Year of the Whale

Mao Song was born on February 7th, 1932. It was the year of the monkey, but he weighed 5.4 kg and was the largest baby Nantong province had ever seen, so his brothers said it was the year of the whale. They called him Jing, a word for whale. Everyone called him Jing in the fishing town where he lived.

When he was five years old he heard the voice for the first time. His brothers were helping his father fish, so he was left to shop with his mother. He was chasing a seagull down the pier when he tripped and fell into the water.

He did not know how to swim, and he began to sink. How do I swim? He thought. How do I swim?!

He then felt a deep vibration ripple through the water. The vibration shaped itself into words and the words echoed in his ears, “Move your arms. Move your legs.”

And so he moved his arms and his legs, and the daylight reappeared. And so he learned to swim.

While his mother carried him from the water, he looked back to the horizon. A great tail erupted from the sea. It eclipsed the sun, then splashed out of sight, and he knew the whale had saved him.

When he was 8 years old they went to the beach. His brothers built a castle in the sand, but refused to let him near. He retreated to the waves and thought, Why can’t I help?

The same voice, the voice of the whale, vibrated in response, “Show them.”

So he began to draw pictures in the sand. And even though his brothers laughed, he could see the admiration in their eyes. When his parents bought him paints and paper he drew the whale, and his mother framed it in the kitchen. And so he learned his passion.

As he grew in years, the whale was always there, waiting to hear and to teach.

Then, when he was a young man, there was a storm and his father’s body washed ashore. He went to the docks that day and asked the whale what to do. “There is nothing to do,” said the whale. And so he learned to grieve.

He worked on the docks cleaning boats. Sometimes he would paint, and the villagers would buy his art. One girl asked him to paint her flowers. He gave her five paintings of five different flowers. And he began to love her.

But he wanted something else.

One day he went into the water with a new question. How do I become happy? He asked.

“Do not try,” said the whale.

But I want to become happy

“Don’t become. Just be,” said the whale.

But he did not hear the whale that day.

He sailed to America. He married the girl with the flower paintings and took her with him. He moved in with his brothers and learned English. They worked hard and they made money and had families. He chose the name David, and the name Jing was not heard for many years.

But he wanted more.

One day he was painting in a park and a man in a nice suit stopped to watch. The man liked his painting and purchased it for a handsome sum. He hung it above his mantle and when his friends saw it there they too wanted such a painting. And so David painted more.

His paintings became well known and so did he. He left his brothers and built his own house with his own mantle, and though his wife and children lived with him, they saw him very little. When he was not working he was with new friends or new women, and he forgot about the girl with the flower paintings.

When she left him he drank, but the drinking helped his painting and his name was well known. But it was the name of David, and David was not Jing.

Many years passed. But still he wanted more.

One day he staggered drunk into his pool and sank. He heard no voices, and his arms and legs would not move. He almost died that day, but his neighbor saw him fall. Later that night he wished his neighbor’s blinds had been closed.

But his mother was dying. He journeyed across the sea and sat and held her hand. She called him Jing. He smiled. He showed her pictures of the children she never knew and of the nice things he bought and wore. When she died, he arranged the ceremonies and sorted through her belongings. And it was there he found the painting, the painting of the whale.

He walked to the beaches. He took off his clothes and folded them nicely in the sand, then waded half naked through the waves of his youth. He dipped his head under and listened for the voice.

Are you still here? he asked. At first there was nothing, just the sound of empty space.

But then from the depths, deep and ancient, “I am here.”

And so he learned to trust.

When he returned to America he sold his home and moved to the woods. There in the kitchen he would look at the whale. And when his kids began to visit, and his grandchildren too, he would show them that painting before any other.

In the year 2016, the year of the whale, he became very sick. His family came to the cabin to sit by his side.

And so he learned to die.

His children read his final request. The eldest flew with the ashes to the coastal towns of Nantong and walked through the sea village to the longest pier. He emptied the jar of dust into the sea and watched it float with the foam and the weeds, drifting further into the bay. Then turned and walked away.

Behind him a great tail breached the horizon. The ashes drifted on, listening. And they heard.