In September in New Zealand, spring has just awoken. Ivan sits on the porch, enjoying the scenery of the farm.
Cherry and apricot blossoms compete to bloom, pink-white petals drifting in the wind, like a gentle snow. The morning dew still clings to the grass leaves, the air filled with a scent that mixes earth and flowers. A flock of sheep moves across the distant hillside, like a white cloud.
The phone rings, it’s a number from Italy.
"Professor Ivan," the voice on the other side is Augustus Balberini’s, carrying a complex emotion of joy and regret, "Carlotta’s piano recital is next week in Milan. We sincerely invite you to Ro, we also invited Professor Yang Ping, but he..."
"He refused," Ivan says calmly. He knows Yang Ping very well.
"Professor Yang says he is very busy now." Augustus’s voice carries a touch of noble restraint but cannot disguise its disappointnt, "We sent soone specially to Nandu to invite him, even offered chartered flights and full security... but he just shook his head, saying ’there isn’t enough ti’."
"Mr. Balberini, you don’t understand Yang Ping," Ivan’s voice is gentle yet firm, "To him, the wards and the laboratory are his world."
"But... he is one of those who saved my daughter," Augustus says, with a father’s determination in his voice, "We want to thank him in person. Carlotta asks every day if Professor Yang will change his mind. She even learned Chinese, wanting to say thank you in person. She has practiced a Chinese piece, ’Jasmine Flower’, intending to dedicate it to him at the recital."
Ivan closes his eyes. He can imagine that scene, a young pianist on the stage of the Scal Opera House, playing a Chinese folk song for the one she most wishes to play it for, far on the other side of the Earth, buried in microscopes and data.
The phone remains silent for a long ti, then Augustus speaks: "Then... would you co? Carlotta says if Professor Yang can’t co, she at least wants to see you. You are soone she has t whom she can thank."
"I will co," Ivan says, "as a witness, as Yang Ping’s spokesman, as your friend. I will convey Carlotta’s everything to Yang Ping, in a way he is willing to listen to: data, images, and facts."
Hanging up the phone, Ivan gazes at the distant orchard. Spring’s tender green is covering winter’s withered yellow, the flock of sheep slowly moves across the hillside, like a tranquil oil painting. In September in New Zealand, life grows, and he is about to embark on a journey, to see firsthand how the spring they jointly initiated blossoms on the other hemisphere.
He walks back indoors, instructing his assistant to pack his luggage. Not much is needed, he always travels light.
At Ro’s Fiumicino Airport, Ivan doesn’t take the usual passenger route. A black Maserati sedan drives directly to the tarmac, the car door opens, and it’s Augustus Balberini himself who steps out, personally coming to greet him, which is a very high honor in noble etiquette.
"Professor Ivan," Augustus holds Ivan’s hand, true gratitude in his eyes, "Thank you for coming, both you and Professor Yang are Carlotta’s benefactors."
Ivan carefully examines this Italian nobleman, who had once found Ivan in his most desperate mont when his hair was still dark gray, now nearly completely white. Yet that innate elegance hasn’t changed, only deepened with a layer of profound peace from having weathered many storms.
"Mr. Balberini, Professor Yang wanted to convey that he’s reviewed Carlotta’s latest examination report. He said, ’It’s excellent’. To him, this is the highest praise."
Augustus nods: "Thank you!"
The convoy drives to Balberini Manor, along the way Augustus again expresses his regret: "We really hope to thank both of you. Carlotta asks every day if Professor Yang will change his mind. She even learned Chinese, wanting to say thank you in person. She has practiced a Chinese piece, ’Jasmine Flower’, intending to dedicate it to him at the recital."
"Her living well, with gratitude and goodwill towards the world, that’s the greatest thanks to Professor Yang." Ivan replies.
He gazes out the window at Ro’s ancient streets, shimring in the autumn sunlight, Colosseum, Venice Square, Spanish Steps.
In front of the main building of Balberini Manor, Carlotta is waiting. October sunlight is draped over her, giving her a golden halo. She wears a simple white dress, no jewelry, no makeup, but the glow of rebirth from disaster shines brighter than any adornnt.
Her healthy skin shows a natural pink sheen, not perfectly flawless, but marks of life, the almost invisible surgical incision lines, slight pignt unevenness, and that smile she wears as she sees Ivan, real, complete, brimming with life force.
"Professor Ivan!" She cos forward with quick steps, a steady pace, hands naturally swinging, those hands, once deford, contracted, thought never to play the piano again, now flexible, graceful, full of power. She hugs Ivan deeply, then steps back, eyes full of expectation, though within that expectation, there was already an answer: "Professor Yang... still doesn’t have ti?"
"No ti," Ivan says gently, "or rather, his ti is entirely given to dicine, but let tell you what he’s been working on recently..."
They stroll in the manor’s garden, where the autumn roses are still in bloom. Ivan explains in detail about Yang Ping’s team’s latest work in skin muscle cloning technology: improving skin muscle cloning techniques to shorten cultivation ti; researching ways to make cultivated skin contain more complete nerve endings to recover sensation more quickly; exploring how to make this technology cheaper, more accessible, so that not only the Balberini family can benefit.
User Comments
0 comments from readers