Even though no one was there, I watched my step as I crept into his office. He had been my mentor, my friend. If he found out what I was doing, years of friendship would have been sacrificed. But I didn’t care. There was always something he never taught me - something I needed to know. And I was going to find out.
I’d wanted to be a doctor ever since I was just a child. There I sat - at his office holding the book open with one hand and copying it down with the other. It was already long past midnight, so I quickly jotted down the characters and diagrams. After I finished, I sat back, relaxed my shoulders, and skimmed through my copy to make sure everything was perfect. Then I took out two more small notepads I brought with me and made another pair of copies, with my two brothers in mind...
In my village, the doctors were scarce, but the sick were many. When I was growing up, there were at least eight of us - eight that I can remember that is. But most of my siblings didn’t survive. Being the second oldest, I always felt it was my duty to take care of my younger brothers, and when my older brother died, I knew I couldn’t fail with the other two remaining. That’s why I strove to cure my village. That’s why I became a doctor.
But in that day and age, it was difficult to become one. There were no colleges and no hospitals. If someone wanted to be a doctor, they would have to find someone to teach them. Luckily, someone found him for me.
My father was good friends with a renowned doctor in the village. When I became a teenager, he taught me almost everything he knew about curing people for years to come; from basic medicine to secret soup recipes. But when I became of age, I discovered that he hidden some information from me, for it was a secret only passed down within the doctor’s family.
Most others would simply ignore that missing information and feel blessed for what they had already been taught. But for me, I had strove far too long to be a doctor to not learn everything I needed to. So one night, I hatched a plan: I would sneak into his office, find his secret, and copy it down into three books; one for me and a copy for each of my brothers...
As I finished the final copy, I put the original book back in its place, making sure I put it precisely the way I found it. After which I swiftly snatched the three copies and made my way out of the building.
---
When I first heard this story, some five years prior to writing this, I had begged my father to tell me a story of family history. I had heard myths about my ancestors all my life. But I wanted something solid. This story was his response. Fast forward a couple of years: I asked him again for the sake of the this piece.
I tried to keep the main character as true to the original as possible, so he lacks much description. The three books mentioned in the story were distributed between the main character and his brothers, the youngest of which was my great grandfather. Over the generations, his copy was passed down to my grandfather and from him to my father. My grandfather was raised illiterate because of the actions in World War 2. As a result, information about the story has been forgotten over the years, making elaboration of it impossible.
However, despite my grandfather’s illiteracy, the book was used by his literate colleagues to cure the village, which he was now the chief of, fulfilling my great great uncles dream.
Although my father possesses the book, it is viewed by my family more as a sacred treasure of our ancestor than a medical journal. The characters use a form of Cantonese similar to comparing Old English to its modern day counterpart. In addition, it references to many medical terms he does not recognize.
To me, the book, being generations beyond its origin, is a reminder of the struggles my ancestors endured to create the family I have today. I eagerly await the day that the book can be passed down to me, too. It is more than just a family heirloom. It is a family treasure.
No comments:
Post a Comment