An old Photo

I go back to China at least once every year. To spend time with my parents, relatives and friends is the main reason. One would probably agree that you should less likely to be alerted by the touch of time on people if you see them often enough. I, however, found it is not true for one of my aunts, Su. Each time I saw her in the last 10 years, there have been the saddening progressing signs of aging hard to ignore.

 

Auntie Su is the wife of my father’s old brother Uncle Yi.  During late 70s and early 90s, my father and the family lived in the same house with his parents and the families of two brothers and a sister. My grandfather has 10 children, 6 from the first wife and 4 from the 2^nd wife. For those living in the house, all were from the 2^nd wife including my father except Uncle Yi whose mother passed away when he was still under 6. My grandmother brought up the youngest stepson with full-heartily mother’s love before she had her own 4 children. She always felt that she lost the stepson when he married to Auntie Su. The in-laws never got along very well.

 

Auntie Su was in her forties to fifties around the time. She was not veiwed as an agreeable person in the family. In my teenage memory, she was not a pretty woman either – maybe in teenager’s eyes, any woman beyond 30 can neither be young or pretty, particularly at the time no women dressed to celebrate the womanhood. Also, her work at the city’s Taiwan and HK Alliance office may let her assume that trendy dresses were totally out of question. She believed that she represented the communist government. She represented the authority.  There is the old Chinese saying that the elderly-sister-in-law shall act and be treated like a mother when the parents pass away. Auntie Su probably have felt that way for her husband’s siblings (from the first wife) as they no longer had a mother and may lost the father in a way. In the house we share, however, the other families didn’t feel the caring and love from her. She got the nickname of “Ma Li Lao Tai Tai”. My parents felt that she was shrewd, hypocritical, demanding and nosy but very doplomatic if she needed to. Particularly, my mother shared the kitchen with her. There were just so many chances for the clashes over insignificant but annoying incidents and gossips.

 

All those conflicts, however, did not prevent me from staying at her room downstairs whenever I could manage.  The attraction was the bookcases in their room. Both Uncle Yi and Auntie Su loved books. They also had the money to buy them with their decent salaries working for the government. Also due to their jobs, the couple was able to get access to books and journals not available to general Chinese public. It was still the time when the public was prevented to know what were truly happening in or out of the country. There were almost no public media or news at 70s and early 80s. Uncle Yi and Auntie Su will have the “political sensitive” news clips only available to the core communist loyalists and high ranking officers. They also have books that were publically forbidden by the government including the 4 classic Chinese fictions and many other history books. The 6 foot tall bookcase had grown to full  over the years and it was easy to take out a book and tough to insert it back in when I had done reading. They purchased more and added another bookcase when the society started to open up and more books were available. Their son, my cousin, is about 10 years old than me. When he started to work after high school, he also added to the collections, including those martial art fictions by HK and Taiwan authors in 2^nd half of 80s.  For a nerdy kid whose only love was books and had few resources, I was in heaven when I read all those books.

 

Uncle Yi and Auntie Su only had one room which served as bedroom, library and living room. I had to be very flexible and observing to make sure I was not in their ways when I sit in their room reading. (I was not allowed to take those books out of the room.) I was such a sensitive kid but never felt any reluctance from them to share their books. I never heard Auntie Su complaining about me preying though their books or intruding their privacy. I know that I did cause a lot of inconvenience for the couple. I remember had bad dreams about sneaking into their room to read but caught someone lying in the bed. The books were just the temptation that I can never resist. Again and again, I summoned all the courage a shy girl had to overcome the awkwardness and ask for permissions to stay and read their books. Or if the door was found unlock and she was not in the room, I would quietly get into the room, pick a book and start reading. I would tell her, guiltily, that I just wanted to finish a book I started the other day when she came back.  It was bad manor to enter without asking and I knew it was totally against my parents teaching. She never gave me any hard times over the books.

 

The memories were carved. Many times, Auntie Su would be working in the kitchen while Uncle Yi and I both reading. The room will be filled only with the sound of page flipping. Auntie Su would also allow me to stay behind when the couple needed to go out. Lock the door after me was the only request. That would be my dream-come-true time – I can check the bookcase as many times as I wanted and switch books as many times as I wanted. I would then sit in their couch just next to the big window that almost covered the whole wall, reading and let the sun lights moving from one side of the window to the other. Those were some of my happiest moments in my youth. The only thing bothered me was the mosquitoes in the summer but I will only notice the bites after left the room. It broke my mother’s heart when she saw my legs became bumpy all through with the bites. She would tell me I was beyond redemption of being “Shu Dai Zi”.

 

Searching though my memory, I did not have many real interactions with Auntie Su, or Uncle Yi other than reading their books.  We never shared any comments about books either. Their personal stories become known to me through conversations with other relatives.  After I grew up and left the country, I never really think much about them. They got old. My cousin got married and they become the grand parents. Funny enough, my mother loves Auntie Su’s daughter-in-law, a very low key, gentle, patient and compassionate person and a real contrast from Auntie Su.  When Auntie Su and Uncle Yi moved out of the house to live in a more spacious apartment and the younger couple stayed, my mother told me she was very relieved. Sharing the kitchen never again is an issue but more a joy for both sides.

 

The sign that Auntie Su probably suffers from Alzheimer’s disease probably started before they moved out of the house. No one really noticed it other than that she was getting older and forgetful and difficult as she always had been. She started to complain about the house help persons stealing from her. She was also caught by my mother going through our cupboard in kitchen one time and told my mother that she was looking for a dish she prepared in previous night. She still functioned quite well and the old couple was happy to live alone in the apartment which gave them the privacy they never had living with the big family. Auntie Su still could manage the housework by hereself, not trusting any domestic help. They entertained friends and relatives occassionally. They still have all the books they both love. They walked in the gardens and took trips. My cousin went over often to help. It was golden retirement life but it was brief. Starting in the 2000s, there are more and more signs that Auntie Su is having the dreaded disease.

 

My father started to ask me to go their apartment and visit them then. The couple is now both in late 70s to enter 80s. I feel that I am obligated. I would go every time during my annual visit back to China. They have always been happy to see me. Uncle Yi’s siblings and their children mostly live in other cities. Gradually they lost the mobility or the desire to walk outside of the apartment. A visitor is very much welcomed by the old couple to break their routines a little. The conversations stayed shallow. We talked around maintaining good health and status of the relatives.  She would see me off at the elevate and when I left. She would tell me to come back often. It was very touching to read in her eyes that she truly meant it. Year over year, I can see we were losing Auntie Su little by little. In the spring of 2006, she said she had a gift for me when I visited. My cousin brought it to me the next day and said his mother urged him to give it to me before I left. It was an old picture of Auntie Su. It was taken probably before I had any memory of her. In an outdoor setting, she looked to be in her later 20s or 30s.  She was pretty and energetic, and smiling in a way I never remembered seeing on her. It is a black and white picture but you can feel the colorfulness. The sun shined on her face just like a blooming flower.  On the back of the picture, she wrote “Don’t forget me”.   The same year, when I went back, she didn’t remember she gave me the picture. The year after, when I talked to her, she would tell Uncle Yi again and again that I was her favorite niece.  She would ask how my husband was doing, still remembering his name but repeated the same question every 5 minutes. A year ago, she was no longer able to have much of cohesive conversation with me when I visited. I talked; she listend maybe wondering who I am in between.  At the end, she still saw me off at the door and told me to come back soon.

 

I was not able to visit Auntie Su this summer when I went back to China briefly. I was told that she was in the hospital due to a fall and broke her hip bone earlier of the year. She was bed bound and no longer wanted to eat. The doctor thought she did not have much time left. However, she recovered at the end. I hope I can see her next time I visit China again. I know she would not remember me. I would remember her just as I will remember those quite joys in her room. And I have the picture to help me to remember her when my teenage memory fades. I would always remember her.