A little bit backg
round about Sanmao (1943-1991): She wrote autobiographical fiction based on her life in the Sahara with her Spanish husband Jose. Her first work "The Stories of the Sahara" was published in 1976, since then, she published more than 20 books, most of them are the collection of short stories. Her works have been among the widest read popular literature in China. At the age of 48, she committed suicide which came as a shock to many of her readers.
(Left pic: Sanmao at Sahara
Right pic: Sanmao and Jose at home of Sahara)
The plane was descending for landing on La Palma Island, the furthest island from the African continent. Soon after, through the window, I looked down and saw the blue Atlantic Ocean for the first time，almost forgot breathing - It was just like what Sanmao described in her books.
My purpose of this trip to La Palma Island was to find Jose. I believe there was this person, because I believe those stories Sanmao wrote in her books are not only stories, they came from real life, not as some people doubted that Jose was just a character Sanmao fabricated in her stories. Sitting beside me on the plane was Julio, a Spanish lawyer who I met when I arrived Spain, I told him the stories about Sanmao and Jose, and then he decided to join me for finding Jose.
La Palma airport was small; there was an information desk beside the baggage reclaim. I went to the information desk and told the lady there that I was going to the city council and the city cemetery; she then gave me a map and circled the locations of the two places on it.
"Hello Miss, are you a visitor here?" I just turned around from the information desk, a policeman standing behind me and asked friendly.
"Ye…s, but my main purpose here is to find a person who died 28 years ago, and I would like to see his tomb."I answered.
"Sounds interesting," the policemen raised his eyebrows up, "What happened?"
I went on to tell him that the man was a Spaniard, he married to a Chinese wife who was a famous Chinese author, and they lived here 30 years ago, but the man died of diving accident when he was only 28. "Perhaps you don't know him, but in China there are tens of thousands of people who are aware of him." I added.
"That's more interesting," said the policeman, "do you know where he buried in?"
"I'm not sure, but I know his name and the date he died."
"That's OK, you can go to the city council where you can find the record about him." the Policeman smiled at me.
Saying goodbye to the policeman, Julio and I caught up a bus to the city central. The blue Atlantic Ocean once again reflected in the window, at that time I felt I would find Jose.
Less than 15 minutes, we arrived the city council. After I mentioned my intention to here, an official took out a thick folder from a filing cabinet and opened it.
"His name is Jose Maria Quero did you say?" he looked up the file and asked me.
"Yes, and he died on 30 of September, 1979."I held my breath as his finger pointed to the letter "Q"on the file: It was empty under that list.
"Are you sure his family name is Quero?" the official stared at me.
I began to tense, my mind got blank. "Is it true that this wasn't the person of Jose as people doubted?"I thought.
"Sorry, I don't really know the spelling of his surname, but from the pronunciation I guessed it might be Quero. Could you please check the death record for his date?"
The official began turning the record to that day, but I was afraid to look, feeling as if my heart was grasped by something tightly, breathless. Suddenly, Julio exclaimed: "Here, here, Jose Maria Quero Y Ruiz."
I immediately looked up and saw these characters written in blue ball-point pen. That moment I felt sweaty and could not see anything clearly, only heard the official read: "Jose Maria Quero Y Ruiz, died on 30 of September, 1979, died of diving. Is this the person you are looking for, Miss?" However, I could not say a word. “Yes, it’s him.” Julio answered for me.
The official give me a copy of Jose' record, before leaving, Julio reminded him: "you seem to have forgotten to write the person's surname on the list." Embarrassed, the official smiled: “look, almost 30 years have gone by, nobody has come for him…" I felt very sad and could not help telling him: "But he is well known in sixteen- thousands - kilometers away China."
"Really? God, I’d better write it up now," the official said.
Out of the city council, we sited down at a bar, had something to eat at the same time reading the recording information carefully. Julio said: "Look here, his marital status is married, which means he got married with Sanmao, and the character Sanmao wrote about Jose in her books is true. And look, here said he was born in Andujar. In Spain when a person died, their information is also recorded in their birthplace. There should be more information about Jose in Andujar, shall we go there?”
I shook my head: "I came to find this person only for thanking him for giving Sanmao a family, so that she could feel security in the desert, to wrote Well, and gave us many good stories; besides, some people said Jose is fabricated character, I don't believe that. Now I know this person was existed, Sanmao didn’t fabricate him, that's enough for me.”
In the afternoon, a taxi drove us to the cemetery. As Sanmao narrated in her storied, it located on a small hill. Coming in to a small office, we gave an administrator Jose’ full name and his death date.
He opened a register, searching with his fingers, my heart started jumping fast. And then He wrote some words on a small piece of paper, said: "This is the location of him, I can take you there."
Following him, I was wondering what Jose's tomb would be like? Shortly, we came to a tomb, the administrator said:" here he is."
It looks small and desolate without a tombstone.
"Where is Jose’s tombstone?" I asked him.
"It's gone," shook his head, the administrator said, "unfortunately, he had no family here. For many years, nobody comes to pay fees or maintains it. "
I could not say anything. I sew a tree next to Jose's tomb, then I took out my lucky charm, which I had been carrying in my bag for many years, and hung it on the tree. It was just above Jose, and then I squatted down and said: "Hello, Jose."
Since I had to return to Tenerife on the day, could not stay longer here, so before leaving, I reached out of my hand and gently patted the soil covered on Jose’s tomb. "Jose, I have to go, see you later Jose." I said.
By taxi to La Palma airport, the car placed in music, a male voice singing: "It's you? My heart, it's you?" The moment tears welled up in my eyes.
My plane took off, I looked down the blue Atlantic Ocean again, and it was just like sad blue eyes. "Sanmao, thank you for your stories, I saw Jose on behalf of you, but perhaps you shouldn't kill yourself; Jose, I will come back to see you again, for those always beautiful stories." I said to the blue eyes, softly.
