Echo Line

From Aleppo to the border, from the border to the refugee camp, and from the refugee camp to that "foreign country" whose name they couldn't even pronounce correctly - Hana and Amin walked this road for three years. Someone died on the road, and someone put the last half of the cake into Amin's hand; an old man leaned on a rock and stopped breathing after saying "My only regret is that I didn't live to see the spring"; a young mother sat in front of the barbed wire all day long, holding her stiff child in her arms. There were also messengers from far away, bringing a box of flour with a red five-pointed star printed on it and a crooked handwritten letter. Amin drew all these. He painted the sun very darkly, because the sun at noon was too bright to open his eyes; he painted people's shadows, long and thin, because shadows do not wear uniforms and do not scare people. His paintings were taken to another country and hung on a white wall, causing many people to stop. An old lady cried after reading it, took out two hundred yuan and stuffed it under the frame, turned around and left. Many years later, A Ming stood in a gallery in Beijing, still holding the yellowed letter in his pocket. The reporter asked him where he was from, and he said: "Syria." Then he asked: "Then where do you live now?" He glanced at the brightening sky outside the window and said: "China. That country far away has not forgotten us." So he knew that spring is not far away, but someone remembers you in spring.