Cheng Gong

My aunt doesn’t know I’m leaving. She’s probably in bed right now, listening for movement outside. Her nerves have been weak for a couple of years, and she spends more time trying to fall asleep than actually sleeping. If I get home late, she’ll still be awake, straining in the dark to hear the door. Only when I’m safely inside is she able to drop off. She’ll think I’ve gone out for a drink, as usual. She doesn’t care if I drink, not even if I get smashed. Maybe she likes it that way. A man who gets drunk every night probably won’t find love easily. Drunkards don’t need much sex, so they lose the ability to love. I’ll probably age quickly, catch up with her, and we’ll leave this world together. That’s for my own good. She doesn’t want me to be alone.

She’ll stay up all night waiting, maybe doze a little at dawn, but then she’ll jerk awake, check the lock, try calling me, and pace around the room when I don’t answer. That’s when she’ll realize I’m not coming home. When sunlight first spills into the room, I can imagine how scared she’ll be. Everything familiar will become strange. I know how that feels.

This is the first time I’m leaving Jinan to live somewhere else. Many years ago, Auntie had her fortune told—apparently she needs to spend the rest of her life at home, because traveling is dangerous for her. She decided that my birth numbers are close enough to hers that the same thing must apply to me. We’ve shared this fortune for some years, and I really am getting more and more like her. Now I’m scared of leaving too. A strange superstition. I believed I had to stay here, as if I were waiting for something.

Granny was admitted to hospital this May with a persistent fever and weight loss. They diagnosed late-stage liver cancer—the doctors said she had less than three months left. Her mind wasn’t clear. She insisted that Auntie and I wanted to hurt her and refused to be discharged. The hospital’s always full to bursting, but because of Granddad’s stature and because Auntie still works there, she managed to get herself a room in the side ward, the same building where Granddad was. It’s practically a retirement home these days—just old people waiting to die. The nurses are legendarily nasty—she’ll have suffered there. She brought her jewelry and savings book with her, so Auntie and I couldn’t get at them, then stayed awake at night because she was afraid they’d get stolen.

“Don’t touch anything at home,” she said, “I’ll be out in a day or two.” We watched her get weaker, fading before our eyes.

They put her in intensive care in June. She was still lucid when we went to see her, and asked to remove her oxygen mask. “Do you think your father is waiting for me on the other side?” she asked Auntie, who hesitated. Granny shook her head. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”