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.