That Was Sweat

On a Saturday, I woke up in a dim bedroom. Outside the window was a blank whiteness; I couldn’t see anything. My mother sat by my bed. Her eyes were full of water, her eyelids red. “Grandpa died last night.” She began to cry softly. I buried my head under the blanket.

We went to my grandparents’ apartment. My aunt opened the door for us with red eyes. The apartment was bright. The crystal chandelier on the ceiling cast a pale yellow glow that left the living room without a single shadow.

The coffee table was covered with snacks. I looked at the nuts and the chips. My second uncle’s wife motioned for me to sit with her on the sofa. Her eyes were red too. She was usually warm; now she put her arm around me and gripped my shoulder hard with her left hand. She said something to me, but I didn’t catch it.

She got up and went to cry with the others. I sat alone in the corner of the sofa, staring at the base of the wall. The door of the small room across from us was not fully closed. Inside there was a temporary bed and several candles burning. Something on the bed was covered with a piece of gold cloth embroidered with letters I couldn’t read. That should have been Grandpa.

I only remember that by then it was night, and Grandpa was gone. The place where he had been lying had become a small altar. It was my cousin’s study; the shelves on the wall were filled with comics and Star Wars LEGO. On the other side of the wall from those stormtroopers was my grandfather’s black-and-white photo. There were more candles in the room now, and a round cushion on the floor.

My grandmother, my aunt, my eldest uncle, my second uncle, my second uncle’s wife, my cousin, Uncle Li, my father, my mother, and I came in one after another. The room grew crowded. We stood along the walls in a ring. A chant in Sanskrit was playing; it sounded good, and inside it there were the sounds of people sniffling.

The chant was still playing, only turned lower. My aunt walked forward and knelt down, bowed her head to the floor three times. She began to speak in a voice thick with tears: “Dad…” I watched her. I don’t know how long it was before she stood up. Then my second uncle’s wife knelt down. “Dad…” Then my second uncle knelt down. “Dad…” Uncle Li went forward, bowed, said nothing, and returned to his place. No one said anything. Soon it would be my turn. My ears burned hot; my palms were damp. I lowered my head and looked at everyone’s shoes. I couldn’t think of anything. What was I supposed to say to Grandpa?

My mother came back to stand beside me. It was my turn. My head heated up too. I walked forward and knelt on the cushion. I bowed three times, lightly. When I lifted my head, a candle was burning beside me, but the sound of the chant was gone.

I looked at Grandpa and opened my mouth. There was nothing in my head. I waited.

“Grandpa, I’ll study hard.”

I stood up. My ears turned cool. The skin on my back hurt and itched. I went back to my place. My father walked forward. The chant was still playing.

The next evening, my mother and I were having dinner. My father came home from work and pushed the door open. He walked up to me with a drop of water on his face. He pointed at it and asked, “Look—what is this?” I glanced at it and said it was sweat.