I always believe that when I die I’ll get to hear the whistle. When I was young, there was a film on television that I can only piece together now. It was a Chinese romance story, of a university girl in love with a man, who was also very much in love with her. They lived in this beautiful concrete city, black birds over a church and old, brick buildings. There was an old iron and brass winding stairway, wide and not too long, from which you can see end to end, at the bottom or from above. One day when the music was at its brightest, the man ran through the city, and like a wind sudden and suddenly stoppered, he looked up to see that the girl had hung herself, suspended near the stairway.
For a long time I have been looking for this tune and its film.