The One Regret
It was time for her morning cup of coffee, a daily ritual which she never omitted. It was the most peaceful hour of the day, an hour in which she could sit down, quiet her thoughts and be with herself. Definitely life wasn't as busy as it had been fifty years ago, when she'd had three children taking up all her time as well as a full-time job and a husband to look after. Those had been the hard years. Now were the years of comfort, of being surrounded by loving family members, of enjoying the fullness of life.
Yet this morning, as Shan Cai sat down to her coffee and toast, she was suddenly seized with a fierce, almost overwhelming sense of loneliness. Such loneliness as she'd never known, taking over her entire mind and soul in one massive wave, and she found her eyes full of tears.
Before her, on the table, laid a photograph taken a very long time ago...more than half a century ago, in fact. She had no idea who had put it there, but that wasn't troubling her greatly now. She picked it up, ran her eyes over the smiling faces in the photo, touched each face gently, almost reverently, with her finger, as though touching them would bring them back to life.
But that, of course, was impossible. They were all from the old world, the one which had passed her by completely. Shan Cai never thought about the old world if she could help it. It had taken her far too long to extricate herself from it; to distance herself from the pain of yearning.
Then, from deep within her, a voice spoke gently. Perhaps now was the time to think about it. Perhaps now was the time to reflect, to take all the years in hand and spread them out before her, to muse over wasted chances and opportunities that she should've taken but hadn't.
Shan Cai stared at the steam rising from the coffee, and felt as though she was going into the steam, rising up, wafting through the air, floating gently through the passage that linked the new world to the old. Then suddenly she saw old faces before her as vividly as though they were in the flesh; heard old voices calling out to her; saw old names and old places. And for the time being, she wanted nothing more than to immerse herself into them; to look at them as they used to be, and think of them as they had been.
Sweet, innocent Xiao You, who had managed to remain in close contact with her for so many years. No matter how many other friends Shan Cai had made in her life, none of them had the sort of closeness that she'd shared with Xiao You. Goofy, endearing Qing He, whose one main desire in life had been to protect her, even after he'd married and had children. Others had looked on him as a born loser, a silly clown, but Shan Cai had truly loved him. Then her parents – a little crazy as they had been, materialistic as they had been, irritating as they had been – they had honestly cared for her and had been more than willing to give up their own wants for her needs. They had loved her and had never failed to think of her in every instance. Shan Cai had never regretted having them for parents.
She struggled now; fought with herself...but in the end, she succumbed to desire and allowed herself to think of them. F4. The four men who'd changed her life completely, and had impacted her in a way that nothing else ever had. As she traced her finger through the faces in the photograph, she remembered them, each and every one of the four of them, with a tenderness, a sort of dreamlike ache.
The first face was Ximen, who had died of a heart attack only two years before. For all of his womanizing and clubbing, he'd never gotten married. Sometimes, Shan Cai thought that his bachelorhood may have been due to the memory of a slight, big-eyed girl who'd emigrated to Canada, but Ximen never mentioned her, and Shan Cai didn't quite like to ask. Of course, during the later part of his life he'd taken to wandering along the street where the cake shop used to be – it had been torn down thirty years earlier to make way for a spanking new shopping mall – and he'd even stayed in a hotel room for a time, but then again, all those may have meant absolutely nothing. Surely he could not cherish feelings for a woman whom he hadn't seen for sixty years. Could love possibly survive under such circumstances?
The next face was Mei Zhuo, and here, Shan Cai couldn't help a smile. Laughing, quick-witted, humourous Mei Zhuo, such a big success in the business world and so loved by everyone around him. Mellowed with age, wiser with years, generous, big-hearted. When he'd died of 'natural causes' at the age of 73, his family had insisted on holding a huge, grand funeral – the sort of event that Mei Zhuo would have hugely enjoyed – and nearly everyone in his company had come to pay homage to their friendly President, who had smiles and kind words to spare even for the cleaners. "I give out a hug or a kiss, whichever one's needed at the moment" had been his favourite saying.
Shan Cai gazed at the third face. Dao Ming Si.
No, there were no regrets there. She was sure of it. She may have regretted marrying him if he'd remained the brash, arrogant, top-of-the-world cocky fellow that he'd once been, but the gentle, loving, considerate fellow after his brush with amnesia had been the kindest, most generous husband. They had survived the rough together, ploughed through the early difficult years when Dao Ming Si had left his family to face the world alone, and enjoyed the later years with their children and grandchildren.
Dao Ming Si had died a year before Ximen, and Shan Cai had honestly mourned him. They'd seen so much of life together, the two of them – had been through euphoric happiness, had plummeted to the depths of despair, had worked hard and lived for each other. It had been terrible to have to let go of such a companion, to have to know that henceforth she was alone. But Shan Cai had actually been able to say goodbye to him. She had been able to release their memories, look back on their years together with more smiles than tears, think of him as someone who'd shared her life with her and had blessed her in his own way.
She had been fully able to say goodbye to Ximen, Mei Zhuo and Dao Ming Si. The tears had dried up after a time. But for the last of the F4...
Her finger stopped at the final face. The fourth one.
Hua Ze Lei.
He was the only one she'd never said goodbye to, had never been able to release.
Hua Ze Lei, the quiet, melancholic, deep-thinking violinist, with the sensitive, almost beautiful face and dark, clear eyes. Hua Ze Lei of the silences and the music, Hua Ze Lei who'd looked up at the night sky with her and walked along winding, fragrant paths with her. It had been his quiet love, his never ending support, which had braced and strengthened her so much through the years. She'd run to him whenever she needed someone to lean on and weep – had run to him when she felt that she'd come to the end of the road. And even when she hadn't run to him, he had come looking for her, simply to sit beside her in silence and understand her.
She thought of the time, sixty over years ago now, that they'd spent together in a village. A time which would remain as the most beautiful part of her memories. She'd run away from Taipei, unable to face life any longer, and he'd found her. They'd spent nearly a fortnight there together, having each other for company day and night, doing little but being with each other. Talking sometimes, but mostly not at all...simply communicating through all the languages of the soul and the heart. Understanding each other in a way that they could never understand anyone else.
It had drawn to a close, of course, as all things must end eventually. Many times Shan Cai had thought of going back to the village, walking through the small, scenic path which led to the house that they'd stayed in, but something always held her back. Something akin to fear that she would find it changed, and that those changes would mar the memories she had of the place. After all, really, there was nothing to bring her back. Friends that they'd made in that village were dead now...had been dead for some time.
Hua Ze Lei had never married...had died too young to marry. He'd gotten pneumonia at the age of thirty one and never had a chance. One windy, dull day in April when the skies had been overrun by grey, looming clouds, he'd died as serenely as he'd lived his life. Only Mei Zhuo made it in time to hold his hand one last time, look into those clear, unflinching eyes, hear the quiet, much-loved voice before it went mute forever. Ximen, Dao Ming Si and Shan Cai only managed to see him being wheeled to the morgue...and read a short note that he'd asked a nurse to write for him the hour before he died.
"I always had the feeling that I'd die young", he'd said. "Unlike the rest of you, I never really had dreams and aspirations. I never wanted to take over my father's company, and I never felt myself to be a father of children, and a husband to a woman. Perhaps it was written in the stars, somewhere, somehow...that I was born to die young."
For countless nights after that, Shan Cai woke up to a vision of Hua Ze Lei dressed in white, his wavy hair blowing slightly in the breeze, his eyes closed, a small smile on his lips, evoking beautiful music from the violin which was his best, most intimate friend. And she'd cried ceaselessly together with Dao Ming Si at the passing of a man whom they'd loved so deeply. Hua Ze Lei, quiet as he was, had nonetheless been so much a part of their lives. He'd been their support, their backbone. And even though he didn't want to take over his family business, for the eight years that he'd spent in the Hua Ze company, everyone had actually revolved around him – looked to him for answers, solutions, ideas.
He said that he never felt himself to be a husband to a woman. But Shan Cai remembered, oh so clearly, that afternoon, when the breeze had been tinged with the scent of flowers, he'd looked deep into her eyes and said clearly, "Come back to Japan with me. Do you understand my meaning?"
Hua Ze Lei had loved her enough to want to marry her. He had loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her. He had loved her enough to be willing to remain a shadow in the background, to come forth only when she needed him. And she? She had loved him too...
Yes, Shan Cai thought with some astonishment. We would have been happy together. We could have shared a life together. So much love. So much understanding. We would have been wrapped up in each other, would have meant the world and more to each other. Walking hand-in-hand down country paths, discovering the hidden stories of clouds and stars, sitting out in the porch during warm, golden evenings...things that belong only to Lei and things that I would only have done with him...
She did not regret marrying Dao Ming Si. Of that she was sure.
But perhaps she did regret not marrying Hua Ze Lei. Not spending as much time as was possible with him. Not lifting the sadness out of his eyes. Not holding him in her arms and telling him that she did love him in every single way.
Would she ever be able to release him?
Maybe, some day, some hour, she might...but she doubted it...
Not when he was the one sole regret she had in her eighty five years of life.
It was time for her morning cup of coffee, a daily ritual which she never omitted. It was the most peaceful hour of the day, an hour in which she could sit down, quiet her thoughts and be with herself. Definitely life wasn't as busy as it had been fifty years ago, when she'd had three children taking up all her time as well as a full-time job and a husband to look after. Those had been the hard years. Now were the years of comfort, of being surrounded by loving family members, of enjoying the fullness of life.
Yet this morning, as Shan Cai sat down to her coffee and toast, she was suddenly seized with a fierce, almost overwhelming sense of loneliness. Such loneliness as she'd never known, taking over her entire mind and soul in one massive wave, and she found her eyes full of tears.
Before her, on the table, laid a photograph taken a very long time ago...more than half a century ago, in fact. She had no idea who had put it there, but that wasn't troubling her greatly now. She picked it up, ran her eyes over the smiling faces in the photo, touched each face gently, almost reverently, with her finger, as though touching them would bring them back to life.
But that, of course, was impossible. They were all from the old world, the one which had passed her by completely. Shan Cai never thought about the old world if she could help it. It had taken her far too long to extricate herself from it; to distance herself from the pain of yearning.
Then, from deep within her, a voice spoke gently. Perhaps now was the time to think about it. Perhaps now was the time to reflect, to take all the years in hand and spread them out before her, to muse over wasted chances and opportunities that she should've taken but hadn't.
Shan Cai stared at the steam rising from the coffee, and felt as though she was going into the steam, rising up, wafting through the air, floating gently through the passage that linked the new world to the old. Then suddenly she saw old faces before her as vividly as though they were in the flesh; heard old voices calling out to her; saw old names and old places. And for the time being, she wanted nothing more than to immerse herself into them; to look at them as they used to be, and think of them as they had been.
Sweet, innocent Xiao You, who had managed to remain in close contact with her for so many years. No matter how many other friends Shan Cai had made in her life, none of them had the sort of closeness that she'd shared with Xiao You. Goofy, endearing Qing He, whose one main desire in life had been to protect her, even after he'd married and had children. Others had looked on him as a born loser, a silly clown, but Shan Cai had truly loved him. Then her parents – a little crazy as they had been, materialistic as they had been, irritating as they had been – they had honestly cared for her and had been more than willing to give up their own wants for her needs. They had loved her and had never failed to think of her in every instance. Shan Cai had never regretted having them for parents.
She struggled now; fought with herself...but in the end, she succumbed to desire and allowed herself to think of them. F4. The four men who'd changed her life completely, and had impacted her in a way that nothing else ever had. As she traced her finger through the faces in the photograph, she remembered them, each and every one of the four of them, with a tenderness, a sort of dreamlike ache.
The first face was Ximen, who had died of a heart attack only two years before. For all of his womanizing and clubbing, he'd never gotten married. Sometimes, Shan Cai thought that his bachelorhood may have been due to the memory of a slight, big-eyed girl who'd emigrated to Canada, but Ximen never mentioned her, and Shan Cai didn't quite like to ask. Of course, during the later part of his life he'd taken to wandering along the street where the cake shop used to be – it had been torn down thirty years earlier to make way for a spanking new shopping mall – and he'd even stayed in a hotel room for a time, but then again, all those may have meant absolutely nothing. Surely he could not cherish feelings for a woman whom he hadn't seen for sixty years. Could love possibly survive under such circumstances?
The next face was Mei Zhuo, and here, Shan Cai couldn't help a smile. Laughing, quick-witted, humourous Mei Zhuo, such a big success in the business world and so loved by everyone around him. Mellowed with age, wiser with years, generous, big-hearted. When he'd died of 'natural causes' at the age of 73, his family had insisted on holding a huge, grand funeral – the sort of event that Mei Zhuo would have hugely enjoyed – and nearly everyone in his company had come to pay homage to their friendly President, who had smiles and kind words to spare even for the cleaners. "I give out a hug or a kiss, whichever one's needed at the moment" had been his favourite saying.
Shan Cai gazed at the third face. Dao Ming Si.
No, there were no regrets there. She was sure of it. She may have regretted marrying him if he'd remained the brash, arrogant, top-of-the-world cocky fellow that he'd once been, but the gentle, loving, considerate fellow after his brush with amnesia had been the kindest, most generous husband. They had survived the rough together, ploughed through the early difficult years when Dao Ming Si had left his family to face the world alone, and enjoyed the later years with their children and grandchildren.
Dao Ming Si had died a year before Ximen, and Shan Cai had honestly mourned him. They'd seen so much of life together, the two of them – had been through euphoric happiness, had plummeted to the depths of despair, had worked hard and lived for each other. It had been terrible to have to let go of such a companion, to have to know that henceforth she was alone. But Shan Cai had actually been able to say goodbye to him. She had been able to release their memories, look back on their years together with more smiles than tears, think of him as someone who'd shared her life with her and had blessed her in his own way.
She had been fully able to say goodbye to Ximen, Mei Zhuo and Dao Ming Si. The tears had dried up after a time. But for the last of the F4...
Her finger stopped at the final face. The fourth one.
Hua Ze Lei.
He was the only one she'd never said goodbye to, had never been able to release.
Hua Ze Lei, the quiet, melancholic, deep-thinking violinist, with the sensitive, almost beautiful face and dark, clear eyes. Hua Ze Lei of the silences and the music, Hua Ze Lei who'd looked up at the night sky with her and walked along winding, fragrant paths with her. It had been his quiet love, his never ending support, which had braced and strengthened her so much through the years. She'd run to him whenever she needed someone to lean on and weep – had run to him when she felt that she'd come to the end of the road. And even when she hadn't run to him, he had come looking for her, simply to sit beside her in silence and understand her.
She thought of the time, sixty over years ago now, that they'd spent together in a village. A time which would remain as the most beautiful part of her memories. She'd run away from Taipei, unable to face life any longer, and he'd found her. They'd spent nearly a fortnight there together, having each other for company day and night, doing little but being with each other. Talking sometimes, but mostly not at all...simply communicating through all the languages of the soul and the heart. Understanding each other in a way that they could never understand anyone else.
It had drawn to a close, of course, as all things must end eventually. Many times Shan Cai had thought of going back to the village, walking through the small, scenic path which led to the house that they'd stayed in, but something always held her back. Something akin to fear that she would find it changed, and that those changes would mar the memories she had of the place. After all, really, there was nothing to bring her back. Friends that they'd made in that village were dead now...had been dead for some time.
Hua Ze Lei had never married...had died too young to marry. He'd gotten pneumonia at the age of thirty one and never had a chance. One windy, dull day in April when the skies had been overrun by grey, looming clouds, he'd died as serenely as he'd lived his life. Only Mei Zhuo made it in time to hold his hand one last time, look into those clear, unflinching eyes, hear the quiet, much-loved voice before it went mute forever. Ximen, Dao Ming Si and Shan Cai only managed to see him being wheeled to the morgue...and read a short note that he'd asked a nurse to write for him the hour before he died.
"I always had the feeling that I'd die young", he'd said. "Unlike the rest of you, I never really had dreams and aspirations. I never wanted to take over my father's company, and I never felt myself to be a father of children, and a husband to a woman. Perhaps it was written in the stars, somewhere, somehow...that I was born to die young."
For countless nights after that, Shan Cai woke up to a vision of Hua Ze Lei dressed in white, his wavy hair blowing slightly in the breeze, his eyes closed, a small smile on his lips, evoking beautiful music from the violin which was his best, most intimate friend. And she'd cried ceaselessly together with Dao Ming Si at the passing of a man whom they'd loved so deeply. Hua Ze Lei, quiet as he was, had nonetheless been so much a part of their lives. He'd been their support, their backbone. And even though he didn't want to take over his family business, for the eight years that he'd spent in the Hua Ze company, everyone had actually revolved around him – looked to him for answers, solutions, ideas.
He said that he never felt himself to be a husband to a woman. But Shan Cai remembered, oh so clearly, that afternoon, when the breeze had been tinged with the scent of flowers, he'd looked deep into her eyes and said clearly, "Come back to Japan with me. Do you understand my meaning?"
Hua Ze Lei had loved her enough to want to marry her. He had loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her. He had loved her enough to be willing to remain a shadow in the background, to come forth only when she needed him. And she? She had loved him too...
Yes, Shan Cai thought with some astonishment. We would have been happy together. We could have shared a life together. So much love. So much understanding. We would have been wrapped up in each other, would have meant the world and more to each other. Walking hand-in-hand down country paths, discovering the hidden stories of clouds and stars, sitting out in the porch during warm, golden evenings...things that belong only to Lei and things that I would only have done with him...
She did not regret marrying Dao Ming Si. Of that she was sure.
But perhaps she did regret not marrying Hua Ze Lei. Not spending as much time as was possible with him. Not lifting the sadness out of his eyes. Not holding him in her arms and telling him that she did love him in every single way.
Would she ever be able to release him?
Maybe, some day, some hour, she might...but she doubted it...
Not when he was the one sole regret she had in her eighty five years of life.