Wildman in the Forest

It was an ordinary night. Warm and humid, like any other typical September night in Taiwan. My wife Sandy had just had surgery for her melanoma and needed absolute peace and quiet, so I slept with our almost two-year-old son Mike in the next room. Our six-month-old boy Ben was at a friend’s house. She volunteered to babysit for us so both Sandy and I could get a bit more rest.

It was a difficult time for us. Just coming back from Hawaii, we were planning to go right back to America for graduate school, but Sandy’s sudden sickness halted the plan. I had no job, and we had no place to live. Finally my mother agreed to let us stay in an apartment of hers. It was on the 13^th floor. Long vacant, we washed and scrubbed and mopped to make it inhabitable for a family with little babies. Sometimes, however, some roaches as big as Komodo dragons would come out from nowhere to try to reclaim their territories. We had to be constantly on guard.

That night we had a little debate with our friend about Ben. Sandy wanted to take him home: “I feel much better now, I can take care of him. He can sleep on the floor next to me.” But our kind friend and her family liked our boy and pleaded to let him stay one more night: “Really, that’s no problem. He’s so cute and we love him. You should get more rest anyway.” Finally we gave in. “One more night only,” Sandy emphasized.

We were all tired, and quickly we fell asleep.

I woke up to a constant violent shake. It was like I was a puppet being put in a big chest, and a giant was shaking that chest to see if he can break me. I opened my eyes, it was pitch-dark. I wanted to fight, but soon realized it was something I had no chance of winning. Earthquake! I was horrified. The whole building was squealing like it was about to fall apart.

Before I had time to react, Mike started screaming with terror. He was so little, couldn’t even utter a complete sentence, yet he knew right away that we were in an extremely dangerous situation.

I don’t know if I was brave or simply naïve, but in that split second I rolled over and totally covered him with my body.

I wish I could tell you that I did that because I was very courageous, that I was ready to sacrifice my life for my own son because I loved him so much. But if I tell you that, I would not be telling the whole truth. The fact is: strangely, the idea of death didn’t occur to me at all. My simple mind at that particular moment reasoned that if the building did collapse, my body could be a shield to him from the concrete, rocks, steel bars, or anything falling on us. I might get hurt, but I should be ok, that was the only thought that had crossed my mind. Well, maybe I also begged for the shaking to stop, I’m not exactly sure. I wasn’t even sure if I was totally rational at that moment, emotionally I didn’t feel a thing. I know it’s strange: how could I be horrified and feel no emotion at the same time? I guess I was too horrified to feel. My mind quickly went completely blank.

I held Mike tightly and tried my best to calm him down: “It’s ok, it’s ok, dad’s here.” I guess that was to calm myself down as well. He right away stopped screaming.

The shaking continued for about another 30 seconds or one minute, I couldn’t tell how long it was exactly. It felt like eternity.

Finally, it stopped. Silence. Mike and I almost could hear our own breathing. Paralyzed, we didn’t moved a muscle.

Another century had passed. I looked at my watch: 1: 49am. I managed to get up, got out of bed, and hurriedly went to check Sandy. “Sandy? Sandy? You ok?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She sat straight up on the bed. I sighed with relief. Then I saw our closet made of heavy wood had fallen on the floor next to her, broken. “I was going to put Ben over there,” Sandy was shaking, “thank God we didn’t take him home.” I hastily checked the phone, thank goodness it still worked. Our friend assured us they were alright, and our little Ben had not even a scratch on him.

I went around examining the damage. All I saw was a ceiling fan with light on the floor, glass everywhere. I was amazed and happy at such little loss.

But then suddenly it shook again. It wasn’t as violent as the first one, but enough to make the building squeak and moan like it could give up any second. I quickly ran to carry Mike to the main bedroom with Sandy, and we held each other in our arms. Now I realized how scared I was: I closed my eyes, my heart pounded like crazy, I sweated and quivered. We were trapped: we were too poor to own any big furniture for us to hide under. Sandy couldn’t move, and even if she could, we were on the 13^th floor. If the building crumpled we surely would perish with it. All we could do was pray for the building to be strong enough to sustain the attack. Or if the building did crumple, the pain would be quick. It would be a horrible death, but at least we were together.

The aftershock lasted for about a minute. Several more followed. Luckily, we survived them all.

Then we heard ambulances. The sirens blasted all day. Sometimes it was whistles shrieking, because there were not enough ambulances, they had to carry the wounded with any vehicles they could find.

We were so glad to see the dawn of the next day. More than 2,400 people weren’t so fortunate. Till today I still appreciate the second chance. We are so lucky.

***

Since the incident, I’ve asked myself more than once: was that courage? Would I do it again in a similar situation?

In an event like this, everything happens so fast, you have to make a decision in less than a second. I wasn’t given time to carefully analyze the possible cost I have to pay for my action. To be honest, I’m glad, as well as a bit surprised, that I made that decision in that split second without a trace of doubt.

It perhaps is simply a co-incidence, but Mike was born on Thanksgiving at 4:22pm. At the moment he came into the world, I had this unspeakable emotion: a life was created! This is my first child. The doctor handed me the scissors: “You want to cut it?” I didn’t hesitate. The umbilical cord was tougher than I thought. “You’re brave, some fathers pass out at the sight of blood.” The doctor said. I smiled and shrugged. Why would I? This baby is part of my life, my flesh and blood. I don’t need bravery, it’s just something that needed to be done.

But Mike wasn’t the easiest baby. He could cry from 10pm to 4am non-stop. He would puke all the milk he just took in. After the first year, his smartness as well as stubbornness manifested. I often caught myself yelling at him for his “wants” and “nos:” “Want cookies!” (and whining) “Want walkie!” (at 10pm) “no fish!” “no carrot!” He wouldn’t budge, he knew exactly how to get on my nerves, and he constantly tested the limits. Sometimes I was so angry I really wanted to spank him good. Wait, I did spank him sometimes.

Several months after the earthquake, one day we recalled that experience. To my surprise, Mike immediately burst into tears. I thought he was too young to keep that memory. He remembered. I hugged and comforted him, and again he calmed down right away. Thanksgiving boy, you’re special; you’re here to teach us to appreciate what we have, aren’t you? Even when what we have is really annoying us sometimes?

My attempt to protect Mike from harm might be described as one of the bravest things I’ve ever done. But I guess I don’t really need bravery. It’s just something that needed to be done.