A Map of Childhood
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An imaginary journey through a Matsu counting rhyme
Introduction
A map usually begins with outlines. This one begins with a cat who has a few objections. Inspired by a traditional counting rhyme from Matsu, A Map of Childhood invites you to draw two islands, leave room for some bamboo, and see what happens when the words start moving. You do not need to know Nangan or Beigan before you begin. There will be time to find them on a map. For now, a sheet of paper will do.
The cat arrives before you have finished the map.
It sits at the edge of the paper and watches your pen. “You’ve left out where I live,” it says. “Where’s that?” “Beigan.” You draw an island and write its name underneath. The cat leans over to sniff the wet ink, then points to the empty space beside it. “And Nangan. There’s bamboo there.” You draw another island, add some bamboo, and reach for a blue pen. Before you can put the sea between them, the cat pins the pen down with one paw. “Wait,” it says. “How am I supposed to get across?”
You think for a moment and draw a boat. The cat walks around it, hops in, and immediately hops out. “Too small. Nowhere for my tail.” You rub out the boat. Without quite meaning to, you begin a rhyme: “Bamboo in Nangan, a cat in Beigan…” At the word “cat,” one ear turns towards you. “Again,” it says. This time it waits on Beigan, crouching low, its tail twitching. You have barely said “Bamboo in Nangan” before it leaps across and lands beside the bamboo, smudging one of the stems. “Much quicker.” It licks a paw, then stops. “But did you leave me over there?”
Sure enough, another cat is sitting on Beigan, scratching an ear with a back foot. “That’s where I was,” says the first cat. “It’s where I am now,” says the other. Then it strolls across the rest of the rhyme, which you have not yet finished saying. You look from one cat to the other and start counting on your fingers. Two heads, four ears, two tails— “Keep your tails still.” Neither cat listens. By the time you reach their legs, they have slipped into the bamboo, chasing something you have not drawn yet. You pick up your pen to give them a path, but one of them has stepped in the wet ink. Small pawprints lead away through the bamboo. You put the pen down to see where they will go.
The prints stop at the edge of Nangan. Both cats are crouching there, looking out over the blank paper. “What are you looking at?” “The sea.” “But I haven’t drawn it yet.” “That’s why we can see so far,” says one of the cats. You take the blue pen and add a wave, then another. The paper begins to ripple. The bamboo leaves rustle. “I thought you didn’t want me to draw the sea.” The first cat hastily draws its paws back from the water. “I was still on the other side then.” The other cat touches a wave with one paw and shakes it dry. You carry the blue line along the shore, but it catches your pen. “Leave that bit.” It points to the little patch of pawprints. “Otherwise, when we come back, you’ll have to count us all over again.”
“There,” you say. “Two islands. Two cats. That’s everyone.” Both cats look up. “Not quite.” “Who’s missing?” One walks to the edge of the paper and looks up at you. “You.” You laugh and draw yourself beside the bamboo, so small that all you can make out is a hat. “I don’t have a hat.” “You do now.” The cat stands on its hind legs and straightens the brim. Only then do you notice that your shoes are in the wet ink. You are still holding the pen, but it is as tall as a bamboo pole. The two cats walk around you, sniffing. “Your turn to count,” you tell them. They count your ears, then your feet. Finally they go round to the back, where they fall silent. “What’s wrong?” “No tail,” they say. “Shall we draw you one?”
A Note from the Curator
I chose to begin with a rhyme because I wanted to introduce Nangan without asking it to explain itself all at once. A place does not always need to make its entrance through a history, a list of landmarks, or an account of why it matters. Sometimes a cat is enough to get things started. What drew me to this rhyme was how little it needed: a few names, bamboo, cats, and something to count. I wanted to give those things room to misbehave. The cat could object to the boat. The sea could wait. A second cat could arrive without anyone being entirely sure where it had come from. For me, "a map of childhood" is not a map of a particular year. It is a way of making room for things before every space has been named and every route decided. The islands in this story have names, but the map is still being drawn. That is where I wanted to meet the reader: with a pen in hand, and no need to finish the picture just yet.
About the Rhyme
〈南竿竹，北竿貓〉 is a traditional counting rhyme from Matsu. Its title pairs Nangan with bamboo and Beigan with a cat. It is taught in Matsu's local language, Mindong (Eastern Min), as part of learning resources for children. Nangan and Beigan are real islands in the Matsu archipelago, in the northwestern Taiwan Strait. In the version of the rhyme that inspired this story, one cat becomes two: one head, two ears, one tail and four legs become two heads, four ears, two tails and eight legs. The repeated opening keeps the island names in place while the numbers change. A Map of Childhood is an original story inspired by those elements, not a translation of the complete rhyme or a retelling of a traditional tale. The talking cats, unfinished map and journeys across the paper belong to this new story. Its brief English phrase, "Bamboo in Nangan, a cat in Beigan," is a rendering of the opening for this piece, not a complete singable translation.
Rhyme text and commentary
Verse 1
南竿竹，北竿貓，Nang ngang toéyh, pěih kang mà,
南竿竹筑蜀頭貓，Nang ngàng tyh toéyh suō làu mà,
蜀隻貓頭兩隻耳，Suǒ jiéh mā thàu làng jiéh ngêi,
蜀頭貓尾四隻骹。Suō làu mā muī sì jiéh kha.
Verse 2
南竿竹，北竿貓，Nang ngang toéyh, pěih kang mà,
南竿竹筑兩頭貓，Nang ngàng tyh toéyh lang thàu mà,
兩隻貓頭四隻耳，Làng jiéh mā thàu sì jiéh ngêi,
兩條貓尾八隻骹。Lāng nèu mā muī peih jiéh kha.
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