The Story Begins From A Point Very Far From The Scorching Sands And The Golden Dunes, It Begins From The Heart Of The Far East, Where The Writer Chen Maoping Was Born In The Year One Thousand Nine Hundred And Forty-Three In The Chinese City Of Chongqing, Before Her Family Was Forced, Amidst The Political Turmoil And The Major Historical Transformations That Shook China, To Move And Seek Refuge On The Island Of Taiwan.
In That Island That Was Living Under The Weight Of Martial Law And The Charged Political Climate And The Strict Social Restrictions, A Little Girl Grew Up Unlike Her Peers, A Girl Who Carried Inside Her The Seeds Of Early Rebellion And A Spirited Soul That Does Not Accept Ready-Made Molds Nor Accept Predetermined Paths. Taiwan In That Era Was Characterized By Extreme Conservatism, Where Girls Were Expected To Follow A Traditional Path That Begins With Strict Education And Ends With Marriage And Forming A Quiet Family, But Maoping Looked At The World With Different Eyes, Eyes That Searched For Something Beyond The Visible Horizon, And Something Deeper Than The Suffocating Daily Routine.
Her Experience With Traditional Education Was Not Smooth At All, Rather It Was Full Of Clashes And Psychological Breaks. She Saw In School An Oppressive System Trying To Frame Her Imagination And Confiscate Her Freedom, Which Led To Her Suffering From A State Of Depression And Self-Isolation That Pushed Her To Drop Out Of Formal School For A Long Time. During That Period Of Isolation, She Found Her Only Refuge In Voracious Reading, Where Her Eyes Devoured The Classics Of World Literature And Philosophy, And She Dived Into The Worlds Of Writers And Philosophers Who Shaped Her Early Consciousness And Provided Her With The Tools Necessary To Understand The Absurdity Of Existence And Search For Meaning. At This Very Stage, Her Literary Personality Began To Crystallize, And She Chose For Herself A Pseudonym Sanmao, Which Is A Name That Goes Back To A Famous Chinese Cartoon Character Of An Orphan And Marginalized Boy Who Has Only Three Hairs On His Head. Choosing This Name Was Not Just A Coincidence Or Childish Absurdity, But It Was An Explicit Declaration Of Her Complete Bias Towards The Marginalized And The Poor And The Simple, And An Expression Of Her Deep Desire To Strip Away False Appearances And Belong To Humanity In Its Purest And Most Detached Forms.
With The Passing Of Years, Taiwan Became Too Narrow For Sanmao’s Ambitions And Rebellious Dreams, So She Decided To Break Her Shell And Set Out Into The Wide World. She Began Her Long Journey That Led Her To More Than Fifty-Five Countries, To Become One Of The First Asian Women To Travel Alone In That Era. She Traveled To Europe, Studied Philosophy In Germany, Then Moved To Spain, And There In Madrid, A New Chapter Of Her Life Began That Would Play A Decisive Role In Shaping Her Destiny. In Spain, She Met The Young Spanish Man Jose Maria Quero, Who Was Several Years Younger Than Her, And Despite The Age Difference And Cultural Differences, An Exceptional Spiritual And Emotional Bond Grew Between Them. Jose Saw In Sanmao An Embodiment Of Freedom And Mysterious Beauty, While She Saw In Him A Pure Heart Ready To Keep Up With Her Madness And Unfamiliar Dreams. Despite This Love, Sanmao’s Restless Soul Continued To Push Her To Search For Something Unknown, Something She Did Not Know The Nature Of Until A Copy Of National Geographic Magazine Fell Into Her Hands By Chance.
In That Magazine, Sanmao Read A Detailed Article And Saw Pictures Of The Spanish Desert, Or What Is Known As The Great Sahara In North Africa. At That Fateful Moment, As Soon As Her Eyes Fell On The Pictures Of The Vast Sand Dunes And The Bedouin Tents And The Dark Faces Tanned By The Desert Sun, She Felt A Violent Spiritual Shock, As If A Hidden Call Coming From The Depths Of History, Or Perhaps From A Previous Life, Was Screaming Inside Her And Inviting Her To Come. She Did Not See In The Desert Just A Barren Geographical Extension Or A Harsh Environment Repelling Life, But She Saw In It A Reflection Of Her Soul Longing For Liberation, And An Ideal Stage To Test Her Ability To Live In The Utmost Degrees Of Detachment And Primitiveness. The Desert For Her Represented Nothingness That Contains Everything, Emptiness That Is Filled With Meanings, And Silence That Rises Above All The Sounds Of False And Noisy Civilization.
Sanmao Did Not Hesitate For Long, So She Made Her Decisive Decision To Move To Live In That Unknown Land. When She Told Those Around Her Of Her Decision, Many Thought She Had Lost Her Mind; How Could An Educated, Young Woman, Coming From A Vibrant City, Leave All Means Of Comfort And Security To Throw Herself Into The Heart Of One Of The Harshest Environments On Earth? But Jose, Her Faithful Lover, Was The Only One Who Understood The Depth Of This Call In Her Soul. And Without Asking Her Many Questions, He Arranged His Affairs And Preceded Her By Going There To Get A Job In A Phosphate Mining Company, To Pave The Way For Her And Be Waiting For Her When She Arrived.
And So, Sanmao Packed Her Bags That Did Not Contain Much Fancy Clothing, But Rather Simple Tools And Books And Memories And Dreams As Big As The Sky, And Headed Towards The City Of Laayoune, The Small Settlement Lying In The Heart Of The Desert. When Her Feet First Touched That Land, She Did Not Find Hollywood Romance Nor Green Oases, But She Found A Harsh Reality, A Small City Scattered With Modest Houses, Fierce Winds Blowing Sand In Every Corner, And A Closed Tribal Society Governed By Strict Traditions And Extremely Difficult Living Conditions. The Heat Was Unbearable By Day, And The Cold Was Harsh By Night, And The Scarcity Of Water Represented The Biggest Challenge For Everyone Who Inhabited Those Regions. Nevertheless, Sanmao Did Not Feel Regret Or Fear, But She Finally Felt That She Had Arrived At Her True Home, The Place That Had Waited For Her And She Had Waited For A Long Time.
In That Harsh Environment, Sanmao Began To Write The First Chapters Of Her Personal Epic, Deciding Not To Be Just A Passing Tourist Or A Distant Observer, But Deciding To Merge With All Her Senses Into The Details Of This New Life. The House She Rented With Jose Was A Small And Dilapidated House, Its Walls Collapsing, And Its Roof Not Protecting From Sun Or Wind, Located In A Poor Neighborhood Surrounded By Garbage And An Old Cemetery. But With Her Eyes Loving Beauty, And Her Hands Skilled In Creating Miracles From Simple Things, Sanmao Transformed This Ruin Into A Small Palace Radiating Warmth. She Collected Old Wooden Boxes From Landfills To Turn Them Into Elegant Furniture, And Used Empty Bottles To Make Vases In Which She Put Thorny Branches From The Desert, And Decorated The Walls With Artistic Touches That Combined Her Asian Culture And The Spanish Spirit And The Surrounding Bedouin Environment. This House Was Not Just A Shelter Protecting Her From The Harshness Of Nature, But It Was A Declaration Of Human Ability To Create An Oasis Of Beauty And Tranquility In The Darkest And Harshest Conditions.
Through This Beginning, And This Psychological And Spatial Foundation Of The Journey, We See How Sanmao Shook Off All The Burdens Of Material Civilization, To Enter The Desert Light Except For Her Love For Life And Her Passion For Discovering The Other. This First Step In The Great Sahara Was Like A New Birth For A Woman Who Decided To Write Her History Herself, Not With Ink On Fancy Paper, But With Sweat And Sand And Inexhaustible Hope, To Open The Door Wide To Deep Adventures And Human Situations.
After Sanmao Established The Foundations Of Her Small Kingdom In The Heart Of The Beautiful Ruin Of The City Of Laayoune, New Chapters Of The Epic Of Survival And Adaptation In An Environment That Does Not Recognize Half Solutions Began To Unfold Before Her. The Great Sahara Was Not Just A Rigid Geographical Background For Events, But It Was A Living Being That Breathes, Roaring In The Nights Of Sandstorms, And Whispering Tranquility In The Moonlit Evenings. In This Infinite Expanse Of Sand And Wind, Where Human Life Seems Just A Simple Scratch On The Face Of Eternity, Sanmao Realized That Resilience Requires Not Only A Strong Body, But A Soaring Imagination And A Soul That Refuses To Surrender To The Monotony Of Nothingness. And Here, In The Heart Of This Desolate Isolation, The Details Of Her Married Life With Jose Emerged As An Oasis Of Warmth And Absurd Comedy That Formed A Psychological Shield Against The Harshness Of The Place, To Weave For Us Stories Overflowing With Strangeness And Love Lined With Irony.
Jose Worked In The Phosphate Mines, Leaving With The Dawn Full Of The Bitter Cold Of The Desert, To Return In The Evening Exhausted, Layers Of Dust And Sand Covering His Young Features. In Contrast, Sanmao Waited For Him In That Modest House Which She Had Turned Into A Vibrant Artistic Masterpiece, But She Did Not Wait For Him With The Boredom Of Traditional Wives, But She Prepared For Him Every Day A Surprise That Turned Their Lives Into An Elegant Farce. The Romance Of This Relationship Was Not Measured By The Standards Of Luxurious Gifts Or Sweet Words, But It Was Manifested In The Deep Understanding Of The Other’s Madness And Its Acceptance With An Open Chest. Perhaps The Most Prominent Manifestation Of This Mutual Understanding Is What Happened During Their Engagement Period Or Just Before Their Wedding, When Jose Wanted To Give Her A Wedding Gift That Expresses The Extent Of His Love And His Deep Knowledge Of Her Rebellious Spirit. He Did Not Choose A Diamond Ring Or A Bouquet Of Rare Roses, But He Returned To Her One Day Carrying A Huge Box, And Inside It A Complete Camel Skull With Its Frightening Teeth And Empty Eye Sockets, After He Found It In The Desert And Cleaned And Polished It With Great Care. For Any Other Woman, This Gift Might Seem An Omen Of Doom Or A Tasteless Joke, But For Sanmao, That Skull Was The Most Precious Thing She Could Receive, For She Saw In It An Embodiment Of The Rugged Spirit Of The Desert, And A Definitive Proof That This Man Understands The Complex Composition Of Her Mind And Does Not Try To Tame It.
From The Womb Of This Spiritual Harmony, Sanmao’s Skills In Inventing Happiness From Nothing Emerged, Specifically From Inside Her Small Kitchen Which She Called With Endearing Sarcasm The Desert Restaurant. The Postal Parcels That Came To Her From Her Family In Taiwan Were Loaded With Provisions And Asian Ingredients Strange To The Desert Environment, And To The Spanish Jose As Well. And Here, Her Brilliance In Turning Food Preparation Into A Comic Game With Which She Deceives Her Husband With Utmost Love And Delicious Feminine Malice Was Manifested. One Evening, She Cooked An Asian Dish Based On Delicate Transparent Noodles Known As Vermicelli, And When Jose Asked Her In Amazement About The Nature Of These Strange Threads That He Was Seeing For The First Time, She Answered Him With Utmost Seriousness And A Face Free Of Any Expression That It Was The First Spring Rain. She Wove For Him A Fictional Legend About How Ancient Asian Tribes Climb High Mountains To Collect Frozen Rain Threads In Early Spring, And Preserve Them Carefully To Be Cooked On Special Occasions. Jose Fell For It, And Ate The First Spring Rain With Appetite And Awe, Believing Her Legendary Tale. And Her Pranks Did Not Stop At This Point, But Another Day She Fed Him Dried Seaweed Leaves Nori, And When He Was Surprised By Its Texture And Its Dark Black Color, She Convinced Him That It Was Carbon Paper For Copying, But Of A Secret And Special Type That Does Not Leave A Trace On The Teeth, But Dissolves In The Mouth To Give Superhuman Energy. These Simple Daily Details, Which Sanmao Narrates In A Style That Combines Lightness Of Shade And Human Depth, Were Not Just Fleeting Anecdotes, But Represented Her Unique Way Of Fighting The Desert Nothingness, And In Turning The Harshness Of Alienation Into A Small Homeland Spacious Enough For Their Laughter That Breaks The Silence Of The Dunes.
Far From The Walls Of This Strange Marital Nest, Sanmao’s Relationship With Her Social Surroundings Represented Another Kind Of Challenge, A Challenge That Requires A Huge Amount Of Patience And Diplomacy And Open-Mindedness. Her Neighbors From The Bedouins And Local Residents Had A Completely Different Concept Of Privacy And Individual Ownership. For Them, What Their Foreign-Looking Neighbor Owned Was Common To All. Women Knocked On Her Door At All Times, Not Only For Visiting And Chatting, But To Borrow Everything Their Eyes Fell On; From Onions And Salt And Oil, To Cosmetics, And Clothes, Even Toothbrush, And Shoes, And Magazines That They Could Not Read. These Continuous Daily Violations Of Privacy Were Enough To Drive Anyone To Madness Or To Flee, But Sanmao, With Her Anthropological Curiosity And Sympathetic Spirit, Chose To Dive Into The Depths Of This Society Instead Of Complaining About It. She Closely Observed The Details Of Their Lives, Their Rituals In Collective Bathing Which She Describes In One Of Her Stories As An Epic Event In Which Mud Mixes With Scarce Water, And Their Way Of Celebrating, And Their Primitive View Of Diseases And Healing.
And From This Close Daily Friction, One Of The Most Wonderful Manifestations Of Sanmao’s Personality In The Desert Was Born; The Role Of The Tribe Doctor Or The Kind Witch. In A Conservative And Closed Society, Sahrawi Women Categorically Refused To Go To The Local Clinic Or The Small Hospital In The Town, Because The Doctors There Were Spanish Men, And A Woman’s Exposure Of Her Body In Front Of A Strange Doctor Was Considered An Absolute Taboo. As A Result, Many Women And Children Suffered Silently From Diseases And Infections That Could Be Easily Treated, And Their Conditions Worsened To Reach The Point Of Death Sometimes Due To Ignorance And Lack Of Care. Here, Sanmao Could Not Stand With Her Hands Tied. With Boldness Approaching Recklessness, And With A Deep Humanitarian Motive, She Decided To Open Her Own Clinic In Her Home. She Did Not Have Any Medical Certificate, But She Was Armed With A Well-Equipped Home Pharmacy Sent To Her By Her Family, And Simplified Medical Books, And Most Importantly: A Strong Intuition And Unyielding Courage.
Rumors Began To Spread In The Neighborhood About The Foreign Woman Who Has Magical Medicines, And Women Flocked To Her Carrying Their Hidden Diseases And Pains. Sanmao Treated Superficial Wounds, And Dispensed Painkillers, And Went Even Further When She Used Asian Soybean Paste To Treat Intractable Skin Infections, Claiming That It Was A Magical Ointment Coming From A Land That Rides Dragons. And The Amazing Thing Is That Many Of These Patients Fully Recovered, Perhaps Thanks To Simple Medicines, And Perhaps Thanks To The Deep Psychological Effect Of Their Absolute Trust In This Woman Who Devoted Her Time And Effort To Listening To Them And Touching Their Pains With Her Bare Hands. Sanmao Tells With A Heart Dripping With Pain The Story Of A Young Girl Who Was On The Verge Of Death Due To Severe Malnutrition And Vitamin Deficiency, And How She Pounced On Her With Intensive And Regular Doses Of Vitamins Until She Restored Blood To Her Veins And Life To Her Pale Face. Despite Her Husband Jose’s Repeated Warnings Of The Dire Legal Consequences If One Of The Patients Died In Her Hands, She Did Not Stop. She Saw In The Eyes Of Those Women A Silent Plea That Could Not Be Ignored, And She Considered That Her Human Responsibility Transcends Any Positive Laws Or Rational Warnings.
And Sanmao Was Not Satisfied With Breaking Into The Popular Medical Field, But She Sought To Consolidate Her Independence In This Vast Desert Surrounding Through Her Pursuit Of Obtaining A Car Driving License. In A World That Is Masculine Par Excellence, The Idea Of A Woman Sitting Behind The Wheel And Driving Her Car Alone Amidst The Sand Dunes Was A Reprehensible And Astonishing Idea. But She Faced The Local Bureaucracy, Passed The Tests, And Obtained Her License To Make Her Car Like Two Wings With Which She Flies In The Unlimited Space Of The Desert. She Drove For Long Distances, Crossing Rugged Roads, And Picking Up Passers-By From The Bedouins Who Were Stranded In The Desert, Listening To Their Stories, And Sharing With Them Her Provisions And Water. In Those Moments, While Holding The Steering Wheel In The Middle Of A Sea Of Golden Sands And Under A Vast Infinitely Blue Sky, Sanmao Tasted The True Meaning Of Absolute Freedom; The Freedom To Be The Mistress Of Her Destiny, And To Leave A Trace Of Her Wheels In A Land That Was Never Paved For Strangers.
The Great Sahara, With All Its Might And Vastness, Was Not Just A Backdrop For Sanmao’s Light Domestic Adventures Or Her Passing Medical Attempts, But It Was A Living And Overpowering Entity Imposing Its Harsh Conditions On Everyone Who Dares To Walk Over Its Sands. And With The Passing Of Days And Months, The Crust Of Exotic Romance, Which Wrapped Her First View And Dreamy Aspirations, Began To Peel Off Little By Little, To Reveal Another Face Of The Desert; A Face Severely Stern, Governed By Traditions, And A Societal Cruelty That Does Not Show Mercy, And A Physical Nature Capable Of Swallowing Humans Into Its Belly Without Leaving Behind Any Trace Worth Mentioning. In This Advanced Stage Of Her Life There, Sanmao Transformed From Just A Passionate Observer, Searching For Anecdotes And Cultural Differences, Into An Eyewitness To Deep Human Tragedies, Recording With Her Pen What Lenses Are Unable To Capture, And Diving Bravely Into The Depths Of The Complex And Strict Class Social Structure Of The Inhabitants Of Those Forgotten Corners Of The Civilized World.
The Most Severe Cultural And Psychological Shocks That Sanmao Faced Were Clearly Manifested In The Violent Social Customs Related To Women And Marriage. And In One Of Her Most Painful And Distressing Stories And Capable Of Provoking Conscience, She Narrates The Tragedy Of Her Neighbor The Child Ghuigha, Who Had Barely Reached Her Tenth Year Until Her Childhood Was Sold And Her Future Confiscated Under The Name Of Traditional Marriage. The Wedding In That Closed Culture Was Not A Celebration Of Love Or A Natural Beginning Of A Shared Life Between Two Partners, But It Was A Violent And Horrifying Ritual That Establishes Absolute Male Dominance, And Crushes The Innocence Of Childhood Without The Slightest Mercy. Sanmao Describes With Heart-Bleeding Details That Arouse Anger, How Young Girls Were Forced To Marry Men Decades Older Than Them, And How The Harsh Preparations For This Wedding Resembled Preparation For A Battlefield To Which A Victim Who Has Nothing Of Her Own Is Driven. On Ghuigha’s Wedding Night, Sanmao Sat In Her Modest Home Listening To The Local Drums That Were Beating Violently As If Announcing An Imminent Execution, And To The Songs And Ululations That Hid Behind Their Noisy Melodies Muffled Screams Of Fear And Terror. Sanmao Stood Completely Helpless, Eaten By Feelings Of Anger And Oppression; She Was Not A Witch Doctor Able To Bandage The Deep Wound Of The Soul, Nor An Armed Revolutionary Able To Change A Social System Rooted And Supported By The Authority Of The Tribe For Centuries. Her Only Weapon Was Her Pen, Which She Used As A Sharp Scalpel To Dissect These Savage Customs, Writing A Clear And Direct Historical Condemnation Of Every Society That Sacrifices Its Children On The Altar Of Deaf Traditions.
And Sanmao’s Penetrating Observations Did Not Stop At The Tragedy Of Underage Women, But Extended To Include The Most Marginalized And Crushed Classes In That Class Society That Does Not Mercy The Weak. In Her Influential Story Entitled The Mute Slave, The Writer Boldly Sheds Light On The Shocking Reality Of Slavery That Was Still Practiced In Those Areas, Far From The Eyes Of International Laws And The Modern World. Sanmao Met A Black Mute Man, Who Was Fully Owned By One Of The Rich And Influential Families In The Region, Working Day And Night In Inhuman Bestial Conditions, Stripped Of Any Basic Rights, Even From His Innate Right To Speak And Express His Pain Due To His Disability. Sanmao Watched This Man For A Long Time, And Noticed How He Endured Daily Insults And Arduous Work In Complete Silence, And How His Exhausted Eyes Carried A Deep Sadness Reflecting Accumulated Centuries Of Human Enslavement Of His Fellow Human. With A Motive Of Her Excessive Humanity That Does Not Recognize Differences, Sanmao Tried To Break Through This Thick Wall Of Silence And Isolation; She Would Secretly Offer Him Decent Food, And Give Him Covers And Clothes To Protect Him From The Harsh Cold Of The Desert On Winter Nights, And Try To Communicate With Him In Sign Language And Sincere Smiles That He Missed In His Surroundings. But She Was Aware In The Depths Of Herself And With Severe Bitterness, That These Kind Gestures, Although They Gave Him Fleeting Moments Of Human Warmth And Restored Dignity, They Could Not Break His Real Chains Wrapped Around His Neck. And When The Slave’s Family Decided Suddenly To Move, And Sell His Family And Forcibly Separate Him From His Wife And Children As Livestock Are Sold, Sanmao Once Again Stood Before The Wall Of Absolute Helplessness To Witness A New Chapter Of The Chapters Of Human Absurdity. She Cried With Burning And Collapse While Seeing The Mute Slave Being Driven Away Oppressed, So That The Reader Realizes Through This Gloomy Story That The Great Sahara Was Not Just Golden Sands And Poetic Dryness, But It Was An Open Prison In Which Human Rights Are Lost And Souls Are Crushed Under The Weight Of Ignorance And Cruelty Of Hearts.
And Besides This Ugly Human Cruelty, The Desert Itself As A Geographical Environment Hid For Sanmao And Jose Deadly Tests That Do Not Show Mercy, To Remind Them Always, And In Violent Ways, Of The Extent Of The Fragility Of Their Existence In This Vast Space That Does Not Accept The Weak. In One Of Their Bold Exploratory Adventures That They Constantly Carried Out To Search For Ancient Fossils And Skulls Of Extinct Animals, They Set Off With Their Antique Car Towards A Remote And Deserted Area Known For The Difficulty Of Its Terrain And The Danger Of Its Rugged Paths. With The Coming Of Dusk And The Sneaking Of Darkness, Their Car Suddenly Slipped Into A Terrifying Natural Trap; A Sticky And Malicious Muddy Swamp Hiding Skillfully Under A Thin And Deceptive Layer Of Dry Sand. And In His Desperate And Impulsive Attempt To Get The Car Out Of This Trap, Jose Sank With His Feet In The Freezing Sticky Mud, And With Every Resistance Movement He Made, He Sank Deeper And Deeper Until The Icy Mud Completely Swallowed The Lower Half Of His Body. Night Fell With Frightening Speed, And The Temperature Dropped Sharply To Below Zero Celsius, And The Quiet Romantic Desert In The Blink Of An Eye Turned Into A Ferocious Monster Lurking To Swallow Them.
In Those Nightmarish Moments Between Life And Death, Sanmao’s Legendary Courage And Her Steel Survival Instinct Manifested In Its Most Possible Beautiful Images. She Clearly Realized That Staying Beside Jose And Submissive Lamentation Would Do Nothing But Hasten Their Inevitable End. She Made A Crazy Decision; She Left Him Struggling With Mud And Bitter Cold Alone, And Started Running Like A Madwoman In The Pitch Darkness Amid The Desolate Sands Searching For Any Passing Help. After A Terrifying And Arduous March, She Finally Glimpsed Faint Lights Of A Car Approaching From Afar. She Screamed With All Her Strength And Waved Her Hands In The Darkness, And The Car Stopped And Local Men Got Out Of It. But The Terrifying Nightmare Did Not End Here, But Took A Darker Turn, For Sanmao Quickly Discovered That These Men Did Not Come With The Motive Of Rescue And Providing Help, But They Saw In Her An Easy Prey And A Foreign Woman Alone And Weak In The Heart Of Absolute Darkness Far From Any Law. They Tried To Assault Her And Rob Her Brutally Instead Of Listening To Her Pleas And Saving Her Husband Who Was Breathing His Last Breaths In The Frozen Mud.
At This Critical Moment, The Delicate Writer And The Dreamy Wife Turned Into A Fierce Lioness Defending Her Honor And Her Life And The Threatened Life Of Her Beloved. She Resisted Them With Unparalleled Ferocity, And Hit, And Screamed Like Wounded Monsters, And Managed With An Amazing Miracle To Escape From Their Grip And Flee In The Opposite Direction Towards The Place Where She Left Jose. And When She Categorically Realized That There Is No Hope To Be Hoped For In Obtaining External Help To Save Him, She Took Off Her Heavy Outer Clothes, And Tore Them With Her Nails And Teeth With The Strength Of Pure Despair To Make From Them A Long Rope, And Tied It With Pieces Of The Spare Car Tires To Increase Its Durability, And Threw This Improvised Rope To Jose Whose Strength Had Completely Waned, And His Limbs Had Frozen And He Was Close To Losing Consciousness. With Great Difficulty, And After A Long And Bitter Struggle That Drained Every Drop Of Her Physical And Psychological Energy, She Managed To Pull Him Inch By Inch, Centimeter By Centimeter, From The Mouth Of The Hungry Swamp, So That They Both Finally Collapsed On The Dry Surrounding Sands, Panting In Complete Silence, While The Shining Desert Stars Watched Them From The Sky With Severe Coldness And Complete Neutrality.
This Horrifying Incident, Which Put Their Human Limits Under Maximum Test, Was Not Just A Passing Adventure Told For Entertainment, But It Was A True Baptism With Blood And Fear For Sanmao In The Church Of The Harsh Desert. She Realized In That Long Night That Superficial Romance Alone Is Not Enough To Live And Breathe Here, And That Survival And Continuity Requires Ferocity That Exceeds The Ferocity Of The Place Itself, And Solidity Equal To The Solidity Of Its Rocks. She Returned From That Deadly Journey A Completely Different Woman, More Solid, And More Aware Of Death That Always Hovers Above Heads And Awaits The First Slip. However, And In A Way That Defies Usual Human Logic, She Did Not Lose Her Love And Passion For That Treacherous Land, But Danger Increased Her Attachment And Integration With It, As If She Became Addicted To This Continuous Dance On The Edge Of The Abyss, Waiting With Firmness And Stoicism What The Coming Days And Winds Will Hide For Her Of Major Events That Will Change The Course Of Her Life Forever, Which Will Pave The Way For The Next And Most Turbulent Stage In Her Desert Journey Full Of Amazing Contradictions.
The Ferocity That Was Summoned In Those Difficult Nights Was Nothing But A Protective Shield Imposed By Nature On Sanmao’s Soul, But Under This Solid Shield, There Lived A Woman Devoured By The Desire To Penetrate Beyond Matter, And To Contemplate The Eternal Secret That The Desert Carries Among Its Vast Sands. After She Overcame The First Adaptation Shocks, And Knew The Secrets Of The Local Society And Its Dark And Bright Hidden Aspects, A New Stage Of Her Existence There Began, A Stage Characterized By Contemplative Silence And Deep Diving Into The Metaphysics Of This Vast Wilderness. The Desert For Sanmao Was No Longer Just Geography Or A Place To Reside With Her Husband, But It Transformed Into A Polished Mirror Reflecting All The Makings Of Adventure And Rebellion In Her Soul, And Into An Abstract Sanctuary In Which She Undergoes Spiritual And Almost Surreal Experiences That Cannot Happen Anywhere Else On Earth.
In Those Extended Nights In Which Twilight Gradually Decreases To Make Way For Absolute And Heavy Desert Darkness, Sanmao Often Went Out Alone, Leaving The House And Town Behind Her Back, To Walk Long Distances In The Direction Of The Old Cemetery Near Their Poor Neighborhood. For An Ordinary Person, Walking Barefoot Or Alone Among The Graves Of Desert Bedouins In The Belly Of Night May Seem A Crazy Step Or An Omen Of Doom That Causes Terror, But For Sanmao, This Place Was The Only Point Where All The Contradictions Of Life And Death Meet In Complete Peace. She Sat Over The Cold Sands Surrounding The Simple Stone Tombstones, Contemplating A Sky Studded With Billions Of Stars That Seem So Close That One Imagines That He Is Able To Pick Them With His Hand. In Those Hours Of Severe Isolation, She Experienced What She Called The Poetic Ruin, Which Is A Feeling That Transcends Traditional Sadness To Touch Absolute Tranquility; A Feeling That Human Being Despite His Extreme Smallness And Insignificance Before This Vast Universe, Yet He Possesses An Unlimited Ability To Feel Beauty And Belonging To Eternity.
And Her Desert Experiences Were Not Limited To Quiet Contemplation, But Extended To Include The Mysterious Phenomena Surrounding This Unknown Place. Sanmao Talked In Some Of Her Articles About Those Surreal Moments In Which Mind Meets Imagination On The Edge Of Mirage; Where There Appear To The Traveler In The Desert Scenes Of Cities Drowned In Fog, Or Illusory Lakes Glittering Under The Scorching Sun, Even Strange Lights Flying In The Clear Desert Sky In The Middle Of Nights, Silent Dialogues With The Unseen That Make One Doubt The Truth Of His Senses. She Saw That The Desert Possesses A Magic Capable Of Distorting Reality And Reshaping It Anew, And That Whoever Lives In It For A Long Time Must Accept The Idea That The World Is Not Just Numbers And Solid Facts, But It Is Also Shadows And Secrets And Dreams Embodied Before The Eyes. And In The Heart Of This Confusing Mystery, Sanmao Became More Certain That She Belongs To A Special Category Of Humans, The Category Of Black Sheep That Find No Fixed Place In Any Traditional Society, Whether It Was Her Mother Society In Taiwan, Or The European Society In Spain, Or Even The Conservative Bedouin Society. She Had Always Lived On The Margin, But It Is A Margin Wide Enough For The Whole World.
At That Period Specifically, And In Parallel With These Spiritual Contemplations, She Began A Dramatic Transformation In Her Career As A Writer. She Sat In The Corner Of Her Modest House, Under The Light Of The Weak Kerosene Lamp Whose Shadow Dances On The Mud Walls, And Put Her Notebook On Her Wooden Table Innovated From Recycled Boxes, To Begin Recording These Experiences With Ink Mixed With The Smell Of Oil And Sand. She Did Not Write With The Spirit Of A Historian Who Records Historical Events, Nor With The Spirit Of A Tourist Who Searches For Funny Shots, But She Wrote With The Heart Of A Poet And The Eye Of An Investigative Journalist Probing The Depths Of The Human Soul. She Sent These Readable Texts As Essay Letters Via The Slow Desert Mail Towards The Magazine Of Education And Some Major Newspapers In Taiwan. And She Did Not At All Expect The Reaction That Her Words Caused There; In The Island Of Taiwan Which Was Subject To A Strict System And Living Under A Suffocating School And Functional Rhythm, Sanmao’s Desert Articles Came Down Like A Literary Bomb. Readers Were Surprised By A Literary Personality Unlike Anything They Knew Before; A Woman Speaking With Rare Boldness, Living In A House Built From Sand And Furniture Thrown In The Garbage, Marrying A Spaniard In The Far Reaches Of Africa, And Treating Patients With Soybean Paste, And Contemplating Cemeteries At Night. Her Name Became On Every Tongue, And Stories Of The Sahara Turned Into A Cultural Phenomenon Across Generations, Where Taiwanese Youth Found In Her Literature A Magical Window To Breathe Freedom, And A Symbol Of The Possibility Of Living With Passion And Rebellion Outside The Boundaries Of The Familiar.
But, While Her Literary Fame Was Rising And Reaching Horizons In East Asia, The Dark Political Shadows Began To Gather And Thicken Slowly Over The Land Of The Spanish Sahara, To Announce The Near End Of This Strange Isolated Paradise That Sanmao Built With Jose. In The Mid-Seventies, Specifically In The Year One Thousand Nine Hundred And Seventy-Five, The Political Arena In The Region Began To Suffer From Accelerating Disturbances And Revolutions, With The Approaching End Of The Spanish Colonization Of The Desert. The Quiet Streets Of The City Of Laayoune Began To Change Their Features; That Simple Desert Spirit Disappeared To Make Way For Tense Atmospheres Charged With Fear And Anticipation And Mutual Doubt. Spanish Military Patrols Began To Roam The Streets Continuously, And Curfew Provisions Were Announced At Nights, And National Organizations And Armed Movements, Such As The Polisario Front, Began To Be Active In Secrecy And Openly To Demand Independence And The Evacuation Of Foreign Forces.
This Dramatic Political Transformation Was Like A Harsh Shock For Sanmao, Who Saw In The Desert A Humanitarian Haven Free From Border Conflicts And Narrow Ideologies. And Suddenly, She Found That The Fabric Of Wonderful Human Relationships That She Had Worked Hard To Weave With Her Neighbors And Friends From The Local Population Began To Tear And Erode Under The Weight Of Political And Racist Incitement. The Neighbors Who Were Knocking On Her Door Daily To Borrow Sugar And Oil, And The Women Who Used To Resort To Her For Medicine And Treatment, Became Looking At Her And Her Husband Jose With Different Eyes; Eyes Full Of Doubt And Caution, Considering Them As Representing The Foreign Colonial Occupier, Regardless Of Their Subjective Feelings Or Their Previous Humanitarian Services. Warm Smiles Were Replaced By Cold And Reserved Looks, And Whispered And Veiled Threats Began To Sneak Into Their Neighborhood Which Was Safe, And That Innate Security Which Allowed Sanmao To Wander Alone Among The Dunes Vanished.
This Tragedy Was Manifested In The Fate Of Some Of Her Close Friends From The Local Population, Who Found Themselves Torn Between Their Loyalty To Their Friendship With Sanmao And Jose, And Between The Harsh Pressures Exercised On Them By Their Rebellious Society. The Writer Narrates With Much Melancholy And Heartburn How Some People Whom She Knew With Their Pure Souls Turned Into Victims Of Political Infighting And Deadly Informing. She Saw With Her Own Eyes How Major Conflicts Lead The Simple And Marginalized To Paths Of Violence And Destruction, And How The Voice Of Reason And Humanity Is Lost When The Cries Of War And Nationalist Fanaticism Rise. The Desert Was No Longer That Poetic Place Where Free Souls Meet, But It Turned Into A Theater For A Frantic Race For Power And Land, Where Primitive Bombs And Armed Clashes Began To Disturb The Eternal Stillness Of The Sands.
Before This Harsh And Explosive Reality, Jose And Sanmao Found Themselves Before A Bitter And Inevitable Truth: That The Desert Chapter Of Their Lives Was About To End, And That Staying In The City Of Laayoune Was No Longer Just A Dangerous Adventure, But Had Become Certain Suicide. The Phosphate Mines Administration Where Jose Works Received Strict Instructions To Evacuate Spanish And Foreign Nationals To Protect Them From The Dangers Of Imminent Armed Confrontations, And The Spaniards Began To Leave The City In Successive Waves, To Turn Laayoune Into A Ghost Town Everyone Awaiting Its Explosion At Any Moment.
The Decision To Leave For Sanmao Was Like A Forcible Uprooting Of Her Heart From Its Entrails. She Had Loved This Barren Land With A Love Equal To Her Love For Life Itself, And Built In This Modest House Plaster And Pavement And Memories Representing The Most Beautiful Years Of Her Life And The Most Honest. And In The Last Days Of Departure, She Began To Dismantle This Small Nest That She Made With Her Hands; She Removed The Decorations And Paintings That She Had Hung, And Packed Her Books And Tickles Of Her Memories, And Stood For A Long Time Contemplating That Great Camel Skull That Jose Had Given Her In The First Days Of Their Marriage, Which Adorned The Wall Of Their House As A Symbol Of Their Unconventional Love. Every Piece She Held And Packed In Boxes Carried With It A Story, And A Laughter, And A Tear, And A Human Situation She Lived Between These Mud Walls.
When Sanmao Stood On The Last Day In Front Of The Closed Door Of Their House, And Cast A Last Farewell Look At The Dusty Street That Had Embraced Her Madness And Her Passion And Her Medicine For Patients, She Was Not Crying Out Of Fear Of The Future, But She Was Crying Out Of Sadness For This Lost Paradise That She Was Forced To Leave Under The Weight Of Wars And Politics. The Desert Had Taught Her That Everything In This World Is Temporary, And That The Most Beautiful Oases May Be Scattered By The Winds In A Fleeting Moment, But It Had Also Taught Her That The Soul That Has Lived Absolute Freedom Once In Its Life, No Cage In The World Can Enslave It After That. And With The End Of This Tense And Full Of Melancholy And Anticipation Stage, Sanmao Was Preparing To Embark On The Journey Of Return To Europe, While Carrying In Her Bags Texts That Will Engrave Her Name With Ink Of Light In The History Of World Literature, And In Her Heart Wounds And Sorrows That Will Continue To Haunt Her Until The Last Chapter Of Her Life.
Sanmao And Jose Abandoned Their House Full Of Memories And Sorrows In The City Of Laayoune, Heading Towards The Archipelago Of The Spanish Canary Islands Lying In The Bosom Of The Atlantic Ocean, Specifically To The Island Of Gran Canaria And Then Settling Later In The Island Of La Palma. There, Where The Roaring Blue Expanse Mixes With The Dark Green Of Mountains And Extended Volcanoes, The Scene At First Glance Seemed Like A Complete Antithesis To The Harshness Of The Great Sahara And Its Scorching Dryness Which They Had Known For Years. But Sanmao, Who Left An Authentic And Severed Part Of Her Soul Buried Among The Golden Sandy Dunes, Could Not Easily Separate Herself From The Magic Of That Desolate Wilderness. She Looked From The Window Of Her New House At The Extended Ocean, And Heard In The Screech Of Its Mighty Waves The Echo Of The Fierce Desert Winds, And Passed Her Hand Over The Lush Tree Leaves And Missed The Roughness Of Stones And Thorny Herbs That She Had Become Accustomed To And Recorded In Her Old Memoirs. In This New Station Of Their Lives, They Tried To Rebuild The Debris Of Their Quiet Existence, And Establish A New Marital Nest That Mends The Wounds Of Forced Departure And Political Conflict That Deprived Them Of Their Alternative African Homeland. The Couple Lived In A Simple White Rural House Overlooking The Sea, Decorated With Colorful Flowers And Wooden Balconies, And Jose Resumed His Beloved Work As A Professional Diver For Commercial Marine Companies, While Sanmao Continued Writing Her Charming Texts, Publishing Them Successively To The Wide Audience That Was Devouring Her Words With Passionate Eagerness In Taiwan And China And Various Asian Diaspora Communities. However, And Despite This Seemingly Stable Appearance And Those Moments That Seemed Full Of Serenity And Peace, There Were Heavy Shadows Of Ominous Intuition And Hidden Apprehension Hovering Around Their Hearts, As If Those Quiet Days On The Shores Of The Atlantic Were Just A Short And Fragile Rest Preceding A Mighty Storm That Will Uproot Everything From Its Roots Without Warning.
In The Autumn Of The Year One Thousand Nine Hundred And Seventy-Nine, Specifically On The Thirtieth Day Of The Ill-Fated Month Of September, The Great Tragedy Occurred That Shook Sanmao’s World, And Demolished The Pillars Of Her Psychological And Existential Life Forever. Jose Was Leading A Routine Diving Mission In The Cold Waters Of The Island Of La Palma, Where His Daily Work Depends On Descending Into The Deep Depths To Inspect Marine Installations And Pipelines. And On That Sad Day, What Was Not In The Account Happened; The Human Life Rope Was Cut In The Belly Of The Dark Water, And Jose Was Exposed To A Tragic Diving Accident That Led To His Drowning Alone In The Deep Depths Without Anyone Beside Him To Save Him Or Hear His Last Screams. When Sanmao Received The Fatal News, Her Psychological Structure Completely Collapsed And She Hurried To The Accident Site Like A Madwoman, To Stand In Front Of The Corpse Of Her Beloved And Her Husband And Her Soul Twin Who Was Pulled Out Of The Sea A Lifeless Corpse Without Movement. Historical References And Close Memoirs Describe Those Tragic Moments As A Complete And Final Break For The Writer’s Psyche; Where She Completely Refused To Believe Reality, And Sat Beside His Cold Corpse In The Hospital Talking To Him And Calling His Name, And Touching His Pale Face, And Burying Her Head In His Chest Deprived Of The Pain Of Life, Trying With Her Nails And Hot Tears To Blow Life Into Him Anew Or Pull Him From The Clutches Of Death. With Jose’s Death, Sanmao Did Not Lose Only Her Life Partner And Her Husband, But She Lost Her Only And Last Anchor In This Wavy World, And The Only Man Who Was Able With His Deep Understanding To Accept Her Madness, And Walk With Her In The Desert Wilderness, And Understand Her Isolation And Her Eternal Desire To Rebel. The Tragedy Was Harsher Than The Mind Of The Poet And Writer Could Bear; So She Buried Him With Her Trembling Hands In The Cemetery Of Santa Cruz In The Island Of La Palma, And Buried With Him All Her Passion For Life And Her Desire To Remain, To Begin From That Moment The Journey Of Spectral And Slow Psychological Fading.
Sanmao Returned To Taiwan After That With A Wounded Heart And A Broken Soul, Dragging Behind Her The Weights Of The Tragedy And The Painful Memory Of Jose That Did Not Leave Her Imagination For One Night. And Although Her Reception In Her Mother Homeland Was The Reception Of Heroes And Exceptional Literary Icons, Where Her Books And Articles About The Desert And The Canary Islands Topped Sales And Were Taught In Curricula And Universities, And Media And Cultural Institutions Rushed To Her To Give Lectures And Participate In Seminars, Yet All These Lights And Warm Applause Were For Her Nothing But Empty Noise That Increases The Depth Of Her Internal Isolation And Resident Sadness. She Sat On Lecture Platforms In Front Of Thousands Of Admirers And Students Who Looked At Her With Reverence As A Symbol Of Freedom And Adventure And Independent Femininity, While Inside She Was Eroding In Pain And Wishing That The Earth Would Split And Swallow Her To Rest From This Eternal Torment. She Worked For A Period As A University Teaching Professor At The Chinese Culture University In Taipei, And Began To Move Between Taiwan And Spain And The United States, And Went On New Cultural And Exploratory Tours To Different Parts Of Latin America To Write New Travel Literature, But Her Writings In That Late Stage Were Characterized By A Cloudy Spirit, And A Transparent Sadness That The Eye Does Not Miss, And A Persistent And Continuous Desire To Join Jose Under The Soil. She Began To Feel In Every Corner The Triviality Of The Material World And The Falsity Of Fame, And Addressed The Spirit Of Jose In Her Diaries And Personal Letters As If He Were Still Alive Sitting With Her In The Same Room, Telling Him About Her Deadly Longing, And Her Tragic Inability To Continue Breathing Without The Flame Of His Love That Was Illuminating The Darkness Of Her Ailing Self.
In Her Last Years, Sanmao Went Through A New And Final Artistic Experience That Increased Her Severe Frustration And Her Desire To Leave, Represented In Writing The Cinematic Scenario For The Famous Film Red Dust Which Was Shown In The Year One Thousand Nine Hundred And Ninety, And Its Events Revolved Around A Tragic Love Story In The Period Of War And Political Disturbances In China. Sanmao Put In This Work All The Feelings Of Loss And Isolation That She Had Lived, But When The Film Was Nominated For Many Prestigious Cinematic Awards, The Screenplay Lost The Award For Best Writing, Which Sanmao Considered A New Moral Blow To Her Exhausted Soul That Could No Longer Bear Any Additional Disappointments. And In Parallel With This Artistic Frustration, The Wounds Of The Soul Began To Be Reflected With A Horrifying Clarity On Her Decaying Body; So Her Physical Health Deteriorated Noticeably, And She Began To Suffer From Chronic Pains In The Body, And Severe Disturbances In Sleep, And Dark Depressive States That Were Increasing In Ferocity And Cruelty With Every Anniversary Of Jose’s Departure Or Visit To His Distant Cemetery In The Canaries.
And In Late Nineteen Hundred And Ninety, Sanmao Was Admitted To The Taipei Veterans General Hospital To Conduct Medical Examinations And A Simple Surgical Operation To Treat Benign Tumors, In Addition To Trying To Follow Up On Her Deteriorating Psychological Condition Under Medical Supervision. And In The Early Dawn Of The Fourth Day Of January Of The Year One Thousand Nine Hundred And Ninety-One, The Decisive Moment Came When Sanmao Chose To Put With Herself The Last And Final Line In The Book Of Her Life Full Of Pains And Towering Adventures. She Took Advantage Of The Absence Of Nurses And Doctors In The Stillness Of Night, And Hanged Herself Using Silk Stockings In The Bathroom Of Her Room In The Hospital, And She Had Not Yet Exceeded Forty-Eight Years Of Age. Sanmao Did Not Leave Behind Any Official Suicide Note, As If She Wanted Her End To Remain Wrapped With The Same Magic And Mystery And Poeticism That Enveloped Her Entire Life. The News Of Her Departure Caused A Violent Electric Shock That Shook The Literary And Cultural World In Taiwan And China And The Diaspora; Where Millions Came Out To Bid Farewell To The Writer Who Taught Them How To Dream, And How To Love Honesty, And How To Break Social Restrictions, And The News Of Her Suicide Topped The Front Pages In The Major Newspapers And World Magazines, Leaving Behind Questions About One Of The Rarest Literary Souls In The Twentieth Century.
From The Book Stories Of The Sahara, Sanmao
