Although the sun appears to be struggling, it is drowning in the orange abyss. The afterglow resembles a fleeing messenger bringing the sun’s final remarks. It roasts the wheat amid the chirping of crickets and caresses the returning children’s heads. It creeps up on my elbow as if it wants to speak, but I am devoid of thought. On a light-colored wooden bookcase, it anxiously approaches a silver iron radio with tan stains and several scratches. Is that the answer? I place a worn-out, emerald-green cassette case with a missing lid on top of the radio and grab the cassette case and the radio with both hands as if I were a devotee holding a sacrificial article. I kneel on the dark-coffee- colored maple floor and pick up one of the most recent-looking tapes: I can make out the number 79 scrawled on this tape’s label. I put the cassette into the radio—the silver radio’s gears swirl and whine as they rotate. A faint, indistinct voice reaches my ears as the wind blows.
Grandma’s First Tape
“I was standing in front of the kitchen. Through the door crack, I saw a middle-aged man with short black sleeves pouring a yellow liquid inside a blue and white bowl into a pot. A woman with a ponytail and a red checked apron washed tomatoes in a metal sink bowl. Why were there two strangers in my kitchen? I didn’t recall inviting anyone to my house today. ‘Why….’ I wanted to say something, but I recognized the turquoise and green butterfly hair clip on that woman’s head. That was my daughter’s hair clip. Daughter? The woman turned from washing tomatoes and looked straight into my eyes. That pair of eyes in that unfamiliar face was familiar to me. Those were the eyes of someone who had pleaded with me to buy cotton candies from the grocery store, then filled with tears if I said ‘no.’ When did this happen? How did my little girl grow up so much already? I had no recollection of the year this occurred, like a piece of a puzzle that I didn’t know where to put. Everything else was fuzzy and bubble-like in my memory; the bubbles burst whenever I tried to learn more. I was lost. What should I do?
A mother who had forgotten her daughter was not good. The woman was my daughter. My daughter! I must remember her face; I must not forget her face again. Remember.
What happened on that day? I don’t remember. My daughter seemed to remind me lunch would be ready in five minutes. She frowned somehow. Why did she frown? What happened? Maybe I said I already had lunch, and she was surprised? Maybe I questioned why I should have lunch at all. Maybe I…. I don’t know.
I knew. I forgot again, as usual.”
New Moon
The tape stopped playing. I recognized the speaker on the cassette as my grandmother, who always said, “I can’t remember anything.” Did she remember the words she had recorded on the tape? Time is greedy, constantly swallowing her memories and leaving her with a puzzle she does not know how to solve. Although my grandma can never recover her lost memories, those memories deserve a proper funeral. I put the tape blurrily labeled 77 into the radio.
Grandma’s Second Tape
“I was never much of a puzzle person as a child. These scattered items on the table usually drive me insane. I was constantly unable to find their pattern. I wondered if fate would pave my future path as a puzzle piece and how I should continue my journey on that path. Soon, I discovered the sign of my fate, though it contained no words. I peered through the crack in the light gray door of the doctor’s office. I was anxious to know what judgment the man in the white coat would give me. Could he tell me of the unknown direction of my destiny? The good news was that he answered my doubts; unfortunately, his answer seemed to make me even more lost in my path of destiny.
‘I’m sorry. Chunling has…. Alzheimer’s disease.’ That was what the man in the white coat said.
Alzheimer’s disease? Was that why a white fog clouded my memory? Was that why an invisible eraser erased everything I did 5 minutes ago in my head? I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that I didn’t want the doctors in the ward or my family to understand how powerless I felt in facing my fate. I turned and pressed myself against the cold white wall; my legs were weak, and I wanted to sit down and break the stillness. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be a fractured soldier struck down by fate. I was not brave, but a voice in my heart always told me to be bold and robust. Maybe I should brace myself for a good fight with fate, so I didn’t look at my daughter and husband with confused faces like my sister, who got Alzheimer’s disease a few years ago.
Was this my countdown? I forced myself to dive into the ocean of memories. I remembered my brother lying mangled and motionless on the train tracks. I remembered the mother who sat in the hospital hallway late at night holding her distressed child. I remembered the young man who waved at me from beneath the golden autumn ginkgo trees. I found these pieces, but their patterns were so blurry that no matter how hard I tried, I could not put them together into a complete puzzle.
I hate doing puzzles.”
Eclipse
Her voice disappeared. My heart has a thousand words, but I cannot find the appropriate ones to describe it. People believe time ferments all memories into wine and when a person reaches old age, she may taste her distinctive wine. How awful for a person whose memory is steadily deteriorating. She observed and anticipated the time when the wine would be brewed but gradually forgot the existence of the wine and her anticipation. What would I do in her position? I may despair and sob helplessly in my bed, but I am compelled to be courageous. I will forget how hopeless I once felt anyway. I will be a puppet of time and advance under its influence. Grandmother was brave, and I wish time would be merciful to her. Time, please, pass more slowly.
Grandma’s Third Tape
“I’m not sure you can hear me, my beloved brother. Years ago, you inadvertently stumbled out of time, and I’ve been moving forward over time ever since. I was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, yet I still enjoy my life. I met a young man with burning eyes who became my longtime travel companion. My daughter retired in the blink of an eye, and my granddaughter was working toward her college application. How were you doing? I needed help keeping our promise. I had no mental image of you; how would I recognize you when I entered the underworld to find you? Sorry. This cassette might be the final thing I can give you.
I felt like I was on a treadmill with no off switch; all I could do was run. However, as I ran, my recollections vanished. I don’t want to forget about you, yet all I can think of right now is your passing on that snowy day. On that day, a middle-aged woman in a purple cotton-padded jacket with numerous patches rushed into our house, grabbed our uncle’s hand, and yelled that something had happened to you. My mind was blank, and I had no idea what the middle-aged woman meant when she stated something had happened. Our uncle immediately grasped my hand and hurried away, leaving the cotton-padded jacket on the bamboo chair beside him. Our uncle halted beside the train tracks, and I noticed a man resting quietly on the railroad rails. The man’s face was ripped and mutilated so no features could be seen.
‘I shouldn’t have sent him out to gather coal today,’ our uncle murmured. ‘He’s only 16 years old. He deserves a bright future, and it should be me who is lying here.’
Our uncle’s voice and the pale blue coat on that man revealed the truth: you were the lifeless man lying on the train track. I didn’t want to know what happened to you; my only thought was that my older brother was leaving me. No one would clumsily braid my hair, put carrots I hated in my bowl, and claim that children couldn’t be fussy. After a few moments of stillness, our uncle ran up to you and hugged you before placing the gauze covering the rice pail on your head and allowing me to approach you. I couldn’t feel the warmth of your body. I extended my little hand to grip your calloused palms, believing that if you warmed up, you might be able to wake up. Snowflakes dropped on your body one by one and covered your face. The snowflakes, like words, composed nature’s epitaph to you. You informed me that humans were nature’s ambassadors, and we would all become part of nature when we die. I’ve always believed in your words, that you could turn into the stars in the sky to light my way through the night or into the breeze of the seasons to cuddle me.
Our uncle, aunt, and I carried you up the hill behind our house. I’ve been holding your hand tightly, and while I couldn’t feel any temperature, the familiar touch put me at peace. Our uncle and aunt dug a large hole beneath your favorite peach tree and wanted you to lie in it. I didn’t want them to do that; you would be lonely. Our uncle, who always seemed a mind reader, put his hand on my shoulder and murmured, ‘He will not be alone. Your mother’s tomb isn’t far away. His body may be dead, but his soul can linger in your memory forever. Remember him.’
I didn’t know how to counter our uncle’s arguments to keep you, but I answered obstinately, ‘He can’t abandon me without saying goodbye.’
Our uncle consoled me. ‘You will see the people who didn’t say goodbye to you again. Don’t you want your brother to return to you one day? Let your brother finish his journey in this world; he will return to you later. Perhaps decades later, when your brother returns, he will play a new role in your life.’
I sat under the peach tree and watched our uncle and aunt crying as they shoveled dirt into the pit where you were buried. They put a bag of dandelion seeds into the hole just as it was ready to fill up at the end and then filled the last fissure without saying anything. Go with the wind. Be Free. See you.
I am trying to remember the details, but I fail. I don’t know what you looked like. I have no idea where I was a month ago. I am not sure in which country my granddaughter attends school. But everything that day was crystal clear. I’m terrified. I’m afraid I’ll forget everything about you one day, and it’ll be as if you never existed. And I’m not sure if this tape will remind me of what I’ve learned about you after I’ve forgotten it. I will try. At least I am glad that my memory of you on that snowy day is clear, for now. I’m not good at puzzles, and if I lose another piece, I’ll have no idea how to put it back together. I feel a pair of hands around the back of my neck. They’re not killing me but stealing my breath away. Where are you?”
Breaking Down
I go to the window and observe Grandma from below. When I recently inquired about her sibling, she had almost forgotten that she had one. How could her brother stay alive in her memory if she had forgotten him. I turn to examine the light next to the radio on the ground. Humans are nature’s ambassadors. Is this my grandmother’s brother? Does he return in this shape to my grandmother? The light jumps to the window as though in response to my query; it springs from the window and lands on my grandmother, who lost that piece of the puzzle. Memory, rebirth. The clock is ticking on my life, but I want to live on in indelible memory till the very end. I rush to the tape recorder and remove a brand-new one from its green iron casing before inserting it. I count 3, 2, 1, and then press the record button.
