Page 32 - 8 - Những Tâm Hồn Cao Thượng

wait began. My heart ached at the sight of Sarah’s pinched, pathetic face. She caught my sympathetic
gaze, a tremulous smile touched her soft, young mouth; I really wanted so very much to allay her fears.

Before long, a blue-robed doctor, his mask drawn down capping his chin, approached the waiting
room. We got up to greet him as he looked expectantly around the room. He must have been informed
about Sarah. The doc tor explained, “Mr. Li’s rib-cage is badly injured, but we have managed to stem
the internal bleeding.” The doctor continued, “The old man is frail, and his life hangs by a thread. If

he lives, he’ll live with pain through his rest of life.”

Sarah softly asked, “Can we see him?” The doctor allowed us to visit Uncle Li in intensive care.

Puzzled with guilt and sorrow, Sarah was blaming her self and wondering how she could have
avoided the acci dent. Her body shuddered. I put an arm across her shoulders as we came to intensive

care.

We were directed to Uncle Li’s bed. Numerous tubes protruding from his body made him look like

a collapsed puppet. His breathing labored and harsh, I expected at any moment to hear the death
rattle-rumble from his throat.

I had wanted so much for Sarah’s sake for Uncle Li to live. But now for his sake, I wanted him to
die. He’d never ride his bike again, never sell newspapers. We’d never hear again the cheery “Chou
San.” I dug into my pocket for a crumpled tissue to wipe away my relentless tears while my young
friend stood motionless, immobilized by sorrow.

Uncle Li struggled to open his eyes. They flickered and gradually opened. I saw a hint of a smile. I
also saw something else - the emotion that had eluded me seemed to come alive as he peered at the
young woman’s face. I felt like an outsider, intruding on an intimate moment. Feebly he lifted a hand.
She reached out and held it, too choked to utter words she’d rehearsed in her mind. The old man’s
face gathered strength, and the emotion I’d witnessed before was now reflected strongly in his face.

He said to Sarah, “Ngo ke chai” (my child). Emotionally she responded, “Ahpah” (father).

The puzzle piece fell into place, and I recognized the elusive emotion. The indefinable had

become definable. It was beautiful, like the brightness of the evening star. In an unfor getable moment,
love passed from a dying old man and filled the void in a young girl’s heart - like the love of a father
for his child. Smiling peacefully, Uncle Li fell into a contented sleep from which he’d never awaken.

Sarah and I became friends, bonded together by that fateful morning. We visited Uncle Li’s sister,
his only remaining relative. In her home, beside his picture, was the photograph of a young woman. I
was startled. The resemblance was striking! I could have been looking at Sarah. Uncle Li’s sister
explained that the woman in the photograph was Uncle Li’s wife. She’d died at childbirth, and their
baby girl was stillborn. He’d loved his young wife dearly. He would have loved and treasured his

daughter. Sarah had brought them both to life again, and in return Uncle Li had given Sarah a legacy of
love.

- Audrey Bowie