The Silent Cry
by Xiaoyi Fan
The bright lights in the hospital make me dizzy. I don’t know what will happen next. My mom told me that grandma is not well. It is now 7:30 p.m. I am sitting on the cold stool in the ward looking at my grandma. This is the eighth time I have seen her.
She wears a gray cloth blouse with her eyes slightly closed, leaning against the white sheet. Her hair has long been gray. She is very thin. But her clothes are always neat and clean.
"E" she calls hoarsely to my youngest aunt sitting beside her. I see no tears on her face, but I can hear a silent cry.
"You are the youngest girl. Remember to listen to your elder sisters and take care of your younger brother. Don’t forget to run your own business well."
She nods and holds Grandma's hand tightly. My youngest aunt is the liveliest among sisters. I am often told that I look like her. They have a small crane business, and they try to hoist more items. When I was very young, she took me to buy clothes, all kinds of beautiful clothes, and said: “You look so nice, honey!” She took me to the countryside to play with children whose parents scavenged garbage for a living.
She likes to hold my face to see how much we look alike, but right now her hands are holding my grandma's hands. She is no longer my smiling youngest aunt, but for the moment she is my grandma’s youngest daughter.
Nurses and doctors come and go in the ward with hasty footsteps on the beige floor made of PVC, which is stained by some black spots. Human beings can’t share their joys or sorrows. Everyone is silent. I don’t know what will happen, and all I hear is one person crying, two people crying, a group of people crying.
The hospital is filled with sounds besides the crying: the sound of the bell ringing from time to time, the sound of footsteps of nurses and doctors, the shrill cries of children, and the dripping sound of bottled liquid. The word “静”（silent） is very conspicuous on the wall.
“Quan."
Finally, my grandma calls my father to the front, and this is the first time I see my father cry. My father is always unsmiling, and not good with words. At this moment, he seems different.
"You are the only boy in our family. Remember to take good care of your sisters. You are the only one who has a stable job, and you should help your sisters." Grandma's words are always very slow and very short, like the hour hand walking slowly. It is slow, but it keeps going. After saying these words, she begins to rest and close her eyes.
"All of you must be united and be harmonious. You are a family. You must help each other. After my death, don't spend too much money. Remember to let the children work hard and do good deeds."
Grandma's words echo in my head and the scene of their crying emerges before my eyes.
I want to cry, too, but I can't. I met my grandma only a few times. In my memory, she is a mysterious image. I remember the first time we met; she came to my home, and she slept with me, but I was a little bit afraid of her. The next time in our hometown, she sat on the bed, and we didn't talk much. It was not until the fourth meeting that her health began to fail. My father followed my mother to this small town because my grandmother said my father couldn’t come back unless my mom bore a boy. The male symbolizes power and the continuation of past life. I often want to ask grandma but dare not ask: "Do you love me?"
I begin to drift in and out of consciousness, remembering stories about my grandmother. I don't remember much or know much about her. All I know is that she is a Chinese teacher who lost her husband early and raised my father single-handedly. She loved charity and was a devout Christian. She was kind, upright, and passionate about the public good, but she is now lying down at the end of the world.
She stops talking and lies quietly with her eyes closed. No one speaks. The light is still bright, and it is 9:15p.m now. I see the nurse come in, pulling up the curtain around my grandmother, saying that she is going to shave off the hair on grandma's stomach for the operation. I am frightened by the sound of the electric razor. The world is strangely quiet.