Uncle Six
I have seen one picture of Uncle Six. He is a little boy, around eight years old, he looks cute and smart. He is squatting on the ground (to my recollection). I know that Uncle Six died when he was a boy.
Uncle Six was born with a disease. His bones grew faster than his muscles, so that he could not walk very well. Uncle Six only went to first grade. After that, he could not move well enough to walk anymore so he couldn't go to school with the other kids. He stayed home. In the mornings, his mom or sisters carried him out to the living room, where he could sit and watch the neighbors passing by, and listen to the radio. Uncle Six was a smart boy. He read a lot, maybe because he couldn't do anything else, books and newspapers. He would sit there and read. And he drew pictures, just like the ones he saw in the newspaper comics, pictures of people speaking with little speech bubbles, pictures of objects emitting light through lines blasting off their radiance, Uncle Six sat there and drew and drew and drew. When he was eight years old, Uncle Six had surgery. He went to the hospital and they opened up both of his legs and pulled his muscles. He was in the hospital for a year, just eight years old. His Mom moved into the hospital to live with and take care of him. Uncle Six eventually came back home. He wore a metal brace and it helped him to practice walking. He would walk around the house, front to back, back to front. But his legs never recovered and eventually, he could not move anymore. Uncle Six lied in one place, all day, every day. Just lying in one place, his sense of hearing developed into something amazing. Hearing footsteps, he could tell exactly who was coming over to visit. If any object in the house fell out of place, Uncle Six knew where it happened. If something dropped and rolled under the bed, Uncle Six would say, "It's under the bed, in that corner over there", and there they found it. Everyone loved your Uncle Six.
Eventually, his immune system gave up fighting. Uncle Six died on the 29th of December in the Lunar Year, right before Tet, in 1968. It was fortunate that he died that day because we could bury him. The next day, on the 30th, the Communists fought their way all the way into Saigon, and all the roads were shut. In fact, right before that, our neighbor had gone back to his village to visit his mother. There, the communists ambushed that house and shot him. They thought he was someone else, someone in the Southern government that they were looking for, and shot him. Then they said, "No, it isn't him" and sent his body back home to our neighbor's house, right next door. I still remember the neighbor had to do something with the body, but they couldn't bury it. They broke down the front door to their house, and put his body on it, and carried it off on the door to somewhere else.
Uncle Six was born with a disease. His bones grew faster than his muscles, so that he could not walk very well. Uncle Six only went to first grade. After that, he could not move well enough to walk anymore so he couldn't go to school with the other kids. He stayed home. In the mornings, his mom or sisters carried him out to the living room, where he could sit and watch the neighbors passing by, and listen to the radio. Uncle Six was a smart boy. He read a lot, maybe because he couldn't do anything else, books and newspapers. He would sit there and read. And he drew pictures, just like the ones he saw in the newspaper comics, pictures of people speaking with little speech bubbles, pictures of objects emitting light through lines blasting off their radiance, Uncle Six sat there and drew and drew and drew. When he was eight years old, Uncle Six had surgery. He went to the hospital and they opened up both of his legs and pulled his muscles. He was in the hospital for a year, just eight years old. His Mom moved into the hospital to live with and take care of him. Uncle Six eventually came back home. He wore a metal brace and it helped him to practice walking. He would walk around the house, front to back, back to front. But his legs never recovered and eventually, he could not move anymore. Uncle Six lied in one place, all day, every day. Just lying in one place, his sense of hearing developed into something amazing. Hearing footsteps, he could tell exactly who was coming over to visit. If any object in the house fell out of place, Uncle Six knew where it happened. If something dropped and rolled under the bed, Uncle Six would say, "It's under the bed, in that corner over there", and there they found it. Everyone loved your Uncle Six.
Eventually, his immune system gave up fighting. Uncle Six died on the 29th of December in the Lunar Year, right before Tet, in 1968. It was fortunate that he died that day because we could bury him. The next day, on the 30th, the Communists fought their way all the way into Saigon, and all the roads were shut. In fact, right before that, our neighbor had gone back to his village to visit his mother. There, the communists ambushed that house and shot him. They thought he was someone else, someone in the Southern government that they were looking for, and shot him. Then they said, "No, it isn't him" and sent his body back home to our neighbor's house, right next door. I still remember the neighbor had to do something with the body, but they couldn't bury it. They broke down the front door to their house, and put his body on it, and carried it off on the door to somewhere else.
posted by Quang Tran at 10:24 PM
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