Encounters, the trials, of life for this young boy, and now, they’d, lost touch, translated…
13737……
I’d, worked up the courage, dialed the digits, hoping, to hear the voice of Zheng-Rong. The Compassion Home in Guanxi’s young Zheng-Rong was taken home by his uncle a year ago, he’d lost all contact with Home since.
Zheng-Rong was taken by his uncle to Home, back then, he was only three, being away from his loved ones, to a totally strange place, he’d, fallen silent, and wouldn’t tell the adults that he needed to go to the bathrooms. The older girl that Home had assigned to care for him was hotheaded, and whenever he’d wetted himself, she’d scolded him, and as he’d had a bathroom accident, she’d, beaten him up. Once, Zheng-Rong couldn’t take it anymore, he’d started, wailing loud, and, the older girl was about to tie him to the bed, thankfully, an adult teacher from Home found it in time. That was the summer that I’d come to Home for the third time, seeing how tiny Zheng-Rong was, and how he’d always, pouted up his lips, I’d asked him what the matter was? If someone had, picked on him? Did he get enough food? He’d, always, replied with that nasally sound out of his nose. This child with a saddened face caught my attention, and during my month-long time at Home, I’d tried, establishing trust with him, from looking at each other, holding hands, to nodding and shaking the head to answer questions. All of my interactions, I’d, made sure I’d, not pushed him to hard, hoping, that in trying to, adapt to this brand new environment, someone was willing to, hold him, and look at him.
Zheng-Rong slowly took to me, this outsider who’s, more foreign than the older kids at Home, he’d started asking me to hug him, sometimes, even, fallen asleep soundly in my arms, but he’d still, not spoken, one word yet. One day, I’d, carried him outside Home, pointed toward the sky, asked him what it was? He’d shaken his head playfully, signifying he didn’t know. “It’s the sky!”, I’d said, “So…it’s, the sky———“, these words, came out of his lips, very articulate, kind of mature. I was thrilled, looked at him, pointed to the field up ahead, “that, is the field”. “So, it’s, the field————”, then, I got excited, and made him, identify everything in our fields of vision, until, the end, I’d, asked him, “Zhen-Rong, what, am I?”, “You are, TEE-cher!” Out of the mountains of the Yao Tribe, not really articulate in Putonghua, and, it’d, turned Mr. Yao into, TEE-Cher to him, but I’m already, feeling, extremely, blessed here!
The two and a half year that followed, I’d visited Home multiple times, and, honestly, I’d, focused my stay there on Zheng-Rong. His father died young, his mother just, left him out of the blue one day with his uncle, then, vanished. His uncle, who’d felt bad over him who already has a son, treated him like he was his own, but his uncle’s wife believed, that it was, hard enough, to look after the elders, and her own young, and now, here’s, an extra child to care for, one day, she’d, left too. His uncles worked away, and couldn’t manage to look after everybody in the household, in the end, he could only, give Zheng-Rong up, placed him at Home. One day, the other kids asked Zheng-Rong, “Where’s your dad?”, he’d replied, with NO emotions, “Dead!”, “What about your mom?”, as he’d played the toy car I gave to him, he’d spoken those words that, nearly, suffocated me “Ran off!”
After last summer, Zheng-Rong’s uncle could no longer live apart from him, and decided, to take him home, and he’d, found work close by too. This March, I’d spared some time working in Shanghai, found my way, to a small town called, “Wu-Ming”, visited Zheng-Rong. Having started in kindergarten of his local elementary school, he’d walked up to me with his older cousin, shyly, all the way, to the entrance of the school. I’d asked him excitedly, “Do you, remember me?”, he’d, nodded, “You’re, Mr. Yao!”, this short meeting of no more than an hour’s time, he’d returned back to class, but, I’d, thought to myself, our path will probably, never, cross again.
This time, as I’d, returned to Home, I’d still thought about Zheng-Rong. After much considerations, I’d still, dialed up the phones. “The number you have reached is no longer in service.” Once, twice, three times. The numbers were, correct, but, it’d become, no longer, in service. And, maybe, I will, never hear from Zheng-Rong again, but maybe, this, is all for the best, and it needs, to be, for the best.
So, this kid, being as young as he, already, had HIS shares of trials, and, the writer, he can only hope, that this kid whom he’d, interacted with in the orphanage, had gone through his share of hard times in life, and hope for the best for him.