During one of my frequent visits to the Casa Fernando Pessoa in Lisbon, where the autumn light filters through tall windows and dust motes dance in the air like Pessoa's own scattered thoughts, I made a peculiar discovery.
I had been examining a particularly weathered edition of The Book of Disquiet, one whose margins bore annotations in what appeared to be several different hands, perhaps Pessoa's heteronyms speaking to one another across time. As I carefully turned its brittle pages, a manuscript fell from between leaves that had remained uncut for decades.
The document, written in classical Chinese with annotations in Portuguese and English, was wrapped in rice paper that had yellowed with age. A note attached to it, dated 1934, was written in Pessoa's distinctive hand: "Found this most curious document among Ricardo Reis's belongings. He claims it appeared on his desk one morning, though I have no memory of placing it there. Perhaps Bernardo Soares knows something of its provenance?" The fact that Pessoa attributed potential knowledge of the manuscript to one of his own heteronyms: Bernardo Soares, the primary author of The Book of Disquiet, seemed to me a particularly telling detail, suggesting the document's liminal nature between reality and imagination.
The manuscript purported to tell the story of Hu Fei (胡飞), whom some called "the world's greatest escapist." The text appeared to have been translated from an earlier Sanskrit source, though I suspect this claim, like many details in the story, may be part of its elaborate artifice. What makes this particular document fascinating is not merely its content, but the way it seemed to materialise in the very place where Portugal's greatest poet explored the multiplicities of self and the fluid nature of identity.
I.
The first Hu Fei was born in Hangzhou in 1037, the same year Su Dongpo passed the imperial examinations. Like many scholars of his time, he devoted himself to the study of the Classics, yet found himself increasingly drawn to Chan Buddhist texts and Daoist treaties on immortality. His contemporaries noted his peculiar habit of vanishing for months at a time, only to reappear with no explanation of his whereabouts. Some claimed he had mastered the Daoist arts of invisibility; others suggested he had found secret passages between moments in time.
The manuscript records a conversation between Hu and Su Dongpo that took place during one of the latter's periods of exile. They met at the Cold Mountain Temple, where Su had gone to seek solace in poetry and wine. Hu, who had been living as a hermit in the nearby mountains, descended to pay his respects to the great poet.
"Tell me," Su Dongpo asked, "how have you achieved such perfect detachment? I write of transcendence and acceptance, yet find myself bound by ambition and regret."
Hu smiled and replied, "Venerable Su, you speak of moving from false transcendence to true transcendence. But I have discovered that even true transcendence is a form of attachment. The perfect escape is not to transcend, but to inhabit fully the space between acceptance and rejection, between being and non-being."
The manuscript records that Su Dongpo laughed and composed an impromptu verse:
"The master of escape leaves no traces,
Neither accepting nor rejecting the world.
Like autumn mist on West Lake at dawn,
Present and absent in the same breath."
II.
The second Hu Fei appeared in Geneva in 1941, during the darkest days of the Second World War. He worked as a librarian at the University of Geneva, specialising in Eastern manuscripts. Those who knew him described a man of indeterminate age who spoke perfect French with a slight accent that no one could quite place. He claimed to be Chinese, though his features seemed to shift subtly depending on the angle from which one viewed him.
This Hu Fei possessed an uncanny ability to avoid conflict, danger, and commitment of any kind. During air raid drills, he would simply vanish, reappearing hours later with no memory of where he had been. He maintained simultaneous residences in different parts of the city, each one containing identical furniture and books, as if he existed in multiple parallel worlds.
The manuscript contains fragments of his diary, written in a mixture of classical Chinese and modern French. One entry reads:
"The art of escape is not merely physical displacement, but the ability to inhabit the interstices between moments. I have learned to live in the pause between inhalation and exhalation, in the space between thought and action. Time is not linear but circular, not a river but a lake. The true escapist does not run from one point to another but learns to dwell in the gaps between points."
III.
The manuscript suggests that these two Hu Feis were, in fact, the same being, moving freely between centuries as others move between rooms. It presents evidence in the form of identical calligraphic marks found in both a Song Dynasty scroll and a Geneva library book, and in the precise repetition of certain phrases across a millennium of difference.
But what makes this account particularly fascinating is its exploration of the philosophy of escape. Both iterations of Hu Fei understood that true escape is not about avoiding reality but about discovering its hidden dimensions. The Song Dynasty Hu spoke of finding freedom in the space between acceptance and rejection, while his modern counterpart sought refuge in the gaps between moments of time.
The manuscript contains a passage that appears to be written in both men's handwriting simultaneously:
"The world sees escape as cowardice, as a turning away from reality. But the greatest escape artist is one who has learned to turn so completely away from the world that he comes full circle and finds himself facing it again, now seeing it with the eyes of one who understands its illusory nature. Like Su Dongpo's progression from false to true transcendence, the master of escape moves from false evasion to true evasion, until the distinction between facing and fleeing dissolves entirely."
IV.
The final pages of the manuscript detail a curious incident that occurred simultaneously in 1101 and 1941. In Hangzhou, the first Hu Fei was seen walking into West Lake during a heavy mist, while in Geneva, his twentieth-century counterpart stepped into Lake Geneva during an air raid. Neither body was ever found. The manuscript suggests that at this moment, the two timelines merged, and Hu Fei achieved what he called "perfect escape" – a state of existing everywhere and nowhere, fully present yet completely absent.
The text concludes with a philosophical reflection that seems to draw equally from Chan Buddhism, Western metaphysics, and Su Dongpo's poetry:
"The ultimate escape is not from something but into everything. When one understands that all boundaries are illusory, that time is a circle and space a mirror, then escape becomes impossible because there is nowhere to escape to and no one to do the escaping. This is the paradox that Hu Fei embodied: to be the world's greatest escapist is to realise that escape itself is the final illusion."
* * *
After discovering this manuscript in the Casa Fernando Pessoa, I found myself drawn into a labyrinth of research that seemed to mirror the very nature of its subject. I discovered that Pessoa himself had mentioned a mysterious Chinese visitor to Lisbon in several diary entries from 1934, though he referred to this person by different names in each entry, as if the visitor's identity were as fluid as Pessoa's own heteronyms.
In the archives of the National Library of Portugal, I found a curious entry in a shipping register from 1934, listing the arrival of a passenger whose name was recorded as "Hu Fei" on one page and "Hugo Figueira" on the next, with identical passport numbers. The librarian who helped me locate these records later insisted no such entries existed, though I had copied them precisely in my notebook.
Perhaps most intriguingly, among Pessoa's unpublished poems, I found these lines, dated the same week as his note about the manuscript:
"The stranger who brings tales from the East
Carries centuries in his eyes like petals,
Each story a doorway through which he slips,
Leaving only absence as his trace."
As I pen these words in my study in Lisbon, watching the evening light cast shadows across my collected notes, I find myself wondering whether my discovery in the Casa Fernando Pessoa was itself a manifestation of Hu Fei's art: not an escape from truth, but a passage into a more profound reality. The manuscript, like its subject, seems to exist in a state of perpetual flux, simultaneously present and absent in the historical record, rather like one of Pessoa's own spectral heteronyms.
A fortnight ago, I returned to the Casa Fernando Pessoa to examine the manuscript once more, only to find that the particular edition of The Book of Disquiet from which it had fallen was mysteriously absent from the collection. When I enquired about this to the archivist, she offered a knowing smile and replied, "But senhor, are you quite certain you encountered that specific volume?" Her question, I realised, contained within it all the wisdom of the East that Hu Fei had brought to our shores - the understanding that certainty itself might be the greatest of all illusions.
Uncle and Auntie please come in for a chat. Make yourself comfortable.
Do not worry, she will re-appear soon to finish off her collection of short
Science fiction stories. We have reached this conclusion among family members
at your recent farm gathering for the annual picnic horse racing event. It was your
great idea to bring all the family together and to have fun.
We know she has been gone for a long while.At first we did know what to make of her research but when talking to all our cousins we put all the odd the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle and are
convinced she has mastered the art of Hu Fei. She has powers to attract and to vanish only appearing at her own free will, as well create magical stories that are strange
and yet compelling reading.
Oh ! Excuse me Uncle and Auntie, I have digressed and I am talking too much and have not
offered you tea. Please forgive me for not being more hospitable host.
Would like red or green tea ? You must be pleased your great nephews and nieces are at
an age where they can safely ride and race your horses at your farm. Time does fly
and family members grow up quickly.Your great niece has mentioned her desire to enter for the Dressage Olympics. She love horse riding and we truly hope she fulfills her dream and represents our Country.
So Uncle and Auntie we expect her to re-appear soon. All of us decided to buy a
her gift when she appears any day now. As a welcoming gift we have purchased a
a rare fine bone-china red comb. Your niece told us, she had misplaced a red comb one day
but found it later. We felt, it is time she had a better quality comb, one that stands out
and can't be easily misplaced. She has long black hair that cascades down her shoulders like a stream flowing silently at midnight. There is always poetry around her . That is the way she is
You can see little pearl beams of light in her eyes when she combs her hair. We think it is her ritual,
or at least her secret, before she writes in her journal entries with verve and gusto
Of course Uncle and Auntie let you know the moment she arrives.
她最后一次跟我说话是八个月前
我以为她可能已经回山东了
I asked him have you heard from her ? He moved his head from side to side.
But went on to say that the group had expanded to eighty now with plenty of new assignments.
Maybe it's time for a change, a new job. I needed a new environment, a new culture.
I thought of Shanghai, maybe I could serendipitously find her there. It was wishful thinking
as it a massive city to become invisible or to disappear in. So I told him I want a change.
He said where do you want to go ? I said how about I live on a yacht of the coast of Sardinia
or Porto-Vecchio, Corsica for a few months? As if reading my mind he said you will not find her there and laughed. It was an uncanny remark and I had to suppress a chuckle.
But I did recall something she said to me.
At that time I did not place too much importance to her reading. She had discovered an eight hundred year old archived slim volume. A journal of sorts with some profound secret she said . It sounded to me like fanciful speculation or at best a fairy tale. She said it was an instruction manual on how to disappear and only to re-appear when economic and political events are favorable.
I sipped my pineapple daiquiri then ate the maraschino cherry in deep reflection. I wondered if I ever would see her again. I looked around the cafe and saw seats started to fill with low murmur of talk. I saw Ginger the barista's cat too, it was rubbing its eye with the right paw. Ginger stopped, gave me a long stare before waking behind the shady trees.
Well, what will it be I said ?
Let me look at the project registry and I'll see what I can do.
I looked around and Ginger was nowhere to be seen.