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Chapter 2
Part 6
As I approached the front of the West room, I paused before the door,
hesitating to enter. This had been my old room, but after I left home,
father took it for himself -- turning it into his "study.
The door was closed. Even though I've returned, the door has yet to be
opened. Gently, I pushed against the door and entered the room.
Compared to before, nothing appeared to have changed. The kang was placed
against the window and the three-drawer table was also present, with small
bookstand still on top. The table was still quite old. The bookstand,
however, was freshly painted yellow and appeared almost new. From top to
bottom, it was stacked full with books. Before the table, there was a squat,
square-shaped stool.
Almost subconsciously, I walked to the front of the table. Standing, my
hands probed the surface of the table. As I felt the coolness of the
exterior, my eyes turned to the piles of books up top. I then proceeded to
take a seat on the stool. As I sat down, I kept my eyes fixed on the
collection of books.
To pass the time, I reached out and pulled down a single book. This
particular one was a teacher's reference book. I opened it up and leafed
through the pages, noting rows after rows of written characters. I then
returned it and acquired another book, this one bound by brown parchment
paper. On the cover, written in Chinese brush, were characters so full and
yet so unadorned. The book was titled "100,000 Why's."
As I examined these characters. I suddenly thought: all of this -- this
table, this bookstand, these books -- all of these were used by my father.
All of these items were marked by his very touch. But, now he was gone. Not
even a trace of his breath remained in the air. In this very moment, I felt
my heart break. Unconsciously, several tears ran across my face...
Then I heard the sounds of the loom.
Eventually, all my emotions settled down. I stood up from the stool and left
the room. I passed through the kitchen and stopped just before the East
room. Standing by the door, I saw that my mother was still weaving. I didn't
dare bother her. I just watched her for a moment and returned to the West
room again.
Once more, I stood off to the side of the room. It was then that I noticed a
picture frame out of the corner of my eye. There it hung, up against the
wall, right by the side of the door. It was a bit more than one foot in
length, and not even one foot wide. In the countryside, no one ever used
photo flipbooks or albums. Rather, people here were accustomed to putting
many pictures into a single picture frame. This was given a special term --
making a "picture mirror" (mirrors that we actually used, on the other hand,
were called "boli ['glass'] mirrors").
In my hometown, everyone has these types of picture collages -- all of which
are used for the same reason -- for collecting photographs and placing them
on a single sheet of paper (most people use colored paper, often of their
own favorite color). These photos were first arranged and pasted onto the
paper, and then placed within the frame.
For every family's picture frame, it was essential that you picked pictures
that depicted your family's experiences. You might also say that from these
pictures, we reflected our family's history.
I stood in front of this picture collage, glancing at all the pictures. In
there, I saw pictures of my mother and father, and also myself. There I was,
scattered all over the frame: at one week, five years, eight years, and even
including the period when I was away from my family, attending school.
As my eyes explored the picture frame, I searched through my family's
history.
Finally, I fixed my eyes upon an old photograph of my father.
This was a one inch photo, already rather worn. But it was quite clear the
image was that of my father's. His presence was quite apparent within the
picture. Not only did my father have a youthful and vigorous appearance, but
also a sense of silent determination.
By careful inspection, I noticed that the photo contained two finely written
inscriptions. On the first line, my father wrote: "Aspiring in all
directions." The next line read: "Going to teach in the countryside, my
first memory. 1957. 8. 26." It was clear that my father had his picture
taken that very day.
Inside, my heart trembled.
I once heard my father remark that he took this picture several days before
he arrived to San He Tun. At the time, he had just completed a short
training course in teaching. That very year, he claimed that his heart was
full of fervor, and he simply wanted to teach. This was something that I
have never doubted.
My father stayed in San He Tun for more than forty years. He came up with
all kinds of explanations for why he remained: his love for education, his
love for the place -- all of which I accepted without question. But then
there was my mother, perhaps the great reason of all...
That year, my father was twenty two years of age, being pulled by horse cart
into San He Tun...
Part 7
It was the start of autumn that year. The weather that day was particularly
nice, and the sun was fixed and shining across the deep blue horizon, almost
looking like a perfectly round cake. A horse-drawn cart drew up the mountain
road on this brisk, fall day. The cart was pulled by three large horses, two
of which were reddish-orange, the other of a steel-gray color. As they
crossed the expanse, the mountain plains were a strip of multifarious
colors. A cool autumn breeze picked up as the cart rattled over the bridge,
stirring the trees and the already ripened crops. Moving steadily, the
horse-drawn cart left two broken tracks as it trailed through the middle of
the mountain road. An aged falcon appeared in the sky, circling back and
forth to a destination unknown. With each step, the horses' bodies
reverberated with great force. By afternoon, one could clearly hear the
sound of horse hooves entering San He Tun.
That day, almost everyone at the village assembled together to receive my
father. They weren't there so much to greet him, but perhaps gathered there
to see something new. The men, women -- all were present. Even the sniveling
children and old hair-bunned women made their way out... And then there was
my mother.
Mother wore a soft padded jacket that day. Flushed with red all over, her
mother had sewn it for her just the prior year! She liked it so much that
she wouldn't dare wear it outside. But on this day, she decided to wear this
jacket for all to see.
From a distance, people saw the horse cart draw near. As soon as they caught
a glimpse, the once boisterous crowd settled down to a series of whispers.
Everyone's eyes evoked a sense of wonder. Almost helplessly, they all gazed
upon the gradually approaching vehicle. Especially my mother. From the
beginning to the very end, she stayed incredibly still. As her eyes
flickered about, there was a calm look on her face.
The cart entered San He Tun with quite a stir. The sound of hooves clamored
on the surface of the road as the cart passed through the outstretched road.
The three horses snorted heavily, bodies already moist from exertion.
Then, the horse cart came to a halt. Father gathered himself and with a
small leap, cleared his body from the cart. This man was so young -- no one
ever expected this. He wore a uniform, and had wide shoulders for someone of
such a tall frame. He looked quite noble in appearance, and my mother
couldn't help but become immediately smitten with him.
The village head then approached to welcome him. The two were about the same
age, only a couple years apart. He then clasped his hands together and
exclaimed: "Ahh... So you've arrived? ... Now... What should I call you?"
"I'm named Luo -- Luo Chang Yu..." father replied. Father's voice was quite
expansive, and much clearer than the village chief's.
"Ha! So, Mister Luo..." remarked the village head.
My father abruptly cut him off: "Don't bother with 'Mister.' 'Laoshi'
[teacher] would be fine."
From within the crowd, my mother saw everything. She felt that this teacher
was quite an interesting character. Indeed, he was quite handsome. But most
of all, there was something about him that could not be put into words. From
this point on, she has yet to have observed such a trait in any other man.
It was in this exact moment that father happened to glanced over, returning
my mother's gaze. She noticed that he was immediately taken aback. Also, she
saw that his eyes were quite bright. My mother's heart swelled with warmth,
and a slight flush spread across her face.
During this time, the village chief proposed to my father the matter of the
schoolhouse. Unbeknownst to him, the village head was already tugging at
father's sleeve, urging him to follow. The two led the way, while the rest
of the crowd slowly gathered behind. My mother was the very last one to join
to the group.
The school was located in a different area. To get there, one had to pass
through the entire village. But by the time father arrived, the school was
not quite yet a school. The building itself had not yet been erected and
built, and there was still a lot of construction that needed to be done. For
the time being, it was very much a work in process.
The construction site was bustling with activity.
The pair stood in front, surveying the scene. Rubbing his hands together,
the village chief chuckled and smiled apologetically. He told my father:
"Now, look at this! Not even one structure has been built. But once we get
confirmation from town, we'll be able to start getting busy... Look at this!
Who would have thought that Mist-... Laoshi would come so quickly..."
After saying this, the village head cried out to the workers: "Hey, Lil'
Carpenter! We can start on the school in a couple days, right?"
One worker heard him, and shouted back: "Very soon! It's only a matter of
days!"
And with those hasty words, the lively worker approached the two. His face
was beaming as he walked towards them with axe in hand, and pencil behind
his ear. He was a bit younger than the village head and father, containing
somewhat of a childlike appearance. However, his behavior was quite
spirited, and he tried to carry himself as a person with a more mature
demeanor, one who had seemingly experienced the outside world.
"This is the guy, huh?" he said. "My name is Carpenter Xia, but you can call
me Lil' Carpenter. So what are we doing now? Building a school, hah! Just
give us three to five days and we'll get right on buildin'. If it's alright,
why doncha come o'er here a sec... So, you're the master now, huh?! He's the
master! Hah! Isn't that so, village chief?"
"Watch your mouth there!" the village chief reprimanded.
By this time, mother had quietly left the group to go return home. At first,
she walked, but found that her steps quickened to a brisk pace. Soon, she
was running down the road, with the simple surroundings rushing through her
eyes. With nimble strides, she exploded across the village like a young
robust deer. As she ran, her chest heaved, and her long braids danced from
side to side on her bright red jacket. And in her heart, she had a feeling
that could only be described as indescribable.
Part 8
Mother ran all the way back to her house, only slowing down as she was about
to enter. However, she found it hard to calm her beating heart, and her
chest was still laboring rather heavily. She stood there at the doorway for
just a moment, before finally entering.
Once inside, she heard her mother. "Is that you, Di? Why are you standing by
the door? You look as if you have to go to the bathroom!"
That was my grandmother, my "Ah-ma." Her sight has deteriorated for many
years now. Ah-ma's tears were so incessant during the years she mourned my
grandfather that it drove her nearly blind. Although her vision was not as
clear as before, her ears were nevertheless quite sharp.
Ah-ma was seated on the kang, gently doing her needlework.
She then said: "What a fuss it was this morning, everyone going to see the
teacher. Now, there is nothing but silence. So, did he indeed come? ...."
As she spoke, mother removed her red padded jacket.
"He came" mother said abruptly.
"How great!" said Ah-ma. "Finally we have a teacher in San He Tun! Now, this
Mister..."
Mother had already taken off her jacket, carefully folding it.
"He's not called 'Mister'! He's the 'Laoshi'!" she remarked.
"So, then Mister... Ah... Laoshi..." Ah-ma corrected herself. "What's he
like? Is he an old guy?"
"He's a young man." mother replied.
"Hah, he's young!" Ah-ma said. "How could a young person be a teacher? So
young, hah! Do you know if he's married yet?"
This time, mother didn't make one peep. She opened a trunk in the kang and
took out a small bundle of clothes.
"Have you gone blind now, child?" Ah-ma laughed. "I'm speaking to you. Who
are you talking to, huh?"
Mother was now opening the bundle, placing her red jacket on top of the
pile. She lingered for a moment before wrapping it back up, deliberately
laying her hand on her favorite jacket.
"So where will he live?" asked Ah-ma.
"The village office." mother replied.
"Ahh, that's good..." said Ah-ma. "There's a kang in the East room there.
And how will he eat?"
"We'll all take turns serving. Each family alternates a different day..."
mother said, slightly drifting off.
Then, my mother walked over to the loom. It was the same loom that we have
today. At that time though, it was placed by the North wall.
Mother had just sat down in front of the loom. Ah-mah then noticed: "You're
making the 'hong' [red], eh? You almost finished?"
"It's almost done." replied my mother, already starting to weave. "Ka-ka,
ka-ka," came the easy sounds of the loom. In her youth, mother's hands were
strong, yet supple. Quickly, she gently and skillfully went about weaving
the cloth. She had never before woven a fabric of such fine and delicate
quality, not to mention one so full of spirit and devotion. You could see
the radiance in her eyes as she continued to weave.
As she heard the rocking noise, Ah-ma didn't say another word.
In my hometown, us country folk have a custom. Whenever we complete a new
building for the village, a red cloth must be wrapped high above a single
wooden rafter. We called this wrapping the "hong." Each "hong" banner was
made from the finest thread, and was always to be sewn by the most chaste of
women. Of course once it was woven, it needed to be dyed as well. That year,
the village selected my mother for this special task. And weaved and dyed
she did... with all her heart!
Part 9
Last night, mother finished weaving the banner. Today she plans to dye it,
as soon as she finishes breakfast.
Things were extremely hectic for mother. Rushing in and out of every room,
her face was full of determination and purpose. After laboring tirelessly... Chapter 1 Chapter 3
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