Taiwan art historian: My brother, my Scorpio hero [Part 2]

Even if two stars seem near to each other from an earthling’s perspective, on the unfathomable scale of the universe, they could be light years apart.

We have no way of knowing what “distant” truly means. It is somewhat like the “cloud somersault” of Sun Wukong (Monkey King, a mythological character in Chinese novel Journey to the West), which can propel him 108,000 li (Chinese mile). Yet, he was still unable to somersault out of Buddha’s palm. How limited is our perception of distance!

Even in this moment when my dage (大哥, elder brother) seems to have returned to his place among his zodiac constellation in the sky, I still feel him beside me. In Buddha’s palm, “distant” and “near” are perhaps meaningless. 

I entered high school and had an elder brother who was handsome and popular in the neighbourhood. He didn’t really know what I was doing.  

One day, he asked, “A friend saw you mumbling to yourself at the corner of a bus.”

I felt dage’s concern. He couldn’t really understand “mumbling” in his Scorpio world. “Could it be a psychological disorder?” With a younger brother who just couldn’t learn how to swim and did not work out, his concern was not unfounded.

I wrote poems and painted, and buried myself in Friedrich Nietzsche’s works and read Chen Yingzhen’s Wo de Didi Kangxiong (lit. my younger brother Kangxiong), bewildered over the various forms of suicide in his novella. 

“What’s the meaning of life?”

“Perhaps, it is meaningless.” 

“We look for a meaning just to trick ourselves into staying alive.” I remember many of such sentences in my diary back then.

But my Scorpio brother is hundreds of millions of light years away in the starry night. I see his sparkly light; did he also see my faint glow at the other end of the void?

I didn’t want him to worry, and explained that the “mumbling” was me practising poetry pronunciation. Back then, I had also joined my school’s radio drama society and was practising the lines in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. 

“Will he come? When will he come?” 

I somehow felt that “Godot” is the only possible salvation in the desolate ruins, but he never came. We wasted our time, waiting indefinitely.

I didn’t share too much with my Scorpio brother. He was cheerful, healthy, and bright and spotless in body and soul. I wanted very much to be him, but I knew that could never be. 

He left the air force academy for some reason and did not fulfil the lofty ambition of his youth.   

He enlisted in the army and served as a military police in the foreign affairs unit. The Vietnam War was still ongoing at the time, and there were American troops stationed or on vacation in Taiwan during the war. The area that dage patrolled extended along Zhongshan North Road all the way to Yangmingshan.

The American soldiers frequented several bars on Zhongshan North Road, most of which were filled with young rural girls who had come to the city to make a living. That was around 1967, the era when Chen wrote Roses in June (六月里的玫瑰花). 

There were black American soldiers on a five-day break from the Vietnam War, mentally shattered by the memory of the massacre in North Vietnam, hugging the frail, naked bodies of adopted girls from Taiwan villages, engaging in sexual acts like fish supporting each other in water during wartime, on the verge of death and unusually passionate.     

But dage rarely spoke about the difficulties he faced while on duty. Sometimes he said something about the men “drinking too much and causing trouble”, and was a little perplexed but also sympathetic and tolerant. Faced with US pressure, there was probably nothing much the military police of the foreign affairs unit at the time could do.

I would associate the stories of American soldiers in Chen Yingzhen’s novels to dage’s military uniform. Sometimes, he would come home in that uniform, looking handsome and compelling. I continued watching his glory from the far end of the void.

Dage was very righteous and went by the book when he was on duty. Whenever he witnessed something unjust, he would definitely suppress them, pinning down big and tall American soldiers on the ground. 

“Drunk and stirring up trouble,” he recounted. There was no joy or pride in his narration; instead, it was rather sombre.  

“Leave it to the higher-ups,” he said. “It is out of my hands.”

Those one, two years in active service changed him. Having hosted a ball in his youth, there was an added touch of maturity in my Scorpio brother’s innocent beauty.

After retiring from the military in his early 20s, he worked at a five-star hotel managing its swimming pool, gym and club. I frequently visited him at his workplace. He made me a glass of lemonade, topped with a few ice cubes and two freshly plucked mint leaves from the side of the pool. 

The club was the gathering place of personalities and celebrities in Taipei. They belonged to the upper class, the rich and famous. They were elegant and sophisticated, well-groomed and decked out in branded clothes. Whenever they saw dage in his sports shorts, looking tanned and muscular with a gorgeous physique, most couldn’t help but steal a second glance.      

As I sipped my lemonade, I watched dage step into the upper echelons of society. In the glamorous and competitive world of celebrities and socialites, he knew his place and exchanged pleasantries with grace and tact. 

I’m actually quite proud of my dignified Scorpio brother. 

He was approached to star in a movie and brought me to the film set. But I could feel that he didn’t enjoy the experience.

He was so attractive but disliked showing off. I guess it is difficult to become a celebrity with such a personality.

It wasn’t long before the female CEO of the Asia headquarters of Belgium’s national airline Sabena in Hong Kong hired him as a manager in Kaohsiung. From then on, dage began to make a name for himself at the workplace. 

He flew frequently to different places to negotiate freight contracts. Taiwan’s economy was about to take-off, and he had the opportunity to display his talents. 

He loved Kaohsiung, and would drive to Hengchun peninsula on the weekend and during the holidays to dive. He showed me his full set of premium diving equipment, hoping that I would join him. I laughed and shook my head, “I’m terrified of water.” 

“It’s beautiful underwater. There are plenty of fishes, seaweed and corals, colourful and bright. I often forget about the time and don’t notice that I’m out of oxygen, so that’s very dangerous too.”   

Dage, who once dreamt of flying, dived into the sea and became obsessed with the awe-inspiring underwater world. I realised that he loved nature’s wild ecology, and enjoyed building a fire and grilling fish on the beach after returning from his diving trip, camping under the stars.

At his commercial job, he often interacted with well-groomed gentlemen. He was easygoing and knew how to socialise and negotiate with them. Yet, he had a deep impulse to go into the wild, and always felt that he could only be his true Scorpio self in the deep seas and on the high mountains.    

I took part in a visit to Kinmen’s battlefields when I was in university and stayed over at dage’s house in Kaohsiung. The next morning, he drove me to Yancheng Pier. He saw the vessel transporting students at the pier, chuckled and said, “Ah, an amphibious vessel. You’re gonna be so seasick.” 

As expected, the wind and waves rocked the vessel once we left Kaohsiung Harbour. I grabbed onto the side of the ship, vomiting the entire journey until we docked at Kinmen. I remained giddy for days.  

We’re two different people but we were very close. We seldom talked about what was bothering us and weren’t the kind who talked a lot either. But I cared about what he said and vice versa. We should consider ourselves fortunate to have had this brotherly bond.

I went to art graduate school and was preparing to write my dissertation. I was studying one of the four monks of the late Ming and early Qing dynasty, Hongren (also known as Jian Jiang). 

He didn’t have many paintings; almost none in the National Palace Museum. I found out that Hong Kong had published a collection of his paintings, a huge, very expensive deluxe edition. Dage flew to Hong Kong for work almost every week and bought the book for me on one of his trips after I told him about it. He laughed, “It’s really expensive. I can pay for a full diving wetsuit.”

He was very willing to do many things for a younger brother whom he didn’t really understand. He even did some research and told me that the Honolulu Museum of Art had kept a piece of Hongren’s artwork. He bought a plane ticket and asked me to go see it for myself.

Shortly after, he was transferred back to Taipei as general manager and I often went to his office. His guests were mostly in suits and ties but I dressed sloppily and casually. Sometimes when I knew that he was hosting a banquet, I would try to be as formal as possible but he would instead say, “Just be yourself. You don’t have to wear a suit or a blazer.”    

Not long after, he uprooted the family to Vancouver. My parents retired and were incredibly happy to have a plot of land to plant flowers and vegetables. I should feel especially lucky that my siblings took great care of my parents and that I am able to live a carefree life in Taiwan on my own. I am also immensely thankful that this freedom is such a gift of bliss and tolerance from my family.

Imagine having a dage four years older than you. He was always responsible and reliable, and took good care of his parents and his younger siblings, and even their children. He watched them grow and brought them to Disneyland, and they hiked, skied and swam together. 

When he fell critically ill in late 2023, these children rushed back from across North America to accompany him in his last days. They insisted on being pallbearers at his funeral, an act that I believe my Scorpio brother must be most comforted by.   

Perhaps he was used to taking care of the family as a big brother. When Father and Mother passed away, he handled each of their funerals really well and appropriately. He bought a burial plot for them and one for himself beside them long ago. With such a shoulder to lean on and strong familial bonds, there’s no regret.

After he migrated to Canada, he liked to hunt in his free time. He earned a professional hunting licence and went deep into the mountains and forests to hunt deers and bears during hunting seasons.  

To survive in the wild, he built fires and grilled game; be it venison liver or bear paws, he praised them all as delicious. 

He didn’t like the trivialities of the world and ventured into the wilderness alone, living alongside wild beasts, fighting them, competing with them and also relying on them. There’s a part of his body that resembles Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea — it’s like a mutual slaughter yet also like honouring each other’s lives.

I often heard him recount coming face to face with a pair of fiery eyes in the dark jungle, intensely staring at each other and staying motionless for a long time.

“At that moment, time stopped.” He didn’t mention the growls, pounces and struggles of the beasts — he just said that time stopped.   

Hunting in the wild made him love eating meat. He was also a good cook, and loved the ordinary guokui pastry (锅盔大饼, crispy stuffed flatbread) and roujiamo (肉夹馍, meat stuffed in a bun) enjoyed by the masses. Whenever he was free, he would knead dough and make scallion pancakes, and even shared them with friends and relatives. 

The most surprising thing he did in Vancouver was to start performing Peking opera.

“Wow, I thought you were terrified of Peking opera?”

I still remember how dage used to pinch his nose to imitate the voice of a huadan (花旦) whenever Mother asked someone to accompany her to a performance.

Perhaps because he loved making flatbreads and sharing them with the elderly, a Peking opera community, the Seniors’ Research Group of Chinese Opera and Music, managed by just a few seniors, laid eyes on dage after receiving his flatbreads. Dage later became the chair of the community. 

It was always “go big or go home” with dage. In the 1990s, the Seniors’ Research Group of Chinese Opera and Music invited famous performers and musicians from both sides of the Taiwan Strait as well as Hong Kong and Macau, and even master makers of Peking opera costumes from Taiwan. 

The community enjoyed good repute and was vibrant and exciting. It was a box office run by the general public but it had seven backstage departments, almost as many as the eight departments in professional opera troupes.

He started from scratch and practised performing the black-faced (black represented valiant and upright characters) hualian (花脸, painted face) role every day. He ordered a beard and an armour-like costume (靠) from Beijing. He practised the art in a pair of platform boots at home, and performed “Farewell My Concubine” (《霸王别姬》) on stage in 2012, giving me a shock.    

Han dynasty historian Sima Qian created an eternal hero archetype. In his Records of the Grand Historian, Xiang Yu was not a successful hero. He fled to Wujiang and was in a precarious situation. He bade farewell to the love of his life as well as his loyal horse, and sorrowfully emoted, “I possess strength to lift mountains and unmatched bravado.” 

In the despair of history, the defeated use death to mock the trivial schemes of the victors. 

Sima contrasted success and failure — Xiang upheld an honourable defeat but the successful Liu Bang was indecent and dishonest to the point of pushing his own flesh and blood out of the carriage to save himself during war. 

“Farewell My Concubine” demonstrates the strong and upright character of losers.

Dage went from being unfamiliar with and resistant towards Peking opera to hosting a significant box office success and diligently practising “Farewell My Concubine”. I somehow sensed that his body has never forgotten any of his Air Force comrades from his youth.  

That group of young and carefree heroes with lofty ambitions slowly aged in the passage of time. The survivors often met up, sometimes in Vancouver and other times in New York or Taipei. They still had their service number tags on the military uniforms from half a century ago, and their names etched in gold on a blue background.     

At a gathering in New York, dage got drunk and fell down the stairs. While it was not as tragic as attempting suicide in Wujiang, after watching his teenage companions wither away one after another, especially those who died in a crash on Mount Everest while gathering intelligence for the US military, he seemed to let out a long, exasperated sigh each time he mentioned it, “What can I do?”  

Those words evoked a sense of sorrow and overwhelming feeling. The Scorpio’s firm loyalty in dage was finally released in a resounding high note of a performance.

Dage was around 70-years-old when he performed in “Farewell My Concubine”. Most of his heroic companions back in the day have either aged or passed away; when the state of the heart has grown old, I guess one would also be able to understand melancholic tunes.

In fact, he underwent a major heart surgery in 2004 and replaced five blood vessels. The doctor asked him to eat light and healthy, to which he bluntly replied, “I can’t do it.” 

The doctor compromised and suggested, “Eat vegetables first before eating meat.” 

Dage responded, “That I can do.” 

Dage’s wilfulness when it came to eating was much like Mother’s. Both of them were diabetic and had a major sweet tooth. I saw him eating from a big tub of ice cream a few times and knew that things would be bad. 

He became a volunteer after his heart surgery and helped many cardiovascular surgery patients at the hospital, touching many hearts. They listened to his sharings and changed their habits, but he still devoured steaks and pig’s trotters every day. He had a theory of his own: “When meat is simmered for more than an hour, there is no more oil.”

I wonder if all Scorpios have a fatal weakness that they cannot overcome.

Interestingly, I had a stent put in for a heart attack several years later, and my younger brother also underwent a coronary artery bypass surgery a few years after that. I seldom ate red meat and my younger brother didn’t eat meat at all. Dage took care of us, but he also teased us, “See, your blood vessels are blocked even if you don’t eat meat. It’s not worth it at all.”  

He got colon cancer but refused to abstain from certain foods after surgery, continuing with his comfortable lifestyle. A few years later, the cancer cells spread to other parts of his body and while he underwent both chemotherapy and radiation therapy, he remained optimistic and cheerful.

He often comforted us, “I’m already 80.” He was pretty satisfied with the life he lived.  

Until the very end, in November 2023, he bluntly told the doctor that he wanted to give up treatment and receive hospice care. He did not suffer and left no regrets. He passed away on 23 December 2023. 

Fate made us brothers in this life. When I lift my head and look at the universe. I can still see him winking and smiling among the Scorpius constellation. That bright heart is like the same one who led me to swim and float in the choppy waters. He had also boldly dived into the vast universe, without worry or fear.  

This article was first published in Chinese on United Daily News as “天蠍大哥（下）”.

Related: Taiwan art historian: My brother, my Scorpio hero [Part 1] | Taiwanese art historian: What my father taught me | Taiwanese art historian: What my mother taught me about blessings in life