A Memorial Requiem For The Departed Never Known

无影的离人

The Story Of K

I am not unfamiliar with sleeping on the streets. The first time when I was thrown out of the house was when I was 6. I fled from my father’s beating. I waited for his shell-shock to abate before I returned with my mother’s signal that the storm was over. Another time was at 8, I had to be out for a few days, and I can’t recall why he reacted that way.

I had my rough time on the street, someone kicked me in the back as I was laying at the side of the alley. He yelled, “好狗不挡路 (a good dog does not block the path)”. It is clear he was venting on me as I was not blocking the path. I lost all trust in adults, wondering how a grown up would do that to an 8 year old. I whimpered slightly and the sharp pain kept me awake that night. I could make another figure on the other side of the street, also bundled up and protecting himself from the peltering rain. I guess we both had to spend the night under the stars but now it had transformed into a battle to keep ourselves dry.

A few months ago, I received a call that K (大傻) had died. I was told he committed suicide in the prison. I kept wondering how that could have happened, and I couldn’t help thinking — Had it been I who slept on that side of that street that rainy night — would that have been my fate today?