wake you up today?”
I quickly said no. Bobo sighed with relief, tying up the bag. I saw the swirl of hair on his head, wanting to touch his head, but suddenly remembered my hands were dirty from the mud.
“I was thinking—”
Bobo looked up at the sky, blue eyes reflecting the stars, “inside a raindrop, are there many transparent people?”
“They are very small, transparent people, and the sky is transparent too. The whole world inside the raindrop is transparent.”
“When the raindrop falls on the ground, the whole world is destroyed.”
This is the wonderful world in Bobo’s eyes. When he pushed open the window in the morning, he embarked on this marvelous journey to another world. In his eyes, every raindrop world is unique.
Some raindrops fall prematurely on the roof, on the leaves, on his hands. The lifespan of those raindrops’ worlds was shorter.
And some raindrops fall into lakes, puddles, the sea.
The ripples caused by those raindrops hitting the water’s surface—isn’t that how two worlds greet each other?
Rainbows are even more magical.
A rainbow can have so many colors, but it appears at so many times. Does the rainbow know that everyone likes it?
Why does it only appear after a heavy rain?
Does it love the rain but is afraid to let the rain know?
Bobo has always been curious.
Is our world, where we live, inside a small marble held by a very large giant?
Or is our world a story told by a voice?
Just like how Ruge tells stories about him, Baldy, and me, there’s also someone telling stories to other children about him, Baldy, and me.
