THE DONKEY IS DEFINITELY ASIAN

I sit with Marvin in front of my childhood elementary school. Marvin is my grandfather. He’s in his wheelchair. I’m on a park bench. Marvin snaps his fingers.

He says: Come on, Reggie.

I say: No.

He says: Cigarette.

I shake my head and take out two cigarettes. I light them together and hand one to him.

I say: I don’t want to get blamed for this.

He says: What do you care?

He takes a long drag and holds his breath for a second, and then blows out a big cloud of smoke. He scoffs and points to the playground. The playground equipment is in the shape of animals. He points out the donkey.

He says: That one was your favorite.

I say: That was a long time ago.

He says: Donkey’s not a lucky animal for Chinese people.

I say: I don’t believe in luck.

He says: Well, not always unlucky. Depends how you see it.

We smoke without talking for a couple seconds, maybe a minute. I take short drags and try to make smoke rings. Then Marvin starts telling me about this story.

He says: Remember that story about the magic donkey?

I say: Kinda.

He says: You liked that story.

I say: I don’t really remember.

He finishes his cigarette and flicks it on to the grass. He asks for another one. I put my cigarette out on the armrest of the bench. Then I get up and snuff out Marvin’s with my shoe. I pick up both butts and look for a trashcan. There’s no trash-can. I put the butts in my pocket. Then I light two new cigarettes and give one to Marvin. He takes his without thanking me. He then starts telling me the donkey story. I tell him stop. He either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care. He keeps going. I lean back and smoke and look up through the trees and the sky. There’s sunshine and shadows and the fluffy kind of clouds. Marvin tells the story. It’s a story about a magic donkey. The story goes like this:

Every day, the wise man takes a long walk along the kingdom’s border. He needs to do this every day or else the kingdom will collapse. But one day the wise man trips over a tree root and breaks his ankle. He knows that he won’t be able to finish that day’s long walk. He sits down and thinks about the collapse of the kingdom.

Then, the donkey appears.

The donkey asks the wise man, what’s up?

The wise man explains the situation.

The donkey says: I can help. You can ride me.

The wise man accepts, and the donkey carries him and together they finish the long walk.

When they finish, the wise man’s kingdom does not collapse and so he’s happy and thankful. But he’s also worried. He’s worried because he knows that he won’t be able to do the long walk tomorrow because of his broken ankle.

The donkey says: What’s the matter?

The wise man explains.

The donkey says: Yeah, that’s a problem.

Then, the wise man gets this idea. He gets this idea to keep the donkey around so as to make the long walk easier.

The wise man says: Stay with me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll feed you and house you. I’ll love you as if you were my own child.

The donkey says: Thank you for the offer, but I think I have to get going.

The donkey starts to leave, but the wise man puts a magic spell on the donkey. The spell turns the donkey into a piece of paper. The wise man walks up to the donkey, who is now a piece of paper. He picks up the paper donkey into his hands and folds it in half. And he folds it again. And then again. He folds the paper donkey up until it is the size of a small envelope. He then puts it in his pocket for the night.

The next day, the wise man takes the paper donkey out from his pocket and unfolds it and it turns back into a regular donkey.

The two stare at each other for a minute. The donkey looks mad but also scared.

The wise man says: Don’t be mad.

He gives the donkey a carrot.

The wise man says: Don’t be scared.

He gives the donkey an apple.

Then the wise man climbs onto the donkey’s back and rides it again and together they do the long walk. And the next day, they do it again. And then the next day, again. And again. And so on. All the while, the kingdom does not collapse.

Marvin slows down toward the end of telling the story. He nods his head like he’s thinking something very serious. He nods at me like he’s expecting for me to say something. I don’t say anything. He asks me if I know what the donkey’s magic is. I don’t know what the donkey’s magic is.

I say: It talks.

He says: Come on, Reggie.

I say: I don’t know. It folds up.

He says: You really don’t know?

I say: Give me a clue.

He says: The donkey’s magic is that it never refuses to serve.

I say: That’s not magic.

He says: The donkey is definitely Asian.

I say: What does that mean?

He says: You know, Asians always suffer in silence.

I look at Marvin.

I say: That’s some stupid shit, Marvin.

He says: I don’t mean anything. It’s a joke.

I say: It’s not funny.

He says: It’s funnier in Chinese.

I say: I doubt that.

We sit. We smoke in silence. We watch the school yard. There isn’t much going on. The kids come out for recess. Marvin waves at them. We finish our cigarettes. I light two more.

He says: Gan xie.

I say: Don’t thank me.

He says: I’m fine. I don’t have lung cancer.

I’m about to say that it still can’t be good for him, when Marvin’s breathing starts to tighten up. He wheezes. His eyes clench.

I say: Marvin? Don’t fuck around.

Marvin doesn’t answer. He closes his eyes. I yell for help. I shake him. I slap at his back. I say his name. I call out again. A woman runs up from the school. A man behind her shouts that she is a doctor. The woman runs fast. She takes me by the arm and moves me aside. She tells me to call 911. She takes Marvin from his wheelchair and puts him on the ground. She checks his heart. She checks his breath.

They won’t let me ride with Marvin. Instead I ride in the fire truck. It seems weird. They put earmuffs on my head. I feel like a little kid. I feel like this is supposed to be fun, like a field trip.

Marvin had lost consciousness. The last thing he said to me was: I don’t have lung cancer. I wonder if those will be the last words he’ll ever say to me. They get him to the hospital. They keep him alive. They say he doesn’t have much time though. They say I should tell people. I try to think of who to tell. It takes me a while to think of who I’m going to tell.

The next day and then the next couple days, things move strangely. I would have thought it’d be a blur. I’d have thought it’d be fast and hectic. But in reality, it’s slow. It’s a lot of sitting around. It’s boring, but also busy and also scary. I think, this must be what war is like. Then I think, no, not war. Not war, but something like it.

Thinking of war makes me think of death and thinking of death makes me think to call Marvin’s old-folks’ home. I call, and a lot of the people from the home come by to see him. A bunch of the old guys come by and also a couple of the helpers and a couple of the nurses. The old guys cry a lot. I wasn’t expecting that. I had thought old people would be used to this kind thing.

After that, I think to call Ed. Ed is my dad. Marvin is Ed’s dad, so I figure Ed should know. I leave a message. I tell him where we are and that Marvin’s probably going to be dead soon. Two days later, Ed shows up. I hadn’t seen him since I was little. Coincidentally, the last time I remember seeing him was also in a hospital. That time it was my mom.

When Ed walks into Marvin’s room, I’m alone and watching a YouTube about tightrope walking. Marvin’s in the OR, some last-ditch thing with his intestines. Ed walks in and doesn’t say anything, so I don’t see him at first. When I do see him, he smiles at me. I try to smile back, but it feels weird, so I stop.

Ed says: Well, Reggie. You lost weight.

I say: What’s up, Ed.

I look at him for what seems like a long time. He looks old. He looks like he could be Marvin’s brother instead of his son. But he is tall. And he’s lean and he looks strong. He wears his hair long. It’s layered and brushed back. He looks a lot like an old Asian Kurt Russell. That’s the next thing I say to him.

I say: You look like Asian Kurt Russell.

Ed laughs.

Ed says: Your mom used to say that.

I tell Ed that Marvin’s been sick for a while. He says that he knows. We sit around in the room for a while. He watches the rest of the video with me, and then we eat together in the cafeteria, and then we walk around town and then sit around again. And then we walk back to the hospital. It’s like we’re in the music montage part of a movie. It’s stupid, but it’s okay.

When we get back to the hospital, Ed stops at the parking lot. I take out my cigarettes. I light one. I offer the pack to him. He declines.

Ed says: I’m not going back in.

I say: Yeah. Okay.

We stand for second, and then I turn to go back inside. Ed puts his hand on my elbow.

Ed says: Hold up.

I stop and turn back around.

I say: What’s up?

Ed shrugs.

Ed says: I don’t know. Feel like I should say something.

I say: Yeah, well, you don’t have to.

Ed says: Yeah. I really don’t know what to say.

I say: Okay.

Ed says: The thing is. I thought Marvin would be better for you. You know that.

I say: It’s fine.

Ed says: Yeah. You know when I knew?

I say: We don’t need to talk about it.

Ed says: It was when you started at that school. Your mom had just died. And me and Marvin were taking you to school. But you didn’t want to go. I can still remember. You were screaming. Screaming crazy like an animal. You screamed so loud. Daddy. No. Daddy. Don’t leave me here. Daddy. Don’t leave me.

Ed stops. He takes a breath.

I say: I don’t remember that.

Ed says: I don’t know why, but that shit bothered me so bad. In my guts and all over my skin.

My cigarette had burned to the filter. I flick at the ember. It comes off and tumbles on to the ground. I toss the butt into a trashcan. Ed looks at me. He looks like he’s mad now.

Ed says: You mad?

I say: No.

Ed says: Why you mad?

I say: I’m not mad.

Ed says: You think I’m the bad guy.

I say: I never said that.

Ed says: And what, Marvin’s the good guy, right.

I say: I didn’t say that.

Ed says: You think Marvin’s the good guy, but you don’t know what he was like. What he used to be like. How mean he was. How scary he was. You don’t know.

I don’t say anything. I just shake my head and look at him.

Ed says: You don’t know.

I say: You don’t know either.

Ed looks at me. He still looks mad, but also sad and maybe surprised. He looks sad and maybe surprised and he’s quiet for a couple seconds. I think he’s thinking of what to say. I think he’s trying to apologize. I’m pretty sure he’s going to apologize. But then he doesn’t. He just looks at me for a long time. I look at him too. I look at his face. He doesn’t look like the bad guy. He looks nice. I’m not expecting that. But that’s how he looks. It’s in his eyes. The niceness. Then he waves his hands around and says: It was good to do this.

I say: Yeah.

Ed says: I mean it.

I say: Yeah. Same here.

Then Ed says to me: You keep it real now.

I say: You know it.

Then he’s quiet. I’m quiet too. I light another cigarette. Ed motions at me for one. I give him the pack and the lighter. He lights a cigarette. We both smoke. We smoke without talking for five, six minutes, until we’re both done. At almost the same time, we flick our cigarettes to the ground and grind them out with our shoes. A car pulls up. Sports car. Camaro. There’s a young Chinese guy driving. The Chinese guy waves at me. Ed nods and doesn’t introduce the guy. Ed then gets into the car, and that’s the end of that.

About a week later, Marvin and I are alone in the morning. The past couple days he’s been coming in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he wakes up and he’s normal and joking around. Other times he’s calling me Ed. I tell him Ed had stopped by but then had to get going. Then once I just pretend that I am Ed and that seems actually kind of nice for Marvin and for me too. Then he’s out again, and then he’s up and normal again, and then later he’s back to being confused.

But that morning, he’s quiet. He seems to be at peace. I think maybe he’s getting better. I pull open the curtains. We’re facing west, so we can’t see the sun rise. But we can see light falling on the horizon. We can see the shadows from the hospital. I stand there for a minute and watch. I can almost see the ocean.

Then I turn around, and Marvin’s face is all bent up. I ask him if he’s okay. Then Marvin springs up and grabs holda me. This startles the shit out of me, but I try not to resist. I hold him as best as I can. I try not to press on him. He says something in Chinese, but I don’t know what he’s saying.

He says: Yuyan! Ni zai na!

I say: I’m here, Ahgong. I’m here.

He looks at me like he doesn’t know who I am. Then he seems like he does know who I am. Then he asks me about Taiwan.

He says: We need to go back.

I say: What?

He says: Taiwan.

I have never been to Taiwan.

He says: We have to hurry.

I say: It’s okay, Marvin.

He says: You’re okay?

I say: I’m okay.

He says: I was scared.

I say: We’re okay.

He says: I’m afraid.

I nod.

He breathes heavy. He looks like he’s looking at me, but his eyes are glossed over so it’s hard to know.

He says: I don’t know what to do.

I nod.

I want to take Marvin by the shoulders. I want to shake him and say something in Chinese. I can’t speak Chinese, but if I could, I’d say: Ahgong, wo mingbai.

I’d say: Ahgong, Wo zai zhe. Wo zai zhe. Wo bu hui likai.

But I don’t know how to say those things, so I don’t say those things. I don’t take him by the shoulders. I don’t shake him. I don’t say those things. I just sit and watch.

Marvin quiets down. He inhales deep. He inhales deep as he can. He takes my hand. He takes my hand into both of his. His palms feel cold and dry and still strong. He holds on tight, pressing my hand, flattening it, folding it.