Person Essay, Research Paper

“You better hang up now! Do that now!” he yelled. “You better not think bad about me,” he said to remind me to hang up for

the tenth time.

“I wasn’t really doing anything. I need to talk with my friend about the assignment that’s due soon,” I responded, at the same

time covering the speaker of the phone, so my friend couldn’t hear my fuddy-duddy Yeye. After finishing talking on the phone, I

looked around the living-room. There was a carpet, hand-made by my grandmother, in the center of the living room. Right on it

was a little coffee table. On the wall there were most of the pictures of our ancestors. Some dressed in Qing dynasty’s clothing.

Nothing luxurious in the room except for one picture of Yeye and his comrades. Most of them died during the war. He took

good care of that picture and washed the frame at least once a day, but I always thought that Yeye neglected all the other stuff

in the house. They needed to be cleaned, too.

There was a slight light snaking out from the gap of the kitchen door hitting Yeye’s bedroom door. It assured me that Yeye was

still in his asylum. He always yelled out behind the door, like the phantom of the house. In his eightieth year, he still had the extra

energy to waste by yelling and disciplining people. He always said, “If you are strong enough to fight against me, why not fight

against the Carrot Head.” Carrot Head was the nickname for the Japanese. Yeye lived through about three-fourths of this

century. He was about five feet six. But maybe he was a well-trained soldier through WWII, for his back was still straight.

Sometimes I felt that he was still in the armed forces.

It was in the middle of summer; muggy weather depressed me. My eyes were half way closed. I lay down on the sofa. For

some reason I looked up to the ceiling, and I saw the fragile rusty copper-gold fan hanging down. The paint was mostly

stripped off, and it made annoying noises when turned on. Spider webs had claimed sovereignty over every corner of the

house, and yet this fan was untouched. Probably its plain munificence and even distant unreachability had kept the spiders off.

Or probably, it was my Yeye. This was like a masterpiece that was even adored by the spiders. Each of the wings’s ends had a

plane attached. Those were supposed to be made like fighting planes in WWII, but it was Yeye’s version of a plane. They were

made with wooden sticks from eaten popsicles. So when the fan was on, the plane would circle around above the sofa where I

used to sit on Yeye’s lap and listen to his wartime stories. I enjoyed hearing how great he was, how much pride he had in killing

Carrot Heads, and how some of the people got buried alive by the Japanese. I was only one-tenth of his age, and Yeye said I

was in a “Don’t know nothing age.” I never would agree with that. I considered myself belonging to an innocent age. However,

Yeye said that if I were innocent, the son of the devil was much better.

“Ahn Ahn,” the gate of the asylum had opened. Yeye walked out so fast, rushing into the kitchen. I could only see the shadow

stretching out from the kitchen. The next thing I sensed was an opened freezer. I heard, “Ping.” Yeye closed it, then the sound

of pouring water. He came out of the kitchen with a glass of water. He must have been thirsty, for he yelled so much. One

glass? I didn’t think one glass was enough. “Make it ten,” I thought in my head. However he walked over with a frown on his

face. He didn’t drink it, instead, he threw the water directly into my face. It was fresh from the refrigerator. I jumped up

immediately, then I heard, “You have no reason to talk on the phone so late, and now you slept on the sofa. Sooner or later

you will get a cold, so why not give you one now? You must have your brain sat on,” he said it with the heavy Tazan accent of

Canton that I didn’t understand. There was no way to believe he could be that ridiculous. What? He thought I was one of his

comrades who fell asleep while the Japanese were bombing. Or maybe I did not wash the toilet in the army camp.

“Don’t make me hit you with the stick, you know it is going to be something,” he continued, “Now go on and change you

clothes. Don’t you stare at me like you dare to fight back.” He was absolutely correct. I did not dare to fight back. I did not

move, not a bit, although I was cold and shivering. The icy water was draining down across my face, and my lips were shaking.

For so many years I had been under the rule of this man; now the moment to fight had come. The spirit of an avenging angel

had awakened in my soul. Without a second thought, I spit. It was like a cannon ball falling parabolically onto Yeye’s toes.

“Ah, Li kau daow! You think you have grown winds on your back, and you think you can fly away. I sent you to school, and

all you have learnt is throwing things at your grandpa,” he yelled as he bent down for his stick. He found it and continued, “Boy,

now I am going to teach you a lesson you would never have a chance to learn from school.” He started swinging that thing. I

blocked it with my bare arms. It hurt a little, so I decided to run away instead. I was running, screaming, tripping, then getting

up and tripping again. I got slashed on the back a few times, but I did not care much. I was chased into a corner. After he gave

me a couple more licks, he paused. I was hurt but not badly enough to be knocked down. He was finished. Then it was my

turn to talk back, “You were no-good old trash, blocking the Earth ’s rotation, so why don’t you help yourself fill up the soil,

yeah, that could be good for the world.” He stopped immediately, just holding, as if I had pressed the pause button on the

remote. He was looking down at the floor like he had dropped something that he could not get back. I knew exactly what he

lost; the respect and loyalty of his grandson were gone. He walked back into his room without saying anything, not even one

single word. Just like in the past, the Japanese had won again.

Victory was in my hand, triumph had finally arrived. Should I eat ice-cream for celebration?

Silence scared me. It was because usually silence followed a big storm. I was afraid he might come over with a knife. Another

hour had passed; there was still no storm. However, I started to feel something in my stomach, or maybe it was not my

stomach. It was something swinging around in my head. Was I too excited about the victory? It caused all the blood to rush

into my brain, making me dizzy.

I changed my clothes and went to bed. I rolled from one side of the bed to the other, like sausage fired on the grill. The feeling

of burning and itchiness, like thousands of ants crawling on my body, kept me awake.

Sooner or later Yeye would accept the fact that he had lost. For it was his second time losing a war already. “Forget it, he will

be fine,” I guessed. “An apology would be fine for tomorrow morning.” But wait. It would make me lose face. I was bold

enough to confront him, for I needed my face. Now. Now I needed to go back where I was. In the next morning, since I did

not sleep, I decided to get up early. “If there is a man up there, please make it as easy as possible,” I prayed as I stood in front

of Yeye’s bedroom door. I knocked a few times; no one answered. He might went out for morning exercise. However, his

running shoes were still under the coffee table. So I decided to go in myself. First I opened the door a little, so I could see Yeye

was there in his rocking chair. So I slightly pushed my head into the room first and then I walked in. The door was left open, in

case he chased me again with his stick. His bed was still made. I did not think he had slept last night. The smell of alcohol filled

the room. I was not surprised because Yeye usually drank a little before going to bed. As I walked closer and closer to him, I

saw Yeye’s favorite snifter on the floor. I smelt an odor of dead fish and whisky. Yeye really had weird taste. He looked so

comfortable in his seat with his head leaning to the side. His face was so pale that I thought he had been playing with Grandma’s

makeup.

“Sorry,” I said. I wanted to keep it simple because I wanted to save face as much as possible. No answer. Silence. “Is that

simple?” I laughed to myself. I took a closer look. Then I realized he never forgave me, or he never could do so. He was dead

because he drank a little too much.

A couple days after the funeral, somehow I looked up to the ceiling again; the spider web had invaded the fan totally. Those

three planes still hung there steadily. My Yeye had made it for me, and they were securely tightened to make sure they would

not fall off onto my head. Similarly Yeye’s love held me so tight and steady, because he wouldn’t want to see me falling. I knew

I could not fly, but I still cut myself loose. I was same as the Japanese–never won a war. What a fool I was.