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 …

Two Old Letters

To Chen Sisi

Just a moment ago I went up to the roof and turned towards the faraway southwest, where I imagined was the direction in which your father – my shifu – was buried, and observed a solemn moment of silence for longer than I needed to. I believe if your father is a spirit up in heaven, he must have heard me saying goodbye. I spoke for quite a while – even if I had wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to keep silent. I seemed to be possessed. I called out his name repeatedly, offering my heartfelt condolences, my best wishes, my deep feelings of love, over and over again. Because I had so much to give to him, I ended up feeling somewhat light-headed, like a feather drifting through the sky. I felt as though I were flying. It was almost a feeling of being torn asunder, but it wasn’t painful, only unobstructed. I was reconciled to having my mortal shell disassembled.

Now I’m at my writing desk, writing you this letter.