Who Are You, Gael

There were at least eleven adults, plus three little ones.

After dinner, I casually asked, "Do any of you know what Gael is doing for work lately?"

Uncle Dominic took a sip of wine and replied, "Isn’t he running long-haul trucks out west? I heard he’s about to finish his training and will be able to drive on his own soon."

Uncle John looked puzzled. "Isn’t Gael working as a programmer in the capital?"

Aunt Micah put down her fork. "Huh? I thought he was working in a factory down south?"

Everyone exchanged confused glances.

Squinting my eyes, I pressed on, "Well, you can just ask Gael! Whoever has his number, give him a call!"

Everyone pulled out their phones and started searching their contact lists. After a while, voices began to rise.

"I’m sure I had his number, but now I can’t find it."

"Same here, I don’t have it either."

"This doesn’t make sense, I talked to him just last week."

Not one of the eleven relatives had Gael’s number.

At this point, even the most oblivious person could tell something was off.

Uncle Dominic put down his glass, his tone serious. "Let’s all sit down and discuss what kind of person Gael is."

Everyone fell silent. Aunt Micah and cousin went upstairs to put the little ones to bed.

The men cleared the table downstairs and set out eleven cups, pouring tea.

Half an hour later, everyone had gathered again.

Uncle Dominic raised his cup and took a sip, his expression one of worldly wisdom. "I’ll start. This is for sure, Gael should be about thirty-five this year. He’s tall and drives a truck. Last year during the Spring Festival, we specifically talked about running the northwest routes. He said the road conditions were bad and that it consumed a lot of fuel."

Uncle John pushed his glasses up and frowned. "That doesn’t add up. Gael is definitely not over thirty. He’s a programmer, wears black-framed glasses, and is thin. Just a few months ago, he complained to me about working too much overtime, saying something like '996'."

Aunt Micah shook her head, looking certain. "My goodness, you’re all mistaken. Gael is thirty-two, and he works as a workshop supervisor in an electronics factory in Nashville. He’s fair-skinned and chubby, really good at talking and getting along with people."

I silently recorded these contradictory descriptions, my heart racing.

How could the same person have such different ages, professions, and appearances?

It was now Aunt Nerissa's turn. She thought for a moment before speaking. "I remember Gael as being very introverted when he was young. He’d always sit alone and quietly read books, never causing trouble."

Dad immediately countered, "That’s impossible! Gael was so mischievous when he was little! He’d climb trees and raid bird nests, there wasn’t a place in the village he was afraid to go to."

"I thought he was an only child," Sheena chimed in.

Uncle Dominic waved his hand dismissively. "No, he has a younger sister."

Aunt Isabella corrected him, "A younger brother!"

The atmosphere was growing more and more bizarre.

I looked around, and everyone’s face was filled with confusion and unease.

"Who are his parents?" I asked, dropping a crucial question.

"Well..." Aunt Micah began, then suddenly stopped, her brow furrowing. "His parents are... your third aunt’s relatives."

Aunt Nerissa immediately contradicted her. "No! He’s not from our side of the family!"

No one could answer.

The eleven relatives exchanged bewildered glances, the air thick with tension.

I broke the silence and asked, "Can anyone remember the last time they saw Gael and where?"

Dad thought for a moment, then said, "It was during the Spring Festival. He came to our house to teach Florence how to make sweet and sour ribs. We spent the whole afternoon together in the kitchen."