Grandma's House

When I got back to Taiwan, the rain had stopped.

The plane landed at Taoyuan International Airport. The runway was still wet, and the sky was hazy, like a piece of white cloth that hadn't been washed properly.

Looking out the porthole in late summer, one can see patches of paddy fields in the distance, shimmering with a silvery-white light in the gaps in the clouds.

Xia Mo's mother didn't say anything, she just kept looking out the window, her fingers resting on the handrail, her fingertips slightly cold.

Xia Mo reached out and touched the back of her hand. Her mother turned to look at him, her eyes red-rimmed, but she smiled.

"I'm home," she said.

"Um."

After clearing customs and collecting their luggage, the two walked out of the arrival hall.

An elderly man with gray hair stood at the front of the crowd waiting to greet passengers. He was not tall and wore a dark red thin jacket. He was clutching a handkerchief in his hand and his eyes were searching anxiously through the crowd.

The moment the old woman saw Xia Mo's mother, tears streamed down her face.

"Mom." Xia Mo's mother quickly walked over and hugged her.

Xia Mo stood a few steps away, dragging a suitcase in her hand and carrying a cello case on her back.

He watched as his grandmother patted his mother's back forcefully, murmuring, "It's good that you're back, it's good that you're back," her voice a mix of crying and laughing.

Grandma cried for a while, then let go of Mom and turned to Xia Mo.

Looking at her grandson, who was now almost as tall as herself, tears welled up in her eyes again, and she reached out to touch his face.

"Xia Mo, you've grown so tall... Last time I saw you, you weren't even up to my shoulder." Her voice choked with emotion. "Did you eat properly in Japan? How did you get so thin?"

"Grandma, I ate well," Xia Mo said, her voice a little strained.

"How could you get so thin if you ate so well?" Grandma's tone was both distressed and reproachful as she took his hand and examined it from all angles.

"My hands have gotten so big, I almost don't recognize them." She wiped away her tears, then smiled again. "It's good that you're back, it's good that you're back."

Xia Mo's father didn't send them back to Taiwan. He walked them to the boarding gate and then turned and left.

When Xia Mo looked back at him, he was walking out with his head down, his steps quick, as if afraid that if he slowed down even a step, he would stop.

This was the first time at the end of summer that I saw my father's back looking so frail.

It took an hour to drive from the airport to downtown Taipei on the highway.

Grandma didn't drive; she came in her neighbor's car.

The neighbor's surname was Lin. He was an old man in his fifties who drove an old Toyota with several bags of fruit and two cases of bottled water piled up in the back seat.

"Uncle Lin brought me to pick you up," Grandma said with a smile. "Otherwise, how could an old woman like me drive that far?"

Uncle Lin glanced at Xia Mo in the rearview mirror and smiled憨厚ly: "Your grandma talks about you every day, saying, 'My grandson is coming back, he's coming back from Japan,' she's been saying it for a whole week."

Xia Mo didn't speak, but turned her face to the window, comparing the scenery outside with what she remembered.

The scenery outside the window changed from the concrete guardrails of the highway to the arcade signs of the city, receding one by one, displaying various traditional Chinese characters—Chinese medicine shops, electrical appliance shops, snack shops, Buddhist supplies shops.

The sky in Taipei is lower than in Tokyo, with large, fluffy clouds that press down on the rooftops of tall buildings, looking like cotton candy about to melt.

The car turned into a narrow alley, with old apartments on both sides, the walls covered with air conditioner drain pipes and wires, like a giant spider web.

The alley was narrow, only wide enough for one car to pass at a time. Uncle Lin drove very slowly, carefully avoiding the motorcycles parked on the side of the road.

"We've arrived," Grandma said.

Xia Mo got off the bus and stood in the alley, looking up at the four-story old house.

The exterior walls are covered with small white ceramic tiles, which have turned a bit yellow. On the second-floor iron window, there is a pot of bougainvillea that has withered, with purple petals scattered all over the windowsill.

The first floor is a small shop with a rolled-up iron door. A red paper with the words "House for Rent" is pasted on it.

There was an iron gate next to it, painted dark green, with a faded teru teru bozu (a Japanese doll) hanging on the doorknob—it looked a lot like the one his family used to have.

"This is..." Xia Mo stared at the teru teru bozu doll, stunned for a moment.

"Your mother made this when she was little," Grandma said with a smile. "It's been hanging there for over twenty years; she can't bear to throw it away."

Standing to the side, Mom saw the teru teru bozu doll and a look of nostalgia appeared on her face.

My maternal grandmother's house is near Guanghua Shopping Mall, less than a five-minute walk away.

This is Taipei's famous electronics business district. The entire street is lined with shops selling computer parts, mobile phone accessories, and audio-visual products, and the air is filled with a mixed smell of solder and plastic.

Tourists and students crowded into the narrow aisle, holding price lists and comparing prices with shining eyes.

But the alley where my grandmother lived was very quiet, like a different world from the hustle and bustle outside.

As Xia Mo dragged her suitcase through the door, she found herself in a narrow stairwell. On the wall hung a faded New Year's picture of a chubby baby holding a carp.

The stairs are very steep, and each step is not high, but they make a creaking sound when you step on them.

"Third floor," Grandma said. "Your room is all ready."

As summer drew to a close, carrying her suitcase and cello case, she climbed step by step to the third floor.

Grandma followed behind, carrying his mother's small suitcase, and walked faster than him.

"Grandma, I can do it myself." Xia Mo turned around to take her luggage.

"No need, no need, you go your way." Grandma pushed him away and went up to the third floor in a few steps, without even panting.

There are two rooms on the third floor, one facing south and the other facing north.

The south-facing room was kept clean and tidy, with the window open, letting in sunlight that warmed the whole room.

On the windowsill sat a small, green cactus with a few yellow flowers on top.

The bed sheets were new, light blue, and neatly folded. On the desk sat a desk lamp, a stack of blank letter paper, and a box of sharpened pencils.

Xia Mo stood at the door, not going in immediately.

"Don't you like it?" Grandma asked.

"I like it," Xia Mo said. He went inside, placed the cello case against the wall, put the suitcase at the foot of the bed, and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

The mattress was very soft, unlike the hard mattress he slept on in Japan; it was very comfortable.

There were people talking in the alley outside the window, speaking in Hokkien at a fast pace, which Xia Mo couldn't quite make out.

The announcement from Guanghua Shopping Mall came from afar, muffled and indistinct, as if through a layer of glass.

"Are you tired?" Grandma stood at the door. "Rest for a bit, I'll call you when dinner is ready."

"Grandma," Xia Mo called out to her.

Grandma turned around.

"Thank you," Xia Mo said.

Grandma paused for a moment, then smiled. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, somewhat like Mom's.

"Silly child, why are you thanking your grandma?" She waved her hand and walked down the stairs.

Xia Mo sat in the room for a while, then stood up and walked to the window.

The alley outside the window is narrow, and across from it is the wall of another old house. The gray cement wall is covered with vines, and the leaves are bright green.

A few sparrows hopped around on the power lines, chirping and chattering as if they were arguing.

He suddenly realized that the quiet here was different from the quiet in Tokyo.

The quiet in Tokyo is the kind of quiet where you "dare not make a sound," while the quiet here is the kind of quiet where you "don't need to make a sound."

He took out his phone; there were no new messages. He scrolled to Feibiao's chat window; the last message was still hers: "Okay."

He didn't click on it; he turned the screen off.

Dinner was very plentiful.

Grandma stewed pork rib soup, stir-fried water spinach, steamed a tilapia, and fried a plate of red fermented pork.

There are also some dishes that I haven't even seen before at the end of summer.

The three people sat around a round table on the first floor, with dishes covering most of the table, like it was Chinese New Year.

"Eat more, eat more." Grandma put the biggest piece of pork rib into Xia Mo's bowl, and then gave another piece to Mom. "You've both lost weight."

Mom ate with her head down, without saying a word.

Grandma looked at her, her lips moved a few times as if she wanted to say something, but then she swallowed it back.

"Mom." Noticing her grandmother's unusual behavior, the mother put down her chopsticks, looked up at her, and asked, "What's wrong?"

Grandma put down her chopsticks, picked up a handkerchief to wipe her mouth, and her eyes reddened.

"What's wrong?" Her voice was choked with sobs. "You two adults, why can't you have a good life instead of getting a divorce? Xia Mo is still so young. How are you going to manage raising her alone?"

"Mom," Mom called again, this time in a softer voice.

Grandma didn't say anything more. She stood up, took away the plate full of crumbs, and went into the kitchen. The tap was turned on, and the water ran for a long time.

After finishing the ribs at the end of summer, place the bones on the side of the plate.

The soup was delicious, and the pork ribs were stewed until very tender, the meat falling off the bone with just a touch of chopsticks.

He ladled out another bowl of soup and slowly drank it.

"Is Grandma's cooking delicious?" Mom asked.

"It's delicious," Xia Mo said.

Mom smiled but didn't reply. She just patted Xia Mo's head and gave her an apologetic look.

--------

During her first week in Taipei, Xia Mo barely went out.

In order to find a job as soon as possible and get their lives back on track, Xia Mo's mother had no choice but to send her to live with her maternal grandmother.

Every morning, after getting up and eating the breakfast his grandmother prepared, he would sit in his room and play the cello. The room faced south, and sunlight streamed in through the windows, making the whole room warm and cozy.

The sound of a cello drifted out of the window and into the alley, low and slow, like someone whispering something.

Occasionally, passersby would stop to listen for a while, and then continue walking.

Grandma never complained about the noise, but one day at lunch she said, "Xia Mo, your cello playing sounds like you're crying."

Xia Mo paused for a moment.

"Isn't it nice to listen to?" he asked.

Grandma thought for a moment and said, "It sounds nice. But could you change the tune? It's making me feel really uncomfortable."

Xia Mo didn't say anything, and lowered her head to eat a mouthful of rice.

"And don't poop for so long," Grandma said, putting a piece of braised pork into his bowl.

"Go out for a walk. Guanghua Shopping Mall is very lively, and there are lots of places to eat. Staying cooped up in your room all day will make you sick."

Xia Mo did not go to Guanghua Shopping Mall immediately, but he listened to what his grandmother said and began to accompany her for walks after dinner.

Turn left after exiting the alley, and walk for five minutes to reach the Guanghua Shopping Mall area.

Guanghua Shopping Mall is even more lively at night than during the day, with its neon signs lighting up in a variety of colors, making the whole street as bright as day.

Young people who looked like students, carrying backpacks, haggled over prices at a stall selling computer parts. The air was filled with the aroma of grilled sausages and fried chicken, mixed with the distinctive plastic smell of electronic components.

Grandma walked very slowly, with her hands behind her back, as if she were taking a stroll in her own yard.

"Xia Mo, how long have you been learning the cello?" Grandma asked.

"It's been four years," Xia Mo said. She started learning in first grade and is now in fifth grade, exactly four years.

"After four years, it's become like this?" Grandma asked, her tone questioning. "So, is this considered good or bad?"

Xia Mo paused for a moment.

"My teacher said my pitch is good," he said, his voice not loud, as if he were talking about something unimportant.

Grandma said "Oh" and didn't say anything more.

After a while, she suddenly stopped and pointed to a stall selling red bean cakes.

"Would you like some red bean cakes at the end of summer?"

"Anything is fine."

Grandma bought two pieces, one with red bean filling and one with cream filling.

Xia Mo took a bite of the red bean cake, but it was so hot that he gasped for breath.

"Eat slowly, no one's going to take it from you," Grandma said with a smile.

As people get older, their appetites tend to decrease, so being able to see young people enjoying their food is a kind of happiness.

They walked to the corner of Guanghua Shopping Mall, where there was a stereo store with a row of old vinyl records displayed in the window.

Grandma stopped and looked around, as if she was thinking about something.

"Your mother used to like coming to Guanghua Shopping Mall when she was little," Grandma suddenly said.

"But back then, this place didn't sell computers; it sold stereos. Your grandfather loved listening to music and would come here every week, with your mother following behind like a little tail."

Xia Mo didn't speak, but listened quietly.

"When your grandfather passed away, your mother cried for several days." Grandma's voice softened.

"Later, she married your father. The three of you went to Japan together, and I thought she had found her happiness..."

Grandma stopped and looked up at the thin crescent moon in the sky.

"Never mind, let's not talk about it anymore." She waved her hand. "It's all in the past."

Xia Mo stood next to her grandmother, watching the moonlight shine on her gray hair.

"Tell Grandma about you, Xia Mo." Grandma abruptly changed the subject, catching Xia Mo off guard.

"Um?"

"Did you make any friends while you were in Japan?" Grandma asked.

"......have."

"Boy or girl?"

"...I think so."

"Are there more girls?"

Xia Mo did not reply.

Grandma laughed, not loudly, but very proudly.

"What's there to be embarrassed about? When your mom was your age, boys were already calling home."

Xia Mo stuffed a red bean cake into her mouth and chewed it for a long time.

"Grandma, do you want to hear it?" he suddenly asked.

Grandma paused for a moment, then asked, "What are you listening to?"

"It's about Japan," Xia Mo said. "My friend."

Grandma walked to a bench by the roadside, sat down, patted the seat next to her, and struck a pose of listening attentively.

"Okay, Grandma must be tired from walking. Sit down and tell me slowly."

Xia Mo sat down, still clutching the paper bag of red bean cakes in her hand.

"I first saw a bird at the entrance of the music room," he said.

"Oh, this girl's name is Asuka." Grandma looked thoughtful.

"Yes, Saito Asuka."

"The name is alright, but the surname isn't great, but it doesn't matter."

Grandma said to herself.

"And then?"

"She had no one to team up with during PE class, so she wandered around the school. When she heard me playing the piano, she ran over to eavesdrop."

"Eavesdropping?" Grandma laughed.

"Mmm." Xia Mo's lips curved slightly.

"She accidentally made a sound, which I noticed, and then she ran away."

"You ran away and didn't chase after him?"

"I chased after her. She ran incredibly fast; I didn't even have time to react."

Grandma laughed so hard she almost fell over, her laughter ringing out loudly in the quiet alley.

"And then?"

"Later I caught up with her and told her not to tell the teacher about the piano. She agreed. That's how we met."

Xia Mo talked a lot. She talked about how Fei Niao was bullied by his classmates and how he chased them away with a mop—Grandma slapped the armrest of the bench when she heard this and said, "Well done!"

She then recounted how she introduced Feiniao to Huahua, and how the two of them went to his doorstep on the first day of summer vacation to wait for him.

They talked about the fireworks festival, about how they caught goldfish and watched fireworks together.

He talked about the ensemble club, how he chose the most difficult oboe, how he practiced it all summer, and how he played that piece at the school festival.

Grandma listened, occasionally grunting in agreement, and sometimes interjecting with comments like, "This girl is amazing," or "This one is amazing too."

She didn't ask for too many details, but just listened quietly, as if she were listening to a very, very long story.

"So, you played that oboe for that classmate named Huahua?" Grandma asked.

Xia Mo paused for a moment.

"It's also for the birds to hear," he said.

Grandma didn't respond.

The roadside food stalls gradually closed up shop, and the neon lights in Guanghua Shopping Mall went out one by one, leaving only a few late-night food stalls still lit up.

The aroma in the air changed from salt and pepper chicken to braised pork rice, mixed with the faint scent of osmanthus in the night breeze.

"After saying all that," Grandma suddenly changed her tone, her voice carrying a slyness typical of old age, "which one do you like better?"

Xia Mo was stunned for a moment: "What?"

"Those two girls," Grandma's eyes sparkled under the streetlights, "Feiniao and Huahua, which one do you like?"

Summer's ears turned red.

"Grandma, why are you asking this?"

"Grandma's just curious." Grandma's tone was like coaxing a child. "I can tell even if you don't say it. That bird, she talks more when you mention her."

"No," Xia Mo's voice was muffled.

"Yes," Grandma said with absolute certainty.

Xia Mo fell silent.

He turned his face away, pretending to look at the still-flashing neon light at the intersection of Guanghua Shopping Mall.

Grandma didn't ask any further questions. She stood up, patted her pants, said, "I'm going back now. I have to get up early to buy groceries tomorrow," and then turned and walked towards the alley.

Xia Mo followed behind her. Grandma walked slowly, her back slightly hunched, her silvery-white hair gleaming softly under the streetlights.

He suddenly felt that his grandmother's back view was much warmer than his father's back view at the airport.

When they reached the alley entrance, Grandma suddenly stopped.

"Late summer."

"Um?"

"Did you write a letter to your classmate, Asuka?"

Xia Mo paused for a moment, then said, "No."

"Write a letter," Grandma said.

"Telephone calls are too fast, and messages are too short. Letters are different; you can take your time to write one, and you can read it many times after you've finished."

"Grandma has envelopes at her house, I'll get them for you in a bit. You've been back for so long and haven't written a letter to any girl, what kind of behavior is that?"

Before going to bed, Xia Mo sat at her desk and pulled out a piece of paper from the drawer.

The kind his grandmother prepared for him, with light blue checkered lines and a small plum blossom printed on the corner.

He stared at the blank paper for a long time, picking up the pen and putting it down repeatedly.

Then he started writing.

"Flying Bird:

I've been in Taipei for two weeks now. I'm staying at my grandma's house, and everything is fine.

My maternal grandmother's house is very close to Guanghua Shopping Mall; it's only a five-minute walk away.

Guanghua Shopping Mall is bustling with activity, selling all kinds of electronic parts and audio-visual products, as well as many snacks.

My grandmother said that this place used to sell audio equipment decades ago, and my grandfather used to come here often.

My maternal grandmother's yard is very small, but she has a longan tree planted there.

Grandma said it will bear fruit this summer, and I can eat it when I come back for summer vacation.

Taipei is much hotter than Tokyo. I wasn't used to it when I first arrived, but I'm much better now.

You wore my hat on the day of the school festival; I don't know if it suited you.

That black hat looks better on you than on me.

Hua Hua messaged me saying she's going to participate in a piano competition in middle school and asked me to cheer her on. I replied.

By the way, are you still practicing your timpani?

Mr. Tanaka said that we need to practice the section with the timpani and oboe together again, but unfortunately we can no longer play together.

When my grandmother asked about your time in Japan, I told her some things.

She asked me a question, which I did not answer.

The letter is too long to send, so I'll stop here for now.

—Late Summer

Xia Mo paused here, picked up the paper, and looked at it.

He didn't write down what the question his grandmother asked was, nor did he write down why he didn't answer it.

He simply folded the letter paper into three sections and then stuffed it into the envelope.

He put the envelope on the desk, turned off the light, and lay down on the bed.

There were chirping insects outside the window, and the sound of a train passing by in the distance, a whistling sound like someone walking at night.

His phone vibrated beside his pillow. He picked it up and looked at it. Hua Hua had sent a message: "Xia Jun, you're in Taiwan, why didn't you send a message!"

The second one is: "Do you have a picture? Post a selfie!"

Article 3: "Asuka-chan says you haven't contacted her yet!!"

Article 4: "She also said that she would get angry if you didn't call her soon."

Xia Mo watched as Hua Hua sent message after message on the screen and replied to them one by one.

Then, he opened the bird's chat window and typed a line of text.

"The letter has been mailed. Please check your mail."

send.

Then he put his phone next to his pillow, turned over, and closed his eyes.

Moonlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, casting a thin golden line on the desk, which fell precisely on the letter.

The letter is on its way.