I
The difficult, exhausting university entrance examination was finally over. To my great joy and relief, my name was among the few hundred lucky ones who had passed. I had become a university student! That was the result of years of hard study. Since the first semester of my junior year in high school, I had sat up and tangled with brain-racking mathematics problems and English grammar deep into the night.
Friends and relatives congratulated me. The happiest, of course, was my father, who had always placed high hopes in me and had pushed me hard at my lessons. At last I had managed to live up to his expectations.
Father is a retired colonel of the Chinese Army. In his university days, he majored in English literature, the same subject I had chosen. Father's youthful ambition had been to become a high-ranking diplomat. Following the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese war, however, he took a short cut in serving the country - that of putting on a uniform and fighting invaders. He gave up his studies and enlisted in the army.
At the end of the war, father remained in the service. Soon the Communists rebelled and the mainland was lost. Shut behind the Iron Curtain are mother and my two younger brothers. I was able to come to Taiwan with my father only as the result of a sort of miracle. I was only five when mother took us to father's base for a visit. Unwilling to let me go, he told mother to take my younger brothers home and that he would keep me with him for a couple of days longer. The military situation took a sudden turn for the worse, and emergency orders were given for father's unit to go to Taiwan. Unable to send me to mother, father took me along.
I grew up solely under the care of my father. For my sake, and in remembrance of mother still on the mainland, he never thought seriously of remarriage. To me, he was both dutiful father and loving mother. Now, seeing that his unrealized dream of becoming a diplomat was going to be materialized in me, his happiness was matched only by my own.
Following the joy and excitement of passing the exams came trouble - my eye ailment. The sight of my left eye had always been poor and now the cornea of my right eye became inflamed. Symptoms included watering, a tendency to avoid light, and dull pain. I didn't pay much attention, thinking the cause was excessive reading at night. "It isn't serious," I told father. "A few drops of eye lotion will cure it."
But the drops were useless. The ailment became more and more serious. White spots and small cysts appeared on the eyeball. My sight was hazy. I was a little frightened. At the persuasion of father, I finally sought the advice of an ophthalmologist.
Dr. Wang, who just came back from study at an American university, was an old friend of father's. Both father and I were confident I would be well in no time.
However, after his examination, Dr. Wang's worried expression made my heart sink. "What is wrong?" I asked, my voice shaking. He only shook his head and said:
"You should have come earlier; we are going to have some trouble."
He looked quickly at my father, who was standing beside me, but said nothing. After applying some ointment to my eye, he covered it with a bandage, then walked across the room to wash his hands. Father followed.
I knew what they were going to talk about, so I left the nurse, who was asking me questions, and stole up behind them. They were too engrossed in their conversation to notice me.
"We have trouble with John's eye," Dr. Wang was saying. "He may some day lose his sight altogether. Then he said something in English that I did not understand.
"Is there any way to save the eye? You must have learned so much in the United States!" Father's voice was urgent.
"Yes, there is a way," Dr. Wang said, "and it is not difficult, either. We have only to transplant a good cornea into his eye. The trouble is that we haven't any cornea bank in this country."
"Then what can we do?"
"Every man has two corneas. Yet who would give one to another? You cannot buy an eye for any amount of money. It is true that the cornea of a person who has just died can be transplanted. Yet in China, custom forbids the removal of an eye from the dead."
"Then what can we do?" Father could only repeat himself.
"Try putting an ad in the newspapers," Dr. Wang suggested. "Maybe a miracle will happen and someone will give you his cornea. At the same time, I'll see what I can do at the hospital."
I was almost in shock. My mouth was dry, my legs were trembling, and my head was swimming. Gone with my eyes would be all my dreams and ambitions.
I fumbled my way to the door, knocking against a chair. The noise startled Dr. Wang and father. Dr. Wang walked over, patted my shoulder, and said, "Don't be afraid, my boy, there is a way to make you well."
He walked away then, and left me alone with father. Seeing my trepidation, father's helplessness and anxiety disappeared. He spoke to me solemnly but not unkindly: "Son, did you hear all Dr. Wang said?"
I nodded. He put his arm around me and said: "Don't act as though you were going to lose your life. My boy, you are a soldier's son. You must have the courage to face reality!"
I nodded silently, trying to prop up my morale, but found it was difficult.
II
From then on, my father was ceaselessly busy, trying to save my eye. He put ads in all the newspapers, asking the contribution of a cornea. At the same time, he wrote to friends all over Taiwan, asking them to help in locating one. He was out from dawn to dusk, searching hospitals, funeral parlors, even jails. All his efforts were in vain. Letters were seldom answered. The few answers were brief and discouraging. Ads in newspapers brought not a single word of response, as though they were never read.
Seeing father, already in his 50s, wearing himself out for me, was heartbreaking. I pleaded with him to stop the useless quest. He shook his head, smiled and tried to comfort me. He never lost hope or confidence.
I myself became more and more pessimistic and depressed. My eye was getting worse. I could do nothing, think of nothing. The university no longer interested me. Who wanted a diplomat with only one eye and a weak one at that?
Day and night I sat beside my phonograph in my room, listening to Beethoven and feeling sorry for myself. I played the "Eroica", the "Pastoral" and the "Fifth" over and over again. I turned the volume up deafeningly to try to paralyze my nerves, and at the same time to try to find out how Beethoven triumphed over his adversities.
Beethoven was a genius. I was not. In his music, which was supposed to contain great encouragement for those fighting against heavy odds, I could find only my own misfortunes and terrible future. I would be the underdog, despised and kicked around by others. My life would be full of self-pity and unimaginable miseries.
Father kept on comforting and encouraging me. He always told me to keep up my hope. Knowing his own discouragement, I could only lose control and weep.
Consolations of friends and schoolmates only deepened the hurt. Of course they could lecture and comfort me because it was not they who would be blind! If they felt so strongly, why didn't they give me one of their corneas?
I tried to console myself with the examples of others besides Beethoven - President Roosevelt, a victim of polio; Helen Keller, who was blind and deaf, yet emerged from the silence to become a great person. With half an eye, I could still become a scholar.
Yet all my efforts were futile. Many times I thought of taking my own life. The future stretched ahead unbearably.
III
One night I was sitting in my room listening to Beethoven's "Fifth." The heavy sound of the drums, symbolizing the knock of fate on life's door, seemed to be dealing blow after blow to my heart.
The door opened. Father walked in, turned down the volume, and sat down opposite me. He looked at me in mild reproach:
"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, son. I have come with good news. Uncle
Wang has finally found a person who is willing to give his cornea. Tomorrow you are going for a final check, and we'll fix a date for the transplantation. Soon you'll have your sight back."
I was numb and speechless. I could only stare at father's face - a face which I thought showed no special gladness.
After all our years we understand each other sometimes better than we knew ourselves. I thought maybe father was pulling an old trick again, trying to raise my hopes. .
"Papa, don't cheat me again." I shook my head unbelievingly. "I don't think there is a man in the world, who will sacrifice what he has for someone else."
"You no longer even trust your own father!" He smiled now. "Those other times were only possibilities. This man I have seen myself."
Still in doubt, I looked closely into my father's eyes, which were crystal clear and full of expression. All those who know father have always said that one look from him, and you would be captured. Age had carved wrinkles on his forehead but hadn't dimmed the light in his eyes. I knew the secrets there, and this time I could see he spoke truly. But why wasn't he happier?
"Don't look at me like that, as if you didn't know your own father! This eye trouble has changed you so that you don't trust anything nor anyone. Try to relax. Go to bed early. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, we -are going to see Uncle Wang."
My father stood up, patted me, and walked toward the door. I stood up and called after him:
"Father, tomorrow I want to see the man who is giving me his cornea. I must see him and thank him."
"Oh? I didn't think of that." Father paused a moment. "Let's talk about that when we get to the hospital tomorrow."
Father was closing the door when I spoke again.
"Father!"
"What's that?" He held the door ajar, waiting.
"Though I must thank that good man, I must also thank you. For me, you have worn yourself out all these days." I was deeply moved and ran to him. Throwing my arms around his neck, I buried my head on his chest. He stroked my hair, and said, tenderly:
"You are the prolongation of my own life. Anything I do for you is for myself. It's not worth mentioning."
He kissed me on the forehead, pushed me away gently, and closed the door.
A bright future swirled around me. Though the outcome of the operation was still a question, at least there was hope.
IV
Dr. Wang checked my eye, and told me happily that I was lucky. There were no complications. Conditions were satisfactory for the corneal transplantation. He said the operation would be scheduled the following Tuesday. I forgot all about meeting the donor.
On that day, father took me to the hospital and filled out all the forms. I was made ready and taken to the operation room. Dr. Wang was waiting. He wore a surgeon's gown and a mask. An assistant and two nurses went into the room.
"Welcome, my boy, I'll show you what I learned in America." Dr. Wang was smiling.
I knew he was trying to put me at ease.
But I was thinking of my benefactor. I wanted to see him before accepting his generosity.
"Are you afraid, my boy?" Dr. Wang asked. "Let's get started."
"Uncle Wang, first let me meet the man who is giving me his eye," I said.
"You will see him some day. There is no time. The operation is to begin at once," Dr. Wang replied.
"No, Uncle, until I meet him face to face and express my gratitude, I can't let you operate."
Dr. Wang looked at father. But father only shook his head, pushed at me, and said:
"Don't be childish! Go into the operating room as Uncle Wang said!"
Reluctantly, I followed Dr. Wang. Then a thought struck me. When the operation began, the man would have to appear. What could prevent me from seeing him?
I lay down on the table. The nurse covered my face with gauze and whispered in my ear: "Don't move; the operation is going to begin."
I heard father say something to Dr. Wang in a low tone, and someone lay down on the table beside me. I turned to see, but the nurse stopped me with her hand and said: "Don't move!"
I felt sharp pain in my eye. They were shooting anesthetic around it. Even so, the pain was almost unbearable.
The operation was over. Dr. Wang told me it was a complete success and that my eye would be as good as new.
Father didn't wait for me. He left a note saying he had business in southern Taiwan and that he would see me soon.
"When I am back, you will be able to see me with both your eyes," he wrote.
No words can describe my nervousness when the bandage was about to be removed - nor my excitement and joy when I found my sight was normal. Standing before a mirror and seeing my once dulled eye bright once more, I threw my arms around Dr. Wang and cried, "Uncle, thank you, thank you with all my heart. Now may I see my benefactor?"
"Go back and ask your father to take you to him," he said.
"Father told me he is here." I couldn't understand why they were trying to keep him from me.
"He went home yesterday but your father knows his address," Dr. Wang told me.
I thanked Dr. Wang again. Dr. Wang told me father was already back and would take me home the next morning. I decided to surprise him. I packed my things, called a taxi, and went home.
V
It was evening. Opening the gate, I could hear music. It was Beethoven's "Fifth". This time, it didn't sadden me. I was whole once more!
Father was listening to the crashing chords and didn't hear me. The lamp cast only a dim light on his bent back, and showed a little of the powdering of gray in his hair.
Happiness and excitement suddenly left me. My own rejoicing was tempered by the sudden realization that father was getting old.
Ten years ago he had been a young man; now he seemed ages older. It was those months of worrying about me. He must be physically and spiritually exhausted.
"Father!" I called to him softly but urgently.
"Oh, you are back?" His voice showed surprised alarm. "I was going to come for you at the hospital tomorrow morning."
He turned off the phonograph, and slowly turned to face me. Our eyes met, and then I knew what I had suspected in my subconscious but not believed in my selfish conscious thought.
Where my father's right eye had been, there was only a black patch, damning me like the blackest of nights.
I was on my knees, my head buried in his lap. My tears were falling like rain, wetting father's slacks. Between sobs, I reproached him, "Father, you should have told me."
"I know, son," he patted my head. "I intended to tell you, but I was afraid you would object and we would waste precious time. Now raise your head and let me look at your new eye."
He raised my head and wiped away my tears with his handkerchief. "You are no longer a child. You should stop crying," he said, smiling.
"Father, I don't know how to repay you for what you have done for me."
"You are the prolongation of my life," father said, as he had said before.
Looking at the light of joy in his remaining eye, tears again coursed down my cheeks.
Other fathers give a son only two eyes. Mine had given me three.
-translated by C. K. Liu