Yet, for long, his imagery kicking ass had been a great touch of abstractness somewhere over the ashy-colored sea of tranquility.
Long quit laughing first. Then mother. Then Lei. Then Tao. Then me the last. No, we couldn’t stop laughing until our stomachs hurt and our heads dislocated. Not until the night deepened in amusement to our dreamland.
Father had never behaved that way before. He had never been laughable or lovable. That was the fi rst time in his life he made us laugh with blissful tears, and he himself laughed too. It occurred to me that, at that moment, he acted a lot more as a sad comedian than a clown. Though all his life, every bit of him had been a character of tragedy and drama, of poverty and hunger, of wrath and tears.