A Man With A Limp — Hai’s Story

In Bob Dylan’s timeless song, he poses the question, “How many roads must a man walk down, before you call him a man?”

Throughout Hai’s life, he had walked down many roads, if fortune had favored him, he might have enjoyed a smoother journey in his hometown, blessed with a decent job and a happy family—dreams shared by most of his peers, dreams that some would eventually realize. 

However, fate took a different turn at the tender age of seven when polio struck Hai, casting an awkward shadow over his life. Weakness and instability overtook him, making each step a challenge. As time passed, despair and confusion set in when he realized he was losing the ease of movement he once took for granted. At first, it was only occasional — he would find himself hopping on his right leg, the shorter one, desperately trying to keep up with his left. Gradually, this sight became a familiar scene. To those who didn’t know him, it seemed like a child’s playful hopping. But for him, it was far from a game. 

Days dragged on relentlessly, overwhelming Hai with taunts and bullying, yet he remained timid and silent. sometimes an intense fury welled up within him, but toward whom or what he couldn’t pinpoint. The bullies at school? Those belligerent boys were obviously stronger and ran faster; his quarrelsome parents? Their own shouting matches and constant departures for gambling games left him feeling abandoned. With each passing day, his urge to fight dwindled, and his wounded heart weighed down by scarcely a glimmer of hope for everything. 

At 16, Hai’s father sent him to study welding. “Your leg may not be of much use, but at least you have a pair of capable hands. It’s time for you to learn a skill to earn your own living. I no longer have the means to support you anymore.” said his father impassively. 

If life had played a cruel trick on Hai, it seemed to make amends by sending him a knowledgeable and compassionate teacher. Teacher Zhao, or Master Zhao, as he was respectfully referred to, was patient and generous in sharing his hands-on skills with his new student—a timid-looking young man with a limp, who worked harder and spoke less compared to his fellow apprentices. 

Learning and workload were demanding, but Hai adapted quickly. Master Zhao would frequently inspect Hai’s welding, nodding approvingly, and guide Hai step by step to help refine his operations. Zhao’s daughter, Jasmine, who was a year younger than Hai, often brought lunchbox to his father, always including one for Hai. Hai would blush and thank them for their kindness, cherishing the box stuffed with delicate stewed chicken, braised pork and fresh vegetables. A warm sense of gratitude flooded through him as he held it. While eating, a sweet scent wafted from the lunch box, and Hai couldn’t help but think it might have been infused by Jasmine’s delicate touch. He was intoxicated by that aroma. 

It was during this apprenticeship, Hai discovered newfound purpose and hope when he wielded the welding torch, not just joining metals but also mending his own heart. Like the metals, his heart grew more softened and pliable as he concentrated on his work.

After five years of rigorous training and work, Hai’s expertise and character were honed and sharpened. He emerged as a responsible and skilled welder, contributing significantly to the growth of Master Zhao’s welding factory business. He was able to save some money and give all of them to his mother, as she demanded. 

In one afternoon, during the work break, Master Zhao sat by Hai, as if something had just dawned on him, Zhao turned to Hai with an amiable smile and said, “Hai, over these years, I have watched you grow and mature. You’re more than capable of managing things on your own now, and it’s time for you to think about your own life and future. I’ve noticed how well you and Jasmine get along. You two could make a good couple. Think about it.” Zhao gently patted Hai’s shoulder before rising to leave. 

Hai felt numb, not knowing how to respond. As if being frozen by Master Zhao’s words, he sat there like an embarrassed statue. Never once in his life had he received such an invitation to be part of someone else’s life. Even his own parents seemed to exclude him, preoccupied with their own affairs. And now, it was Jasmine! The scent of her lunch box, her innocent smile, her cheerful jokes all flashed through his mind, and he realized she was one of the few he longed for so desperately in his dreams. But then, thoughts of his limp, his family, and the years of being bullied and taunted loomed onto his head. Jasmine was a good girl, too good for a dream to come true. 

He told his mother Master Zhao’s words, inwardly yearning for some support. However, in a matter-of-fact tone, his mother said, “Jasmine is beyond your reach. She’s Master Zhao’s only daughter, and you two come from different worlds. Remember, you have a disability, and it would hold her back. Our family can’t provide what she needs.” 

Hai said nothing. That night, he drank some wine, the first time in his life he allowing himself to be indulged in alcohol, and ran to the hill behind his home, where he used to fly kites in his youth. Standing at the top, surrounded by the quiet of a sleeping world, he shouted. He shouted as loudly as he could, as if trying to expel all the grievance from his lungs. Tears drenched his face. He wished he could be like the kite he once lost — able to fly away. 

Hai’s life returned to its usual mediocrity, after rejecting Master Zhao’s offer. He worked, saved money, handed over to his mother, and continued the cycle. 

One day, while repairing his father’s dovecot in the attic above the kitchen, a female voice drifted through the air. “It looks like you’re a dab hand at fixing things.” It was Lotus, the girl from next door, leaning against the doorframe. He responded shyly, “It’s important to keep their nest tidy. Pigeons are the kind of birds that always fly home, once they identify a place as their home.” 

Hai and Lotus got together, unexpectedly yet understandably. They came from the same humble background. While Lotus wasn’t a looker, she was appealing to Hai. Hai, in turn, was hardworking and trustworthy. On their wedding day, Hai wore a pair of shoes with the right one being an elevator shoe, allowing him to walk more steadily and naturally. Despite this, he still subtly hopped his right leg to keep pace with his left, just as he always had, presenting himself as every bit the dashing groom. As they walked together to the applause of the guests, Hai felt a happiness and fulfillment he had never experienced before. 

Shortly after the wedding, Lotus was pregnant, and nine months later, she gave birth to a baby boy. Hai was overjoyed to become a father. 

Just as Hai began to envision a new and brighter chapter in his life, he was blindsided by the devastating news of Master Zhao’s sudden passing due to a heart attack. It felt like as though he lost a sturdy and reliable shelter that had supported him when the outside world coldly rejected and laughed at him. Master Zhao not only taught him welding skills, he also cultivated his ability to confront those bad moments in life. For a long time after Master Zhao’s departure, Hai was pained by a profound loss deep within. 

With Master Zhao gone and his factory business now under the management of a new group of people, Hai had no inclination to continue working there. He also wanted a career change and considered starting a small family business with his wife. After discussing it with Lotus, they decided to open a restaurant: Hai would take charge of the cooking while Lotus would manage other aspects of the restaurant. 

In addition to being a skilled welder, Hai was in fact a talented cook too. He had likely picked up his culinary skills from his father, who, despite spending much of his time playing Mahjong, enjoyed preparing palatable dishes and treating himself to a few glasses of wine. 

While helping his father clean plates and bowls, peel and chop vegetables, and slice meat, Hai closely observed how dishes like Fish-Flavored-Shredded-Pork were expertly done. He memorized the ingredients, steps, and techniques for frying, steaming, and stewing. Those cooking knowledge proved invaluable during times when his parents were socializing outside, leaving him home alone and hungry. The food he made for himself provided with much-needed consolation. 

The restaurant opened with little financial support or savings, forcing Hai and Lotus to handle everything themselves without the help of extra staff. Every day before dawn at 5am, Hai got up and went to the food market, where prices at this time were lowest and the meat and vegetables freshest. After buying a day’s supply, Hai returned to his restaurant and started preparing the ingredients. On 8am, Lotus joined him to help. As noon approached, diners began to flood in, and Hai found himself standing in front of the stoves, juggling multiple tasks without pause. Smoke blurred his vision, and sweat dripped from his face as he worked tirelessly to keep up with demand. 

Hai was content with being self-reliant through the restaurant business, even though it wasn’t very profitable. However, Lotus grew weary and disheartened by the repetitive and exhausting nature of their daily tasks. She complained about washing greasy dishes and mopping oil-stained tables and floors. Following the busy hours, she often sought refuge in a nearby teahouse, indulging in games of Mahjong. Every time after winning even a small sum, she’d sarcastically say to Hai: “The money I won today is more than what we earned at the restaurant. Seems like I have better luck at Mahjong than in chores. Look at my hands, worn and frayed. Don’t you feel sorry for them?”

Hai felt sorry indeed. He didn’t want his wife to be unhappy and regretted not being able to provide her with an easier life. He blamed himself for quitting his better-paying welding job and dragging Lotus into the laborious restaurant business. 

A few months later, Hai closed the restaurant. He found temporary jobs as an experienced welder, which paid reasonably well. Lotus stayed at home, most of the time playing Mahjong while leaving their child in the care of her mother. 

“Thief! Thief! Open the door! Give back my money!”, one evening Hai was just about to drop off after a long day’s work when he heard a shrill cry outside his house. He opened the door and found his grandmother’s eyes boring at him with fierce resentment. 

Hai’s grandmother, over 80 years old, had endured a very rough life and was now tormented by dementia. Despite her efforts to sew extra pockets into her coats and hide her valuables in various boxes, she couldn’t stop her money and belongings from going missing. Her growing paranoia led her to suspect everyone around her, including Hai. And this wasn’t the first time she had came to Hai demanding an explanation. 

Hai turned around, fetching a glass of water in an attempt to calm his grandmother. “Grandma, come in and drink some water,” he said, offering her the glass. Suddenly, the old lady waved her hand, causing the glass to crash to the ground, scattering shards across the floor. “Don’t fool me! Give back my money! Where is it? I knew it’s you! You rascal!” Hai stood a meter a way, head bowed, not a word. His silence only seemed to stoke her fury. The old lady lunged forward, grabbing Hai by the collar. 

“Come, tell everyone what you have done!”, she shouted sternly, attempting to pull him outside where neighbors had already craned to watch. With one abrupt motion, Hai shook off her grasp, his demeanor transforming in an instant. His face flushed with rage as he seized her by the neck, delivering a series of blows to her head. Thud, thud, thud, he didn’t relent until others intervened, blood now trickling from the corner of her mouth. The old lady was dumfounded and injured, screaming “He beats me! He beats me!”

Hai collapsed onto the floor with his hands trembling uncontrollably. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was or what he had just done. A mix of emotions strained him: remorse, a sense of being wronged, and deep shame. Snippets of memories from his childhood flickered through his mind: the struggles with polio, his limping, his parents’ constant cussing, and his days as an apprentice. Tears streamed down his face. 

After this incident, Hai became more reticent and downcast. When out, he tried to walk quickly and avoid others’ eyes, as if they were silently accusing him: “Look at him, the guy who stole from and beat his grandmother. How brutal!” 

His temporary jobs experienced ups and downs. Sometimes the pay was sufficient to sustain their family for a while, but other times there was no income at all due the lack of welding projects or because permanent workers already met the demand. Hai gave all he earned to Lotus, partly because she asked, but also because he wanted to. Even when Lotus was sometimes mean and grumbling, and insisted on controlling all the money, he still felt it was his obligation to make her happy. Hai felt he owned Lotus: after all, he was just a man with a limp, and she gave him a family. All he wanted was to provide a good life for Lotus and their son. 

So when his former coworker messaged him whether he’d be interested in working in Africa, precisely Zambia, with a salary three times what he was currently earning, Hai immediately said yes. The hiring company covered living expenses and transportation, which would allow him to save all his earnings and send them to Lotus. He didn’t know where Zambia was or what conditions awaited him there, but the opportunity to earn a better salary and provide for his family was enough for him. 

Hai embarked on the journey with a team of workers from different parts of China, each specializing in various engineering sectors but united by a common goal — to earn more money. It was Hai’s first time on a plane. As he gazed out of the porthole during takeoff, he felt a pang of melancholy, noting how small people looked from above, even smaller than ants. 

Hai returned home every two years during his work breaks. When asked about life in Zambia, he didn’t say much, simply replying, “It’s monotonous, and the local food isn’t tasty,” and leaving it at that. It seemed that life abroad had not only diminished his ability to speak freely but also dampened his spirit. He didn’t talk about contracting malaria soon after his arrival, the intense discomfort he endured to survive, or the countless sleepless nights when he missed Lotus and his son, aching with longing to hold them close. He kept these moments to himself, content to silently watch his son grow into a healthy and robust young man. He held Lotus’s hands, noticing their softness and smoothness, unmarred by time, as if life had treated them gently. 

The last time he returned, Lotus was more plump than ever. His mother found him and, in a worried tone, confided in him about the rumors circulating in the neighborhood. She claimed to have seen Lotus with a local hoodlum, adding fuel to suspicions of an affair. In fact, Hai had long sensed something amiss with Lotus: she seemed increasingly impatient during video chats, only calling to inquire about delayed money transfers, which she claimed were for their son and family expenses.  She often avoided his calls, later texting that she was busy playing Mahjong. On one occasion, he even overheard a man’s voice late at night while talking to her, followed by a “hush” from Lotus. 

Hai didn’t know what to think or how to think. Over the years, the weight of experience had left him slightly stooped, his once-dark hair now mostly white, a stark contrast to his age. With a sense of urgency driving him forward, he hurried along on his right leg, each brisk step hastened by the desire to seize every possible moment and earn enough to support his loved ones back home. 

And one thing he felt particularly sorry for was the disappearance of the dovecot in the attic. Lotus explained earlier that the pigeons never returned after he left for work abroad, so she hired someone to tear it down and clean up. 

“Where would they fly to as their home?” he pondered, vacantly looking at the sky.