Dragon
One day you'll look in the mirror and not recognize the person inside. Until then, every day decides who that person will be.
When my grandfather left home at seventeen, my great-grandfather chased him for three miles with a stick.
Great-grandfather shouted: Come back! Come back here!
Grandfather didn't look back.
Great-grandfather shouted: Once you leave through this door, don't think about coming back!
Grandfather still didn't look back.
Later I asked my grandfather: Weren't you afraid?
He said: Afraid of what?
I said: Afraid you wouldn't come back. Afraid you'd die out there. Afraid you'd never see your family again.
He thought for a moment and said: I didn't think about that then. I just had to go. I couldn't stay.
I said: Why couldn't you stay?
He said: Because I couldn't bear it.
Bear what?
I couldn't bear the Japanese killing people in the village. I couldn't bear everyone hiding and pretending not to see. I couldn't bear my father saying to just endure it, that it would pass.
He said: Endure what? Endure until when? Until they've killed us all?
His father said: What can you do alone?
He said: I don't know. But I can't stay here.
His father said: You'll die if you go out there.
He said: I'll die here too. Die like a coward.
His father raised the stick.
He ran.
He fought for eight years after that.
Killed people. Almost got killed. Has three bullet holes in his body.
On the day of victory, he stood at the village entrance, watching the flag rise.
People around him were crying. He didn't cry. He said his heart felt empty.
I asked: Why empty?
He said: The war is over. The dragon is slain. And then what?
I said: Then we build New China.
He laughed.
Later he became a cadre. Not a big one, just a county-level official.
That year was after the Great Leap Forward. The higher-ups were reporting yields, each one higher than the last. Thousands of jin per mu, tens of thousands. The numbers kept growing, the grain kept shrinking.
People started starving to death.
In the county my grandfather managed, the grain was long gone. But the higher-ups kept pressing, saying you reported such high yields, where's the grain? Hand it over.
If you couldn't hand it over, it was hiding production and private distribution. It was rightist deviation. It was counter-revolutionary.
The county's top official said: Grit your teeth and hold on. Whatever the higher-ups say, just do it. We'll get through this.
My grandfather said: We won't get through. People are dying.
The top official said: What's a few deaths? The bigger picture matters.
My grandfather didn't speak.
The next day, he took people to the neighboring province. Found connections, brought back two train cars of potatoes.
No report. No request for permission. Privately transferred grain.
Those potatoes saved hundreds of lives.
But it was like slapping the top official in the face in front of the whole province. Like saying: Your reported yields are fake, your decisions are wrong, you're letting people starve.
Later he was purged.
Many years later, I asked him: Don't you regret it?
He said: Regret what?
I said: If you hadn't brought back those two train cars of potatoes, you wouldn't have been purged. You might have been promoted.
He said: Promoted to do what? Watch people starve?
I said: But you couldn't change the bigger picture. You saved one county's people, but others were still dying elsewhere.
He said: I can't control elsewhere. Where I can control, I did.
I said: But you paid a price.
He said: So be it. If I'm crushed, I'm crushed. Matter cannot be destroyed, only transformed.
I didn't understand that then. Later I learned it was something Chairman Mao said.
I said: What about my father?
He didn't speak.
After a long time, he said: That debt I can never repay.
My father was a "black element" from childhood.
Not because of what he did. Because of what his father did.
When he was seven, people came to the house and took my grandfather away. My grandmother held him at the door, watching several people push his father into a car.
He shouted: Dad!
My grandfather looked back at him once. That one look my father remembered for the rest of his life.
My father doesn't talk much about what happened after. I heard it from others. He was bullied at school. Called a black element's brat. Teachers ignored him. Classmates wouldn't play with him. During New Year, when other families put up couplets, his family didn't dare.
He told me once: The thing I was most afraid of then was when people asked me what my father did.
By the time my grandfather was rehabilitated, my father was already in his teens.
Didn't he resent my grandfather? I don't know. He never said. But I could feel something between them. An unpayable debt.
My grandfather could feel it too.
He could accept being crushed himself. But his son's childhood wasn't something he could forgive himself for.
My father later became a conservative person.
When he was young, he quit his job and started a business. My mother said he was fearless then, wouldn't listen to anyone.
Later the business failed. Lost money.
I asked him: Do you regret it?
He said: Regret what? I was young and didn't understand.
I said: Do you understand now?
He said: Yes.
I said: What do you understand?
He said: Don't stand out. Don't make trouble. Just live your life well.
I looked at him. He was in his forties, hair starting to gray. No light in his eyes.
I said: Grandfather wasn't like that.
He paused.
Then he said: Your grandfather is your grandfather. I am me.
Once we got into an argument.
He said: Can't you just be steady?
I said: What do you mean by steady?
He said: Don't make trouble. Don't stand out. Don't let people notice you.
I said: Let who notice me?
He said: Anyone. Just don't stand out. The nail that sticks out gets hammered, don't you understand?
I said: Grandfather was that nail. He saved hundreds of lives.
His face changed.
He said: Why are you bringing him up?
I said: What he did was right.
He said: Right? He was right. What about me?
His voice started shaking.
He said: He was right, he was a hero. What about me? I was seven, I did nothing, I was called a black element's brat. I was beaten, cursed at, spat on. Where was he? He was in reeducation camp. He couldn't take care of me.
I didn't speak.
He said: Do you know what I hate most? It's not the people who beat me. It's my father. He did what he thought was right, and I paid the price. Did he ask me? Did he ask if I was willing?
I said: So what do you think he should have done? Watch people starve?
He said: I don't know! I don't know what he should have done. I only know my childhood was gone.
I said: So you want me to live like a coward too?
He said: I want you to live. I want you safe. I want you not to suffer what I suffered. Is that cowardice?
I said: You're not protecting me. You're shoving your fear into me.
He froze.
I said: You're afraid. You've been afraid since you were little. You've been afraid your whole life. Now you want me to be afraid too. So you won't be alone.
His eyes reddened.
He said: Get out.
I left.
Sat outside all night.
I remembered what my grandfather told me: That debt I can never repay.
I didn't understand it before. Now I do.
His story is real. But my father's childhood is also real.
This isn't about who's right or wrong. It's that some costs have nowhere to go.
My grandfather chose to do the right thing. The cost fell on my father. My father had no choice. He just endured.
How do you calculate that debt? You can't.
Later I went home.
My father was sitting on the sofa, lights off.
I sat across from him.
He said: You're back.
I said: Yeah.
He said: What I said earlier was too harsh.
I said: What I said was harsh too.
We were silent for a long time.
He said: Your grandfather was a good man.
I said: I know.
He said: But he wasn't a good father.
I didn't know what to say.
He said: What he did was right. But he didn't take care of me. Both things are true. I've lived my whole life between those two things.
I said: Do you hate him?
He thought for a long time.
He said: I don't know. When he died, I cried. Cried for a long time. I don't know what I was crying about.
I said: Dad.
He said: Yeah.
I said: I don't want to live like a coward.
He looked at me.
I said: But I don't want you to worry either. I don't know what to do.
He sighed.
He said: I don't know either.
He said: I only know I'm afraid you'll be like your grandfather. Do the right thing, and then your child pays the price.
I said: So you think he shouldn't have saved those people?
He said: I don't know. I've thought about it my whole life, can't figure it out.
He looked out the window.
He said: Maybe some things just can't be figured out. You do the right thing, but you hurt the people closest to you. You don't do it, you can't live with yourself. Either way there's a cost.
I said: So what do we do?
He said: I don't know.
When my grandfather was dying, he called me to his bedside.
He said: How's your father?
I said: Same as always.
He said: Does he hate me?
I didn't know how to answer.
He said: He should hate me.
I said: He says he doesn't know.
He nodded.
He said: I've done many things in my life. Some I think were right, some wrong. But there's one thing I've never figured out.
He looked at the ceiling.
He said: Do you know what a dragon is?
I said: You told me. It's the thought that won't let go.
He said: That's one kind of dragon. There are others.
I said: What?
He said: There's a dragon that makes you think right and wrong can be clearly separated. That makes you think if you do the right thing, there's no cost. That makes you think you're a hero and don't need to worry about anything else.
I said: That's also a dragon?
He said: That's the biggest dragon. When I was young, I rode it to slay many other dragons. Later I realized it was also a dragon.
I said: So what do we do?
He said: I don't know. Maybe that's just how it is to be human. You do the right thing, and you still hurt people. You don't do it, you hurt others. Either way there's a cost.
I said: So do we do it or not?
He looked at me.
He said: Do it. But don't lie to yourself that there's no cost.
He said: Let me tell you one last thing.
I said: Tell me.
He said: Dragons can't all be slain. You slay the dragons outside, there are still ones inside. You slay the ones inside, new ones grow outside. You slay them your whole life, there are still dragons.
I said: So what do we do?
He said: Just keep slaying.
I said: What if we can't slay them all?
He said: Then we can't slay them all. Just don't let them eat you.
I said: What about you? You slayed dragons your whole life. Did you become a dragon?
He thought for a long time.
He said: Sometimes. Sometimes I became one, sometimes I came back. Back and forth.
I said: What about now?
He smiled.
He said: That's probably the benefit of death. The dragon can't live either.
The night he died, it rained heavily.
I sat by his bed, looking at his face.
His face was very calm. Like he was asleep.
My father stood at the door. He didn't come in.
I looked back at him. His face had no expression. But I saw his hands shaking.
I said: Dad, come in.
He shook his head.
He said: I'll just stand here.
He stood at the door, looking at his father's face. Looked for a long time.
Then he turned and left.
I heard him crying outside.
After the funeral, my father and I sat in the yard.
He drank a lot.
He looked at me.
He said: If you have children someday, how will you choose?
I said: I don't know.
He said: That's right. Some things can't be figured out.
That night, I had a dream.
I dreamed of my grandfather. He was seventeen, standing at the village entrance, a bundle on his back, ready to go.
I watched him from the side.
He saw me. He asked: Who are you?
I said: I'm your grandson.
He laughed. He said: I'm not even married yet, how can I have a grandson?
I said: You will later.
He said: Why are you here?
I said: I came to see you.
He said: Why see me?
I said: I want to know, are you afraid right now?
He thought about it.
He said: A little. But not much.
I said: Why not much?
He said: Because there's nothing to lose.
I said: You'll have a lot later. You'll have a wife, children. What you do will affect them.
He didn't speak.
I said: You'll save many people. But your son will suffer for you. He'll hate you. And not hate you. He'll be confused about it his whole life.
He looked at me.
He said: So what should I do? Not save those people?
I said: I don't know.
He said: Then why are you telling me this?
I said: I don't know. Maybe just so you know.
He was silent for a long time, then turned and walked forward.
I shouted after him: You'll encounter many dragons.
He didn't look back. He said: Then I'll slay them.
I shouted: You can't slay them all.
He still didn't look back. He said: Then I'll keep slaying.
I shouted: You might become a dragon yourself.
He stopped.
He turned and looked at me.
He said: Then let someone come slay me.
Then he left.