Family photo in 1983.
I suddenly dreamed of my grandfather last night.
Under the eaves of the house in my hometown, the rain fell on the leaves of the patio orchids, dripping. Grandpa was sitting by the window peeling beans, and I was doing my homework. Grandpa suddenly said, “Sister, it’s raining, go upstairs to collect your clothes! I said, “Hey”, dropped my pen and ran upstairs.
When I came downstairs, I found that my grandfather was gone and asked my mother: Where is my grandfather? She replied calmly, “He’s gone.
I ran to Grandpa’s house, but it was empty. But the wine jar next to it was broken and wine spilled all over the floor.
I cried out, and then woke up. When I opened my teary eyes, the night was thick and the dim streetlight light spilled evenly on the blinds. The moon was white and the wind was clear, and nothing seemed to have happened.
My grandfather died in the spring of 2002, and for the second time in 19 years, I dreamt of him.
I had dreamed of him once about ten years ago. He was sitting in a chair drinking porridge in his old house, and he looked very tired and dusty. He told me that he had walked a long way and was hungry and thirsty. He drank the thin porridge to a whistle, finished it and went out without saying anything.
The house where Grandpa spent his teenage and young adult years was destroyed by a fire in 2007. (Photo by Lin Shiyu)
After that, I often thought of my grandfather in the dead of night, hoping that he would come into my dreams and tell me how he was doing over there. But grandpa seemed to have left cleanly and never came back until last night.
For as long as I can remember, my grandfather has not been able to work in the field, and every day he just sits hunched over in front of the stove and makes a fire, or goes to the barber store at the entrance of the village to chat with the old man, and then goes home to eat at the end of the day. After the meal, he appeared in the barber store again.
When I was a child, I wondered: my father, mother and grandmother, and even my brother and I all had to work, so why was my grandfather the only exception? He didn’t look old.
My mother later told me that when my grandfather was cleaning the garbage on the patio in his forties, he was pierced by a corroded nail on the bottom of his foot, and since then his calf has been festering and he can no longer work on the ground. 16-year-old father took on the burden of providing for the family.
After the three of us were born, my grandfather was overjoyed and treated us very well. Whenever he heard us at home after school, he got up from bed and asked us if we wanted to have a snack. We nodded happily, and he went to the food store at the door to buy potted batter and flat pork, then sat in front of the stove and watched us eat contentedly.
I gradually figured out the pattern, and every time I entered the door after school, the first thing I always called out was “Grandpa”.
I remember when I was a child, every time I did my homework in the hall, my grandfather sat aside and watched me with a smile on his face. He didn’t seem to have to do anything but look at me and be content. My mother said that I was my grandfather’s only granddaughter, and that he loved me because I grew up being especially understanding.
When I finished my homework, he would tell me about his experiences as a laborer in Malaysia when he was young, such as when they went swimming in the sea in the evening and would see whales floating up; such as how the black people were lazy and liked to drink, while the Chinese worked hard and liked to save money. He would also occasionally say some Malay words to me, such as “pig”, pronounced a bit like “but caramel”, which I still remember clearly.
When Grandpa talked about the days in Malaysia, his eyes shone as if it was the highlight of his life. At the end of the day, he said, “I wish I hadn’t come back at that time.
I didn’t understand why my grandfather had such a sigh, but when I grew up to be a teenager, I understood his helplessness from my father’s story.
When my grandfather was in his twenties, he went to the “South Seas” with the villagers in order to escape from being caught in the war. He first worked in a rubber plantation in Malaysia, and later saved up a sum of money and set up a pig farm with a friend. He stayed in Malaysia for nearly ten years.
In 1941, the Pacific War broke out and Japan attacked Southeast Asia with great force. At that time, my grandmother, as a child bride, stayed in my grandfather’s house for nine years and grew to a graceful sixteen years old. When my great-grandfather heard that the war had broken out, he was afraid that my grandfather would not be able to return, so he hastily sent a letter to urge him to come back and get married.
At the end of January 1942, the entire Malay Peninsula fell. At the last moment of navigation, grandfather bought a boat ticket and reluctantly returned home.
In 1941, the Pacific War broke out, and grandpa returned to China in a hurry the following year, and his fate was reversed. (Photo from the Internet)
He appeared on the stone road in his hometown in a suit, with a small box of gold and silver jewelry. According to my grandmother, as soon as he entered the house, the clan gathered around him and said excitedly, “The South Seasman has returned”.
In front of everyone, grandpa opened the box and generously distributed the jewelry to the clan, leaving himself with only two gold rings and a pair of gold bracelets, as well as some silverware. Many years later, Grandma still resented Grandpa’s silly generosity.
I remember when I was a child, my grandmother had a red camphor wood box hidden in her house. She often opened it for me, and the smell of mothballs came to my nose. She lined up the jewelry and asked me what I liked, saying she would give it to me when I grew up. I grew up loving silverware, so naturally I chose a silver necklace with a small but delicate embroidered shoe and fish pendant. The year I got married, my grandmother really gave me these silverware.
What impressed me most was that the box contained a certificate of grandfather’s return to China. The photo showed Grandpa, dressed in a suit, young and handsome, with a clean smile and skin coated with a honey yellow bathed by the sea breeze.
Immediately after his return to China, Grandpa married his grandmother. He originally planned to return to Malaysia to run a pig farm after the wedding, so he only brought a passport, a small box of jewelry and a few changes of clothes, but nothing else. The war against Japan was already in full swing, and the Pacific Ocean was in flames, so the path from China to Southeast Asia was completely cut off.
Grandpa couldn’t go back, so he was depressed and stayed in his hometown, becoming an authentic farmer.
In 1942, the stone road in his hometown witnessed the return of a “South Seasman”. (Photo by Lin Shiyu)
He was honest and hard-working and had no selfishness. So in the production team, it was always him doing the dirtiest and most tiring work, but he never complained. His elder brother couldn’t stand it anymore and called him a useless “rice bucket”. From then on, everyone in the production team called Grandpa “rice bucket”, and his real name was almost forgotten.
The nickname “rice bucket” actually does not match his appearance at all. He was tall and slender, and when he was young, he should have been a handsome man with a beautiful face. When he got old, his back was a bit hunched, and he walked down the street like a gray crane with his head down drinking water and thinking.
As far as I can remember, my grandfather never said anything bad about anyone, complained about anything, always a smile on his face, a slow voice, accepting all that life has to offer.
Grandpa is particularly kind-hearted. I remember when I was a child, a villager came to the house to borrow rice, the family’s rice has bottomed out, before the grandmother replied, grandpa said “there is it, there is it”. Then he took the villagers to the kitchen and poured all the rice to her. After she left, Grandma was so angry that she quarreled with Grandpa, then carried the bucket herself and went to the neighbor’s house to borrow rice.
For a while, Grandma planted a bed of small onions and cilantro on the roof. She took a lot of effort to carry the soil upstairs from the ground outside, so she treated the green onions and cilantro as if they were precious, not to be touched by others.
When spring arrives, the cilantro and scallions grow lush and green. Whenever relatives came to the house, grandpa took the initiative to ask: Do you want cilantro and green onions? If the other party nodded, grandpa would go up to the roof and pick a big handful. When Grandma came back and saw that the green onions and cilantro had become sparse, she began to scold Grandpa for being “nosy”.
For as long as I can remember, Grandpa and Grandma seemed to be fighting all the time, always sleeping separately. When I was two years old, I dreamed of my deceased great-uncle, and after I was frightened, I slept with my grandmother until I was 11 years old and went to the county high school. My grandfather slept next door, and when he snored loudly at night, my grandmother would bang on the wallboard in annoyance, cursing the “dead old man”.
I was so young that I didn’t understand what it meant for couples to sleep separately. When I grew up, I learned that my grandfather and grandmother had never had children after they got married. Grandma’s period stopped in her thirties, but she never went to the doctor, always thinking it was Grandpa’s problem. They later adopted their four-year-old father, and finally were able to continue a family tributary so that it would not dry up.
Grandma was often ridiculed by the other women in the village for her inability to have children. A woman in the village, who was known for her brutality, once ridiculed Grandma for being “a hen who could not lay eggs”. She resented him so much that she slept in a separate room from him early on.
In other words, Grandpa lived a life like a bachelor since he was in his forties, which was undoubtedly a great torment to him. Could he have a good relationship with his grandmother?
Grandma was irritable and loud, and almost every time she argued, she prevailed, scolding Grandpa to the point of blood. Grandpa went out in anger, and came back at mealtime, with a bowl of rice, sitting in front of the stove and eating in silence. Mother always softly comforted him when Grandma left. Grandpa sighed: I’m glad you guys are so filial and gave me grandchildren, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to live this life!
My family’s old house has witnessed a loveless marriage that lasted 60 years. (Photo by Lin Shiyu)
Many years later, whenever I smelled the smell of rice wine from my hometown, I remembered the mountain of my grandfather’s fierce anger that night and the fragrance of the wine that had nothing to do with the ground.
When I was growing up, my father told me that if my grandfather had stayed in Malaysia at that time, he would have been better off than he is now, or at least happier in his marriage; and his business would have been big. After his return, his companion ran the pig farm well and became a famous local family business, but never returned Grandpa’s shares.
However, we are all the dust of history, and we simply cannot predict where the wind of fate will come from and where it will blow us to. We can only float in the direction of fate until we are blown away by death.
In May 2009, I traveled to Malaysia. Tears filled my eyes when I saw the patches of rubber forests along the roadside. I imagined the handsome young man in his twenties more than seventy years ago, squinting his eyes under the hot summer sun, cutting the milky sap from the rubber trees with a fervent hope for life in his eyes.
In May 2009, I was in Malaysia, tracing my grandfather’s footsteps back then.
Little did he know that a few years later, because of the outbreak of war, he returned home early and his whole life was thus turned upside down. He returned home, but did not live the happy life he had hoped for. A marriage that was noisy to death, bullying from the villagers, an unending campaign ……
Honestly, I would have preferred that Grandpa had stayed in Malaysia at that time, that there was no grandparental bond with him in this life, and that he would have lived a happy life. When the Pacific War was over, he could have married a virtuous and beautiful Malay woman. In his spare time, he and his wife sat together on the beach, watching the cute children collect shells. In the distance, white sails dotted.
However, he returned home and spent his depressed life in a loveless marriage and endless sports. Only in his later years, when his grandmother’s violent character had been slightly restrained, did he lead a more peaceful life.
Grandfather was more timid and could not protect his father, who was considered an outsider in the countryside.
Since my father’s biological father was a landlord, he was still a “di fu fan huai you” in the eyes of the village cadres, even though he was adopted into someone else’s family. From then on, my father did not have a part in either the recruitment or schooling. My father was suppressed for more than ten years, and my grandfather had to swallow his anger.
In his daily life, my father was also bullied by the village people. Once, a clan member next door wanted to take over a piece of land that belonged to our family, and called several strong sons to yell at the door, saying that my father was a foreigner and the son of a landlord, and that he wanted to break off the single handle of the teapot. My father and mother could not listen to this, and rushed out to “meet the battle”. My grandfather, who was a coward, and my grandmother, who was usually very arrogant in the house, hid behind the stove and did not dare to stand up.
Years later, my father’s eyes were still red when he talked about this scene. He said his grandfather’s character was too cowardly, his son was bullied like this, but did not dare to say a word. This is also the reason why my father later tried to perform desperately in the production team, trying to change his life situation. My father was finally seen by the county task force leader and became a captain, after which he was seconded to the township government and was transferred a few years later before his fate changed.
Although I have never had a good feeling about men with weak personalities. But because he was my grandfather, I understood his inferiority and powerlessness because he had no biological sons, in the Chinese rural society that always valued the continuity of the bloodline, and the prevalence of “many children”, so I felt compassion for him.
I deeply understand the inferiority and powerlessness of my grandfather in the countryside. (Photo by Lin Shiyu)
When I was 11 years old, I went to the first middle school in the county, and from then on I could only spend time with my grandfather on weekends and during summer and winter vacations. He still likes to sit with me on the bench in the hall and chat. The company’s main business is to provide a wide range of products and services to the public.
It was only many years later that I understood the deeper meaning of his words. He is simply a reclusive folk highbrow, inadvertently, a word to break the truth, awakening the dreamer.
Later I went away to college, and after graduation, I stayed in the field to work, so I went home less and less often. But every time I came home, I would bring gifts to my grandfather. Grandpa was most satisfied with the thin down jacket I bought for him from Beijing in the Spring Festival of 1999. The winter in his hometown was bitterly cold, and he usually wore a heavy cotton jacket, which made it difficult for him to move around. Since he put on this thin and warm down jacket, he never wanted to take it off.
The last time I saw my grandfather was in the Spring Festival of 2002.
That year, the year after my father’s case was completed, dark clouds hung over the whole family. In the same year, my personal life was in trouble, and misfortune was not to be missed. Grandpa was not aware of the state of my life in Beijing. Strangely enough, one night he actually dreamed that I had been crying and immediately had someone call my mother the next day to ask me what had happened. My mother didn’t tell him anything, she just said I was fine.
That Spring Festival, I went home alone for New Year’s Eve. Grandpa didn’t ask anything, he just sat with me by the fire and roasted in silence. At the end, he said softly: sister, remember, there is no hurdle that cannot be overcome in this world.
That was the last word he left me in the world. A month or so later, my grandfather passed away suddenly. Later, whenever my life hit a low point, I remembered these words of my grandfather and got strength in my heart.
Yes, grandpa, there is no hurdle in this world that cannot be overcome, we can all eventually step over the bumps into the road.
When my grandfather died, I came home from Beijing to mourn. My father hired a priest to do the ceremony for my grandfather. I stood on the roof and watched the smoke curl up in the hall downstairs as the priests in red robes circled around Grandpa’s body, chanting under their breath. Grandma threw herself on Grandpa’s coffin, mourning and weeping. They had hardly loved each other while they were alive, but I was amazed at how much and how genuinely sad my grandmother was about Grandpa’s death.
But unfortunately, they both expressed their determination to each other to their father before they died – not to share the same cave and not to be husband and wife again in their next life. Later, my father had to comply with their wishes and buried them in separate cemeteries, more than 80 kilometers away from each other.
Six years later, my grandmother also passed away. I don’t know if they were reunited in heaven later. If they had seen each other, would they have abandoned the past and said happily: Hey, you are here too!
That day, I knew that my grandfather was gone and would never return. His world stopped forever at that moment, just like a boat going down to the shore, a bird returning to the forest. The next day the sun rose as usual, shining on the newborn life, the spring trees with their new shoots, but it had nothing to do with Grandpa anymore.
Grandpa’s hard work on the rubber plantation in Malay Island, the distant view from the Pacific ship on the way home, the painful marriage with Grandma, the frightening days in the village, and the grandchildren’s time sitting on the bench with me in the afternoon, all went away with his death. They are like wind and fog, filling my surroundings, but when I reach out, I can only catch a handful of empty space.
My heart sank into countless holes, like a honeycomb wet with rain. I couldn’t help but fall on the cold tiles of the roof and cry out loud.
With my grandfather gone, my world collapsed into a corner. (Photo by Lin Shiyu)
That was the second time I experienced the death of a loved one in my adult life (the first time was the death of my own grandfather in 1997). Many years have passed, but the pain has not dissipated, but lurks in the depths of my memory, not daring to touch it easily. Every time I touch it, it feels like the scales are being torn off my back, and the pain is immense.
Grandpa left very suddenly. In the morning, he brought a bunch of offerings and went to his ancestor’s grave alone, but in the afternoon, he died at home. When his cousin uncle came to visit him, he found that he had been gone for a long time. In the bowl on the table, half a bowl of egg tea was as cold as snow.
Fortunately, my father had prepared a cemetery for my grandfather, a dozen miles away in a small village on a hill. On the day of his burial, I took a video camera and followed the funeral procession to his cemetery, recording his final journey on the ground in full.
Grandpa’s life was packed into a faceless coffin and shoved into that dark grave hole. The villagers filled in the soil one shovel at a time, and when the grave hole was completely sealed by the last stone, I was in tears, and the camera was no longer stable.
Dust to dust, earth to earth. I felt the cruelty of the eternal separation of yin and yang, the disillusionment of life’s lively illusion, and the silence of the valley of love without echoes.
Life in heaven and earth is suddenly like a long-distance traveler. I grew up particularly sensitive to death, I knew early on that death is the end of all people, but still could not stop weeping, could not stop missing my grandfather, because I loved him, could not let him go. I was afraid to step into the house and shout “grandpa”, but there was no response, only the swallows under the eaves murmuring.
My grandfather and I spent more than 20 years together on the ground, he watched me grow up and I watched him grow old. Although there is no connected bloodline in us, there is a flow of love. The flesh may decay, the bloodline may dry up, but love never fades. Because of the warm love I received from my grandfather, and the kindness he showed me in giving roses to others, it was easier for me to love the people around me when I grew up.
The third year after my grandfather left, I returned to my hometown and followed my parents and brothers to visit his grave. My mother said that my grandfather liked the down jacket I bought the most, so I had to let him take it away. So we cleared out a piece of land in front of the grave, lit a fire, and burned the down jacket that still had the taste of grandpa.
In the smoke, the ashes of the down jacket like a dancing butterfly, fluttering to the vast sky, flying to the rolling hills, flying to my future must go, and grandpa reunion “over there”.
I felt like I saw my grandfather’s kind face emerge, and he gently said to me – sister, remember, there is no obstacle in this world.
The quiet distant mountains, the eternal “over there”, we will eventually reunite. (Photo by Lin Shiyu)
Author: Lin Shiyu is a media personality and writer. He has published books such as “American Years: An Oral Narrative of Chinese Immigrants”, “Smoke and Rain: An Oral Narrative of Gao Yaojie’s Later Years”, “Beauty and Sorrow: A Chinese Media Person’s View of Everyday America”, and “The Tide is Flat on Both Sides: An Oral Narrative of 15 Chinese Students in the United States”. Among them, “Smoke and Rain: The Life of Ren Ping” was named one of the “Top Ten Best Chinese Books of 2019 (Non-Fiction)” by Asia Weekly. He enjoys traveling, photography, and collecting folk handicrafts. He currently lives in New Jersey, USA.
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