50. The Cage of Love and Home

Boom!

A muffled thunder rolled across the sky. Outside the window, the heavy darkness was suddenly sliced by several searing streaks of lightning.

Alvin rubbed his swollen, reddened face hard.

“When I turned twenty, I left this house alone. It’s been twenty-eight years now, and in all that time, I never once came back to see Panon.”

“I abandoned him.”

The rain fell—beads of crystal water cascading down, a dense curtain dyeing the heavens a somber gray.

A few strands of icy wind drifted into the hall, lashing across the faces of the three men.

It was biting cold.

Twenty-eight years!

Holden pulled his collar tight and sat up straight. Dean furrowed his brow in disbelief—so long? This was as good as estrangement, two brothers once close and harmonious, now utterly severed. How could it have come to this?

“Twenty-eight years without contact with your own brother is indeed rare,” Holden said, puzzled. “But why do you use such a heavy word as ‘abandon’? If I’m not mistaken, you were both already twenty at the time. Separating to pursue your own work and lives—how is that abandonment?”

“Panon isn’t normal. Not even healthy, really,” Alvin lowered his head, his voice trembling with an uncontrollable chill, his shoulders quivering. “He has autism, and is mentally delayed.”

Boom!

Thunder roared!

The black sky was ripped apart by silver serpents, lightning illuminating three faces, each with a different expression.

Then, as if the world held its breath, the air fell silent.

Holden’s confusion froze, then morphed into realization—he even showed a deep, keen interest in his eyes.

Dean’s mind flashed with memories from his previous life, recalling what he knew of this illness.

Autism—or, to use the old term, childhood psychosis.

The sufferers were usually children.

They couldn’t communicate normally with others, were easily overstimulated, and often developed rigid, repetitive behaviors.

Dean thought of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of spiral black circles in the house. That made sense now.

Alvin stared at the battered television, his voice low and steady:

“Our mother died giving birth to us. We grew up with our father, David. When I was five or six, I noticed something odd... My brother wasn’t like other people.”

“He couldn’t speak fluently; when he tried, it was always one word at a time, halting and broken. And except with me and David, he never spoke or played with anyone. He always preferred to be alone.”

“He was plagued by strange, fantastical dreams, couldn’t sleep at night, and would sit at dawn on the edge of his bed, dark circles under his eyes, staring blankly at me.”

“Occasionally, he’d mutter broken sentences to the air, as if something invisible hid there...”

Alvin sighed.

“As a child, David was busy with work and didn’t pay much attention to his oddities, just thought he was shy. But later, his teacher noticed something wrong, and after taking him to the hospital, he was diagnosed with autism. But by then, it was too late for the best treatment. The doctor said he’d likely never improve much.”

“For a few years, David took him to every famous children’s hospital in America, sought diagnoses and treatments from psychologists, but nothing really helped.”

“He could never communicate normally with outsiders. He couldn’t go to school, so he stayed at home, cared for by David. David taught him to write, to read, helped him change clothes, bathed him, fed him.”

“David was like a tireless caregiver, tending to Panon’s every need, while still working.”

“I had it much easier—went to school by myself, and when I got home, I could still play soccer or hide-and-seek with him.”

A flash of lightning outside revealed Alvin’s face, a complex smile playing on his lips.

“But autism is troublesome. Panon could be set off by anything, and would scream and howl like a madman, never letting anyone rest.”

“He was stubborn, full of bad habits—for instance, before every meal, he’d use a pencil to draw a black spiral on the table or chair, and after eating, he’d always break or bend a wooden fork. We had to replace our tableware en masse every so often.”

“Before bed, he had to clutch his red scarf and listen to a bedtime story, even when he was fourteen. If we refused, he wouldn’t sleep, just sat on the bed all night, eyes wide open.”

Dean rubbed his forehead as he listened. Caring for someone like that must be sheer misery.

“Every day after school, I had to play soccer with him, or he’d sulk under the tree outside.”

“He’d often lose his temper from insomnia, and he loved muttering to the air, scaring people.”

“All Panon’s inexplicable behaviors wore my father and me down, body and soul, and filled us with guilt.”

Alvin’s expression was deeply conflicted—both happy and bitter.

Dean tried to imagine it.

Having an autistic brother meant losing the carefree childhood of a normal child.

Their father, of course, would devote more care to the sick one, and Alvin would be neglected, forced too soon to shoulder the burdens of life.

Sympathy flickered across Holden’s face.

“But Panon had his good points. He’d always wait for David and me to come home before eating dinner together.”

“Whenever we’d return, he’d give us a passionate hug, and for a moment, we’d be lulled into the illusion—Panon’s autism was cured, and we were free!”

“There’s one time I’ll never forget. I was walking down the road with him, chatting—it was mostly me talking, him listening. Suddenly, a speeding car came toward us. I didn’t notice at first, and by the time I heard the horn, it was almost upon us.”

“Do you know what Panon did?”

Alvin looked at the other two, excited.

“He didn’t call out to warn me, nor did he pull me aside. He stepped in front of the car, arms spread, shielding me.”

“How could my brother be so foolish? The car grazed his clothes and swerved, nearly crippling him.”

Alvin’s eyes reddened as he laughed.

Dean nodded.

So, for all his maddening traits, the autistic brother knew how to protect him.

“Looking back now, those years from grade school to junior high—those were the most unforgettable and happiest days of my life,” Alvin concluded.

—

“But as you grow up, so do your troubles and desires.”

Rain, thick as oil, washed the sky outside the house, but could not cleanse the shadows from Alvin’s heart.

“When I entered high school, I suddenly realized that life was more than just David and Panon—there were classmates, teachers, girls, hobbies.”

Alvin stared bleakly at the lightning outside, forcing a wry smile.

“I can’t count how often friends invited me out after school. I longed to go, but had to refuse, because Panon was waiting at home, and Dad needed my help.”

“On my rare days off, when I could finally relax in town or at the mall, I had to drag Panon, that burden, along. Yes, after years of our company, his autism had improved a little. He could barely manage to go out in public, but always had to be accompanied.”

“Every time, he’d stick to me like glue, clutching my clothes.”

Alvin’s expression stiffened as he mimicked, bitterly,

‘Hey Alvin, who’s that idiot, that freak, that creepy guy following you?’

“My classmates and new friends would ask me that over and over.”

“Some pitied me, some mocked Panon—and by extension, mocked me. We fought with quite a few people over it, but nothing changed the fact that my brother, like a ghost, was always at my side.”

“Many friends claimed to understand and sympathize with me, but in reality began to distance themselves.”

Alvin gave a self-mocking laugh.

“In middle school, who would accept someone with an idiot and a freak for a brother? Walking down the street, I’d be pointed at and whispered about.”

…

“I was normal—decent-looking, lively, articulate, psychologically sound. At seventeen, eighteen, I yearned for girls, wanted to date—but they wouldn’t even look at me.”

“Because they couldn’t accept Panon.”

Alvin bit off each word, voice full of resentment.

“I was the laughingstock of the whole school!”

…

Thump, thump.

The hall echoed with the sound of a pounding heart.

Dean saw, in his mind’s eye, the image of two brothers suffering the scorn and contempt of their peers.

Alvin fell silent for a long while, then continued,

“I treated Panon as family. I loved him. I always thought I could bear it all.”

“But I later realized there was a thorn in my heart—not just because David endlessly indulged Panon, doted on him, and treated me, the younger son, like a servant, ignoring my feelings entirely.”

“But more—Panon was a lock, keeping me chained in a cage called ‘love and family’!”

“As long as I had to keep caring for my idiot brother, I could never escape the cage and reach the world outside!”

Boom!

Thunder rumbled, and Dean’s heart trembled in sympathy.

Love and family.

Such beautiful words.

How could they become a prison?

…

“Until that year, the thorn finally broke through flesh, driving me to agony!”

“David, after years of exhaustion, collapsed in illness.”

“Even on his deathbed, he held my hand, begging me to care for my brother forever and never leave him.”

“What hurt me most was that David left all his hard-earned savings to Panon, and kept telling me that since I was normal, I could make my own living.”

Alvin’s voice shook, his face twisted with grief and disappointment.

“David never once considered my feelings, never once yielded to me.”

“In that moment, I saw the truth.”

“I was a slave, through and through.”

“A tool, existing only to keep that idiot Panon alive!”

…

“Alvin…” Holden parted his lips, but swallowed his words.

At times like this, nothing you say helps.

Let him vent.

“I gave in. I dropped out of school.”

Alvin sighed, seeming to age ten years in an instant.

“From eighteen to twenty.”

“For over two years, I lived in this house, caring for Panon alone.”

“I tried hiring help.”

“It was useless—Panon wouldn’t accept anyone but family in the house. Otherwise, he’d scream and shout like a TV that could never be turned off.”

“I sent him to a care home, but when I visited, his face was bruised, his eyes empty. The patients and staff bullied him. I couldn’t bear it. I had to bring him back.”

“Then he’d cling to me, day after day, asking where David had gone!”

“David!”

“David!”

Alvin’s eyelid twitched as he repeated the name obsessively.

“I’d had enough! I was exhausted. I wanted to live selfishly for once.”

Alvin dropped his head, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white.

—

“I forced Panon, dragging him to the bank, writing checks... buying necessities, doing it dozens, hundreds, a thousand times, painfully training him for a year until he finally learned.”

“Then, on September 28, 1952—I’ll never forget that day.”

“I prepared a week’s worth of food for Panon, packed a change of clothes, withdrew five hundred dollars from the bank account, and left this house alone.”

“I bought a ticket and went to Los Angeles.”

A complex smile, mingling relief and guilt, appeared on Alvin’s face.

“I abandoned my autistic brother, left him in his dreams.”

“Let him face this cruel world alone.”

…

After this long confession, Alvin took a deep breath.

He slumped back on the sofa, limp as a rag doll.

But a faint sense of ease appeared on his sweat-soaked face.

Having finally spoken the words that had weighed on his heart for so many years, he cast off a heavy shackle.

Holden and Dean exchanged a glance.

No one spoke first.

Dean wanted to question Alvin—how could he harden his heart to abandon a brother so helpless?

But imagining himself in Alvin’s place,

He suddenly realized he might have abandoned such a “burden” even faster—perhaps lasting less than two years.

Having never suffered the pain of caring for the ill, he had no right to moralize.

“Alvin, listen, I don’t think you should blame yourself too much.”

“Your only mistake was not visiting Panon for so long. You should have stayed in touch.”

Alvin lay there, exhausted, not answering.

“Buddy, I don’t get something,” Holden asked, “How did Panon survive all these years?”

“I left him the account with most of our father’s lifetime savings. Spent carefully, it would last him till he was fifty, sixty.”

“You thought it all through. You did your duty as a brother. Panon did live off that money all these years—until five years ago.”

Holden nodded, then asked,

“You’ve always been afraid to come back—because you’re scared? You can’t face the brother you abandoned?”

Alvin nodded heavily.

“For a long time, abandoning Panon was my heart’s demon—a forbidden place I dared not even think about.”

“So why come back now?”

“People change.”

Alvin echoed something Dean had once said.

“In my twenties, I was like a bird freed from its cage—happy and energetic…”

“With my gift for words, I found a good job in Los Angeles. No more cooking and cleaning every day for my autistic brother, no more endless soccer games, no more correcting his mistakes, enduring his stubbornness and bad habits.”

“I felt lighter than ever, every day full of hope. I put Panon completely out of my mind.”

“But after I married, after thirty, built a happy family, I found myself thinking more and more of my life with Panon. The pain, the weariness—all became beautiful memories.”

“I began to feel guilty for my selfishness back then, but I didn’t dare face him. There seemed to be an invisible wall I couldn’t cross…”

“After forty, my career nosedived. I went bankrupt, lost my house, my wife left, and I ended up on the street. I had more time than ever to reflect on this ridiculous life.”

“I began to miss my only kin in the world, spent countless nights repenting for abandoning him, so full of regret I couldn’t sleep.”

Alvin pressed his right upper abdomen, his face contorted.

“I kept asking myself, if I hadn’t left Panon, would we have had a better, brighter life?”

“The older you get, the more precious family becomes,” Dean suddenly interjected.

Alvin nodded desperately.

“But I realized it all too late. I became a penniless vagrant—how could I go see my brother again, disturb his life? What right did I have to beg for help from someone so pitiful?”

“Until a hospital in Los Angeles offered free checkups for the homeless. When I got my results, I finally made up my mind—”

Alvin paused, and a suffocating silence fell over the room.

“I’m out of time, gentlemen.”

Dean looked at his face and asked,

“I figured it wasn’t just some old complaint—what is it?”

“Terminal cancer. It’s spread everywhere. I have at most six months.”

“At first I couldn’t accept such a terrifying verdict. I went to three hospitals, but all sentenced me to death.”

Lightning outside illuminated Alvin’s bloodshot eyes. Each word in his mouth seemed to contain a desperate resolve.

“Before the illness completely destroys me, I have one last wish—to see my brother Panon.”

“I want to confess, to apologize. If he won’t forgive me, if he hates me as much as in my dreams, even wants to kill me, it doesn’t matter.”

“As long as I can see him one last time.”

“I’ll accept anything.”