In the Dark, page 32
But we knew that Father had a problem, it was just that it manifested itself in peculiar ways. He would seem to fall ill and then not be ill – it was as if the things surrounding him were playing hide-and-seek, tormenting him ceaselessly. One evening, as I was taking him for a walk, we saw near the main gate a red leather ball that some child or other must have left. When we returned from our walk, the ball was still there. Father stopped and stared at it, then turned about. I asked him where he was going and he said he was going home. I told him that we were already headed in the direction of our house, but he didn’t believe me. He turned to face me and pointed at the ball, then explained: ‘That ball is not normally in front of our house. Since it isn’t normal for it to be there, its appearance is meant to confuse; but for a confused person such things cannot always remain the same …’ and so on, and so forth.
After he’d spoken I was mystified. I had no idea what he meant. Why was he so concerned about that bloody ball? So, when his attention was diverted for a moment, I kicked the ball off into the shadows. When he noticed it was gone, he began to mumble incomprehensibly and then returned home. During those days, he mumbled constantly to himself. However, neither Ah-bing nor I could make head or tail of what he said. Sometimes it seemed as though he were reciting some poem or other, at others it seemed as if he were teaching someone something. But on that day, during the incident with the ball, I was finally able to make out what he had been mumbling. This is what it was: ‘You certainly are not you … I certainly am not me … The table certainly is not a table … The blackboard certainly is not a blackboard … Today certainly is not today … The sunshine certainly is not the sunshine …’
What did this mean? It didn’t seem to be a poem, or a song, or some folk tune. Had he remembered this … whatever it was for very long? It was really strange. Once we got home I asked Father what the words meant. He gave me a vacant stare, and then asked me what I meant. I repeated to him what he had been mumbling outside. Immediately, to my surprise, his eyes became wide and round. He asked me where I had heard this, as if it were some confidential information that I shouldn’t know about. I told him the truth and his face paled with fright: he implored me to forget what I had heard, and then declared in no uncertain terms that he had never spoken these words. He acted as though he had inadvertently let slip some top-secret information. Seeing Father so alarmed and anxious, I immediately realized what this was all about, these words were somehow related to what went on behind those red walls …
Day Six
Red walls!
Red walls!
What mysteries do you keep hidden inside you?
How is it that you always make people so nervous, so strange?
I kept thinking that at his age, my father’s eccentricities were OK. I was resigned to his illness; though it was certain it had some connection to the secret work that went on behind those red walls. In other words, it was perhaps a sign of an occupational disease – the lingering traces of it. Because his occupation was so ineffable, it seemed to make sense that his illness would likewise be unusual and bizarre – something ordinary people couldn’t understand or grasp.
Even a small bell can wake a person. I thought, ‘If Father’s illness is the result of his work, perhaps someone behind those red walls will have the means to deal with it.’ And so one day I went to find old Director Wang. He’d visited our house several times in the past, and given me the impression that he was concerned about Father’s well-being. Director Wang listened to my description of Father’s illness, and for a long time afterwards he didn’t speak. He didn’t seem surprised, nor did he show much sympathy; instead, his expression was blank. He asked me where my father was, and I told him he was at home. He made his secretary get him two cigarettes and said that he would return home with me. Once we arrived there, we discovered that the door was open and Father was nowhere to be found. I asked the old man who served as concierge if he had seen him leave the compound, to which he answered that it was absolutely impossible for him to have left as it had only been half an hour since he’d seen Father in the courtyard. Still, we looked and looked and could not find him, nor did we see any trace of him having been there; it seemed as though he had disappeared into thin air.
Where do you think he got to? He was over in the building opposite ours, wandering through the corridors with his house keys in his hand, repeatedly trying to open doors, trying to find out which one worked. Absurd, don’t you think? He didn’t even recognize his own home! We brought him back, but as soon as we entered, he abruptly turned round and insisted that he wanted to leave because this wasn’t our home. I really didn’t know what to do. It was then that Director Wang thought of a solution. He told me to take my father outside for a moment and wait for him to call us back. A few moments later, we heard Director Wang’s voice. Once we went back in I noticed that slight changes had been made: the sofa cover was gone, the vase of flowers that had been on the dining-room table was on the small tea table, and a few other small decorative items had been shifted around. But Father, having seen these slight changes, now believed that this was indeed his house.
Wouldn’t you say this was strange? It was downright bizarre!
That day, as he took his leave, Director Wang told me how to deal with Father if he should become confused again. Afterwards, whenever Father had one of his episodes, we simply shifted around some of the things in front of him and he would relax. To be honest, in the beginning I didn’t believe it would work, but after doing it several times I could see how well it worked – for example, when he’d suddenly mistake Ah-bing or myself for someone else, we’d simply change our clothes or rearrange our hair and he’d recognize us again as if he had just woken from a dream. Other episodes were the same: all we had to do was make several small changes as the situation demanded, and Father would seem to come to his senses. Sometime later, and without even trying, we discovered a particularly useful method: whenever Father had one of his moments during which he argued that this wasn’t his home, all we needed to do was turn on the television or the radio and he’d be fine. Perhaps this was because the image on the television and the sound emanating from the radio were always changing. But whatever the reason, after making this discovery we had certainly eliminated a major headache. At least now when we brought him home we wouldn’t have any more trouble. Unfortunately, new problems began to present themselves one after another. At times, he would mistake such-and-such a person for someone else; or he’d misunderstand what someone said. There was always one damn thing after another; some crazy or bizarre social gaffe or other that he’d commit. Whilst those behind those red walls might possibly understand, what about everyone else? Eventually, the other families in the compound all said that Father had gone mad, and they all avoided him.
As you can imagine, who would dare let this kind of man, who could lapse at any moment, out of the house on his own? I wouldn’t – after all, who knew what kind of trouble he might get into? Anything could have happened! Consequently, Father never went outside unless someone was there to accompany him, to make sure he was all right, and that he’d come home without causing some fuss or other. He was like a child. If we turned our backs for a moment, it was quite likely that we’d end up having to look all over the place for him. While Ah-bing was at home this wasn’t really a problem, but in another couple of months he would be off to the provincial capital to begin his graduate studies. As I’ve told you, originally we had thought that we’d move to the capital along with Ah-bing (to find new go opponents for Father), but now this was unnecessary – and what’s more, it was impossible. Father being the way he was, how could we take him somewhere else? He could only stay in the courtyard in front of our house! Everyone knew us here: if Father had a sudden accident or caused an incident, people would understand and make allowances for him. It was also safe here. In the provincial capital no one knew us; it’d be a miracle if nothing bad were to happen. But Ah-bing was leaving – I’d be the only one left at home, and I had to work. I couldn’t stay at home and take care of Father all the time. What was I to do? I thought the best thing to do was to go and see Director Wang, but he couldn’t think of any answer either. Mulling it over, it seemed that there was only one solution: Father should be admitted to hospital.
I knew that he’d be unwilling to go, but Director Wang said that this was a directive issued by the organization, and he didn’t have a choice. Father wouldn’t challenge an organizational directive. As a result of Director Wang’s hard work and effort, we didn’t have to worry about Father being admitted to the local psychiatric ward. In fact, he was admitted to the Lingshan Convalescent Home. At first, I was very pleased and happy with this solution. When we took him there and I saw the environment, the conditions and the atmosphere, as well as the scenery we travelled through to get there – well, everything seemed better than I could have imagined. I was overjoyed. At the time, I certainly didn’t realize that within three days my joy would turn to regret. A deep, profound sense of regret …
On that day, the convalescent home rang me. Something had happened to Father. Director Wang and I immediately went to ‘resolve the situation’, but when we got there and stood just outside the building where my father was living, I could hear him shouting himself hoarse. I raced up the stairs, but when I got to his room I saw an iron chain securing the door. He looked like a confused and distraught old man, like a man who has been wrongly accused of some crime. I asked him what had happened, but he told me he did not know; all he could tell me was that they had locked him in like this for the last several hours; it was nearly four in the afternoon now and they hadn’t even given him his lunch. Director Wang took me to see the hospital administrator. Both of us wanted to register a complaint against them, but once we heard the administrator’s explanation of the situation, we didn’t know what to say.
It seemed it was to do with one of the hospital’s nurses, a woman by the name of Shi. She was very young – everyone called her Little Shi. You know that my family also used to call me Little Si; perhaps that was the reason for what happened, that brought on one of Father’s episodes. He thought she was me, and in the morning when she came to tidy his room, he became a little over-affectionate with her, which made her quite angry. Finally freeing herself from his hands, she went to leave. Father, however, chased after her, repeatedly calling out to her. The whole situation frightened Little Shi terribly. As a result, the hospital staff believed Father was some sort of potential rapist and locked him in his room. We asked for some explanation of their treatment of him, but they retorted forcefully, with the conviction of someone who has been unfairly accused, that it wasn’t they who were at fault but us, since we knew but had not told them that father suffered from such moments. In short, we shouldn’t have brought him here in the first place; this was a convalescent home, not a psychiatric hospital. Neither Director Wang nor I could say that they were wrong because, in truth, we were the ones who had made a mistake. What made me angry was that one of the hospital staff suddenly said that we should apologize to Little Shi and compensate her for emotional damage. The gall of some people! My father had already suffered such massive emotional damage. Who should we look to for compensation?
The situation at the convalescent home was patched up. When all was said and done, it was decided that Father would spend the next three days there, a sort of trial period. If it turned out that they simply couldn’t take care of him, he would have to be returned home. I was at a loss, however. I really didn’t know what to do. I simply couldn’t think of a way to allow Father to live out his days peacefully. I no longer dared to think that I could make his ‘golden years’ happy, I just wanted him to be at peace. That’s all; that would be enough. I was advised to put Father in a psychiatric ward, but I just couldn’t do it: wouldn’t that be tantamount to giving up on him? I thought the best thing I could do would be to quit work. I just couldn’t send him to such a place. No matter how I looked at it, this was a problem that couldn’t be dealt with rationally – it was a problem of the heart. My heart just wouldn’t let me make such a choice.
Sometime later – Father had been back from the convalescent home for about a day or so – I had just come home from work when I saw him smiling quite contentedly. He didn’t wait for me to ask him what was going on, he just told me in an excited voice that the organization had given him a new assignment, and he was going back to work!
For that whole day, Father was so happy and delighted.
In the years when he was working, we had continuously looked forward to, had hoped for, the day he would leave those red walls behind. I never thought that the day would come when he would be planning to go back. I was so unhappy about the whole thing. I really didn’t want him to go! When Director Wang asked my opinion on the matter, I told him the truth. I told him no; I said I couldn’t bear it. I also told him that I was planning to quit my job and stay at home to take care of Father. Father was really furious with me afterwards for what I had said. Then I realized I really didn’t have any power to oppose this new assignment, so my opposition was pointless. What if I had resigned my position, intending to look after him every minute of every day, how was that going to be? Father’s illness would still be the same as before; the problems would be the same as before: we simply couldn’t make him happy. There was nothing we could do to make him happy, but there was something that they could do. I remember his face on that day. You can’t imagine it – he was so pleased, he’d spent more than two hours on the phone with Ah-bing. The topic never veered far from what was making him so content: he had a new assignment; he was going back to work.
On the following day, Father really ‘went back to work’. I remember it clearly. It was 1986, a cold, windy, wintry day – cold enough to freeze you to the bone. Slushy snow wet the ground. I escorted Father out to the gate of our housing compound to the car that was waiting to carry him back behind the red walls. As the car pulled away, as I watched his back recede into the distance, my mind returned to those red walls, the large iron gate, to the image of him disappearing inside … unable, unwilling, perhaps, to turn round and give me one last look.
Father! Dad!
Those red walls!
And that was how, 827 days after he exited Unit 701, he was welcomed back into its bosom.
At first, I was very worried that Father would have another one of his episodes whilst at work, and there would be no one there to look after him. Who’s to say that he wouldn’t cause a serious disturbance? I was also worried about his physical health – after all, he had been away for quite a long time; would he be able to handle the strain of going back? In a sense, now that he had returned to those red walls, he took my spirit with him. I was flustered and confused, I couldn’t sleep well, I couldn’t remember things clearly, I spent my days distracted and absent-minded. I couldn’t shake an ominous sense of foreboding. But a week passed, then two, and then a month, and nothing happened. Not only did nothing untoward happen, but things actually got better. Whenever Father came home to visit, his face would seem spirited and full of energy; he looked truly invigorated, satisfied – so very contented. I felt pleased and gratified. Ha, I know you don’t believe me at all: not only had Father’s spirit returned since he went back inside, his health had returned as well. The problems he had experienced when retired never reappeared. He had recovered; it all seemed as though it had never happened. Those red walls seemed like a large magical protective screen: they had spared him from the disasters he had created; they had rescued him from himself. To use Director Wang’s words: when Father returned back behind those red walls, it was like a fish returning to water.
It’s true: Father was reborn!
Now, when I am in a depressed mood, I often use these thoughts to blame myself. I think: the cosmos will change, but my father won’t. His life belonged behind those red walls, his heart and mind had already been bound incontrovertibly to that place, so they could never be separated from it; if they were, they would decay and die. Those mysterious red walls and the compound they held were his native soil; they’d also be where his body would be welcomed back into the earth. In the end, he would die inside … speaking of him dying, my hand has begun to tremble, I cannot believe that he’s dead. I don’t want him to be, I don’t want it! I want my dad!
Dad!
Dad!
Dad!
Where are you?
Day Seven
… I no longer have the energy to write any more, I’ll just use a few words to finish up.
Sunday was Father’s day to visit home. After he had returned behind those red walls, Sundays became the day he’d come round to see me, he’d stay the night and leave in the morning. If he couldn’t make it, he’d telephone. On one particular Sunday, he didn’t call and so I expected him home. At around three in the afternoon I went to the market to buy food for dinner, I bought four fillets of crucian carp. Father said that chicken aided the feet, but fish was good for the brain. He loved to eat fish. This preference had stayed with him all his life, he never once felt tired of it. I got back home at close to four, and until 4:30 I prepared dinner. Suddenly the phone rang. The man on the other end said that Father had had a heart attack and was now in the hospital emergency room; they wanted me to come over as quickly as possible. It was the work unit’s hospital, inside the compound, but by the time I made it to the iron gates they told me that he had been transferred to a hospital in the city. This meant that he was in a very serious condition; within moments of hearing this tears began to stream down my face. Tears of fear. I managed to stagger my way to the city hospital. Once there, the doctor told me that his heart had already stopped once but they had been able to revive him. As I stood in front of him, I didn’t know whether I should be sad or happy. Father smiled at me, but he didn’t speak. Five days later, at 9:03 in the evening, Father smiled at me once more and then departed for ever …
