TWO GENERATIONS
This is no less sore than a grief story about family affection.
She lies there, an old wooden rocking chair, from time to time. It is for a few hours she sits there and beholds a black-and-white photograph with a dull look in her eyes—she and her son whose eyes are dull as his mother too are on the photo. The first millennium's bell, finally, rings in the night. At the same time, she steps into the age of sixty. With the ringing of the bell, her thoughts are pulled back to the past...
In 1950, she was 20 years old. And her second child was born in the world. Given birth to that child, she relievedly sighed—"Well! Jianjun, Jianguo!"—for her children would never suffer those unspeakable bitterness which she had suffered. Looked at two young children, she smiled. Two years ago, a young man from the same village had gone out of his way to court her. Finally, she agreed to the court of the young man. It was very traditional that the wedding is, but lively. On that day, festival, a small yard was crowded with all of villagers. At the age of eighteen, she was full of bittersweet emotion in her bright eyes. However, after the two children were born, her husband left behind her and children for bring home the bacon, but never come back for she hadn't heard from him.
Her dream was broken.
She was desperate, never before.
No matter what happiness and bitterness one suffered, the historical wheel always unceasingly forward moves. Those are unworthy of being recalled.
For all the poor but peaceful circumstance, she brought her children about 10 years old toughly, and she was 30 years old. She was happy to be contented with the peace. Every time that she looked at her lively children, her heart would be melted away by a strong feeling of warmth, a sort of family bond. Whenever she thought of her children, she thought of her students as lively as much.
Back then, for 10 years, she became the only prestigious schoolmistress—but both farming and teaching which were driven by making a living. Anyway, life is very poor, but still on. But heaven is not cooperative. Miserable reality broke her dream, again—in 1960, famine and drought broke out.
Suffered such terrible disaster that harvested no grains, the family financial circumstances were from bad to worse. What's worse, it was the most tragic disaster that was that the youngest son, Jianjun, was dead in starvation. First heard the news, her face did not without any expressionless emotion, as if heard not sad news of the death of her beloved. She gazed the oldest child, Jianguo, nothing to say but lost sleep. She awfully wondered, "I have done all my best! I would rather suffer from hunger than let my children suffer from it! Why the God is unfair to me! Why..." Gazed Jianguo under the dim light, with a grief, she observed an exhaustive observation first time. Jianguo was sleeping that soundly, breathing that disorderly, smiling that sweetly. But, Jianjun had as real as real fallen asleep—would never wake up. That night, no words she said, no tears she shed.
It occurred to her that she never had children's photography taken ever before. Now Jianjun was gone, but Jianguo was still here. And then, she tried to find someone to take a group photo for she and Jianguo, spared no effort. The day of taking photo, the first sunbeam had not arisen from the horizon. She took Jianguo's hands to a very far place to take photo. Jianguo didn't understand what mother's meaning is, reluctantly got his clothes, and reluctantly opened his sleepy eyes, took the group picture—she and Jianguo whose eyes are dull are on the photo. She laughed at Jianguo's dull eyesight, made Jianguo giggled. From then on, maybe struck by the death of Jianjun, she worked harder than never before. Her reputation was getting more and more popular. Eventually, she was promoted exceptionally to be a high School Teacher in a town, and Jianguo also went to a town for higher education. That year, she was 35, Jianguo was 16. That year. As everything was getting better, another disaster came:
Cultural Revolution.
The catastrophe of 1966 looked like mild as if never happened, but when she was aware of that, she had already been expelled by school for her accusation, "The Capitalist Class". There were other teachers was expelled also, who had a good relationship with her. She was so wondering, how could she have related with the term "bourgeoisie"? And then she knew all of her families were buckled the cap, namely, "The Capitalist Class". She can but yielded to fate. Although she had some influence in the local, luckily, she was not an academic expert after all. Therefore, she didn't be criticized too much. Just life was getting poorer, to which she had been accustomed.
But there was only thing that she still afflicted her mind
Her son, Jianguo. That year, Jianguo was 22. He, who was clever at early age, asked his boss for working to the countryside. They even didn't see each other face to face, just through a letter of farewell. It is a more perceptual mother that never rejoiced that son was willing to work on his own. She put down the letter, with a long sigh of relief
Time flew fast. 1982, Jianguo was back. They haven't seen for eleven years, and their appearance had changed. Chattered and recalled those recollections of bittersweet things, the atmosphere was very warm. She was already 52 years old. A year after Cultural Revolution, she had been reinstated. No one knew how tough she had experienced before then, 1977, —she had sold baked potatoes at train station with an exhausted body. Fortunately, she was such a tough person that tided over the tough time.
As for Jianguo, Jianguo had become a businessman, and engage in trade. They talked about many things about the reform and opening up in the new China. They two, she and Jianguo, flowed on without stopping as if friends that had been away for a long time. At that day, she cooked as a nice dinner as any that she had never cooked to celebrate the hard-won reunion.
They didn't mention any sore memories—one in a new circumstance will never be mature if he always missed the past days. The time of reunion is always short. It was time for Jianguo to leave again. This time, he wanted to go as far south as possible, where along the sea. She had too much too much to say, but as she looked at his burly figure, finally, no words she said.
Even a "goodbye".
With the last ringing of millennium's bell, her thoughts are pulled back to the reality. She doesn't know where the Jianguo is now any. After the farewell about 10 years ago, they contact no more. She sighs all day that the fate between her son and her husband is so alike as if her prophecy has come true. But now, she has retired long, and stepped into her sixty years old just now. Sitting in front of the television, she changes the channel again and again. Unintentionally, she notices a businessman about 50 is giving a speech of cross-century. Staring the man, grumbling "If only Jianguo is also there, he absolutely would be as that man. Absolutely..."—with her grumble, with the cheer in the television, she fell asleep in her old wooden rocking chair in front of the television. Outside, the festive fireworks of millennium are still booming, stentorian, but inside is particularly peace.
The lifeless television just keeps playing. Finally, that businessman's name is emerged on the screen: "Jianguo"
This is no less sore than a grief story about family affection.
This is a story abouttwo generations.
Tears of Edge / 2017.12.12
Adapted and Translated by Stefano /2017.12.2