Scattering Notes

In winter in a small northern city, flowers are getting more and more expensive.I bought a few lilies and calla lilies, put them in a small bunch of chrysanthemums, put them upright in front of the tombstone that had just been cleaned, kowtowed a few times, turned and walked back.

The price of this cemetery is not low, and most of the sacrifices offered by the tomb owner are unusually rich: large bouquets of white roses, whole bottles of foreign wine, and high-end fruits.In front of the most exaggerated cemetery, there was a plate full of cherries worth more than 50 yuan a catty, as red as pigeon blood, and there were dry ice bags on the ground for preservation, which were obviously transported by air; A pile of snacks, half of the box was opened.

I recognized the logo on the box and involuntarily slowed down.When I passed by this shop after school when I was young, I always wanted to squat in front of the window for half an hour. Buttermilk, bacon strips, fresh milk chestnuts, chiffon cake, for a child who has only eaten raisin hair cake, it is really delicious. It is an irresistible temptation.They are not so much attractive in taste as they are dazzling in appearance - I can't imagine the aroma of cheese and millefeuille, but the glass windows can't stop their velvety texture, and the color on a "small square" is more than belonging to My whole world is going to be beautiful.

The tired-looking mother dragged me away abruptly, and coaxed me half-truthfully, saying that she would buy me a small piece of chestnut cake for the next double hundred exam.However, when I passed the Double Hundred for the first time, I was already sensible enough to see too much of the white hair on my mother's head and the frostbite on my hands, and I no longer tried to touch the reflection of another world from a small piece of food.

I have long passed the age of cynicism, but in front of this pile of sacrifices, I still can’t help but feel sad-the gap between people is so big, after death, some people can still sit on the grave, tear cakes and play with birds Son; and I have been busy for 20 years, and I still feel that buying a 4-inch birthday cake is too extravagant.

I looked up, trying to get a glimpse of the luxurious life of the owner of the tomb from the few words on the tombstone, but my eyes were dazzled by the three large characters engraved on it-Liu Youchao, my father.

There is a black and white photo of him on the tombstone, which is blurry, but it is enough to show his aloofness and depression, which helped me rule out the possibility of having the same name.I stood blankly in front of the tomb, unable to regain my senses for a long time, until a voice rang out and woke me up: "To see Mr. Liu?"

Jiang Shangke lit a cigarette and walked unsteadily from the end of the path covered by bushes.He is eight years older than me, but when I have experienced vicissitudes like any middle-aged man who has surrendered to reality, he is still relaxed and comfortable, no matter eighteen or forty-eight, no matter he is wearing dirty and tattered clothes like rags The vest was a wool-blend jacket from Savile Row.

I didn't take anything in my hand, it really didn't look like I came to sweep the grave.He probably noticed this too, smiled, and stood beside me smoking a cigarette silently.I felt obligated to break the uncomfortable silence at my father's grave, so I cleared my throat, "Brother Jiang...to buy so many things?"

He raised the corner of his mouth sarcastically: "You're being polite to me?"

I didn't know how to answer him, and he didn't wait for my answer. He leaned down and brushed off a little incense ash stuck on the tombstone: "If you don't buy anything, if I don't, who else will I buy?"

I was speechless, and was silent for a while: "...I didn't know my father was here. I'm... I came to see Jiaci."

He exhaled the smoke ring: "Oh, yes, of course." Then he stopped talking.

My parents divorced when I was 15 and I never saw my dad again.I didn't even know of his death until I saw his tombstone with my own eyes. 27 years later, the father and son unexpectedly met here, making people feel the viciousness of life.

However, it should be the mother who really feels the good fortune.She steadfastly refused his visits when she was dying, but after her death she had to share the same land with him, though separated by three rows of bushes.

Mother has always been a strong person.Her body is thin and thin, but her spirit is as strong as thick calluses on her palms, and the more she is tempered, the thicker she becomes.During the days when my father was on duty, she supported the whole family. During the day, she went to the gas station to carry a 15-kilogram liquefied gas tank. At night, she sat on the bedside, mending socks and reading fairy tales to me.In contrast, the presence of the father was negligible. He would only cook a pot of burnt porridge in the evening when the mother could not come home, and then awkwardly scrub the stains on the kitchen floor with his slender hands that were used to holding the pen.

After I was in high school, I had the opportunity to learn what kind of person he was from the collection of books that my father didn't have time to take away - "Feynman Lectures on Physics", "String Theory Lectures", "Entanglement Entropy and Conformal Theory" , and Yang Bojun's "Annotations to the Analects of Confucius".Perhaps when I was painfully swallowing the tasteless meals he brought out, he was also painfully enduring the barren and similar life day after day.

Even in the most difficult times, my mother never accused my father of anything.She carefully collected every job advertisement in the newspaper, and brought home one by one to discuss with her father. Most of them were teaching positions in elementary or junior high schools, and sometimes there were clerical positions in other units.My father always refused at first, but finally agreed to try it first. He insisted on not being accompanied by his mother, and stepped on the heavy [-]-style bicycle alone, his back slightly bent in the cold morning wind.When he came back, the sunset happened to seep in through the window of the living room, covering most of the room with a light red halo. His mother leaned out from the kitchen, and he shook his head bitterly. A big bowl of gnocchi, expertly tossed with vinegar and chilli.

The only time my mother expressed her desire to improve the quality of life was in the middle of the night, when screams and beatings suddenly sounded, waking up the wall lamps in the entire building, I heard her say to my father in a hazy sleepiness: "Hurry up!" Find a new job, and if we can get a dormitory, we'll move out."

In fact, strictly speaking, this is not the expectation of quality of life, but the pursuit of a sense of security—the woman who lives across from my house suffers from a serious mental disorder.She once banged on the door of my house frantically in the middle of the night, scratching the iron screen on the door with her nails, like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

My mother was on night shift that day, and my father opened the inner wooden door and confronted her through the transparent anti-theft door.She shouted desperately and unwillingly, but I didn't hear a word; but in the gray light in the corridor, I saw her round, red, high protruding eyes—through her His face was covered with cold and sticky long hair.

Her father frowned, trying to communicate with her.He repeated over and over again: "I don't have medicine, we don't have medicine. Is there anyone in your family?" His tone was almost gentle.

Only then did I hear that the woman said she had a headache and begged her father to give her "medicine".The father called out to her family instead.I don't understand why he didn't close the door quickly to block out the shrill screams. Facing sour and tattered old men, beggars with curly hair, and fools running wildly on the street with their faces full of saliva, my father always It is a kind of strange warmth, which is very different from the attitude that ordinary people like us avoid, but it is also completely different from those who look at pity in their eyes. I vaguely feel that it is more like a kind of sympathetic care, even The rabbit died and the fox was pitiful.Now it seems that this woman is obviously within the scope of his sympathy.

After hesitating for a while, my father glanced back at me and brushed the top of my hair: "Go back to bed and lock the bedroom."

I subconsciously grabbed him, too anxious to speak a complete sentence: "You can't go out! She's... crazy! I... I'm not alone..."

He let go of my hand, slowly unscrewed the lock on the anti-theft door, stepped out, and immediately closed the door again.The woman grabbed his leg, and her tight white knuckles crumpled his flat trousers. I saw him bend down, hold her hand tenderly, and tried to support her.

In all fairness, the woman was pale and haggard, almost impossible to threaten the safety of her father, but there was always a crazy flame burning in her eyes, so hot that it seemed to be able to swallow everything.When I held my breath, afraid that she would stretch her thin and sharp fingers towards my father's throat in an instant, the door of her house opened suddenly, and a teenager ran out in panic.

That was the first time I saw Jiang Shangke.His obviously ill-fitting baggy clothes were covered with wrinkles, oil stains and scorching marks, and the stubble on his face formed a soft blue shadow under the dim light, but none of these detracted from his appearance—somewhere between a teenager and a young man In between, to achieve a delicate balance between beauty and handsomeness.This appearance, as well as his nice name, can't help but make people speculate that the crazy woman once had such a fresh and beautiful youth.

His father helped him bring his mother back home, and the next night he brought half a catty of apples and came over to apologize.He was just a sophomore in high school. He came back from evening self-study to comfort his mother to sleep, and then he had to do his homework. He fell asleep on the table without paying attention, and he didn't even hear his mother running out.As for where his father was and why his mother became like this, he didn't mention it, and no one asked.Mother left an apple, and took the rest home for him. Father opened the door for him and said that if he had worked hard in his studies, he would be invited to come to our house whenever he had something to do.The mother glanced at the father, sighed softly, and did not speak in the end.

Dad couldn't find a new job.Mother began to work day shifts and night shifts, and did not rest on weekends. She shriveled at a speed visible to the naked eye.Gradually, my father took on all the housework, and finally learned to rinse the foam off clothes as skillfully as my mother.One day I saw him kick a rotten apple in the corridor, hesitated a bit, picked it up and took it into the house.

Jiang Shangke occasionally brought food over, mostly steamed buns, and dumplings during festivals—he said that the school issued canteen meal coupons every month as living allowances, and it would be a waste if they could not be used up.My mother and father were unwilling to accept it, so he blocked me on my way home, stuffing steaming food wrapped in newspapers and plastic bags into my hands who didn't know how to refuse.So my mother took the initiative to help the woman take a bath, and came back and said that Jiang Shangke's certificates of merit were pasted all over the wall, and the woman was scribbling and scratching in other places, but she was very precious to that wall.

During the Chinese New Year, my mother invited Jiang Shangke's mother and son to my house for dinner.He wore a very clean sweater, and he was bright and easy-going.Mother took a small bag of eggs and a few handfuls of dried noodles from him, helped him settle the woman, and asked him to take a look around in the room.He flipped through my winter vacation homework, and his eyes were quickly attracted by the bookcase that belonged to his father.

Books are the greatest luxury, especially for people like us. In the first grade of elementary school, because my mother refused to buy me a six-yuan "Xinhua Dictionary", I was punished by the teacher to stand for a whole day ;My mother copied all the exercise books word by word from the bookstore, and after finishing it, I had to erase the answers and rewrite them again.The only "Selected Soviet Folk Tales" that I can understand in my father's collection has the edges of the pages roughened by fingers.

When Jiang Shangke was pleasantly surprised to open a large book filled with various symbols and graphics, I suddenly found that he was almost as tall as my father.

Even though I have received steamed buns from him countless times, even if I sit on the back of his bicycle to go to school, even if he can solve all the word problems that I can't solve, I have always had a certain inexplicable sense of superiority, thinking that I am superior to others, but when my father lent him the book and he held it in his arms with a smile on his face, I immediately had a sad and keen premonition that I was too confident. He and my father are the same kind of person. How can not touch them.

My mother cooked the eggs and noodles brought by Jiang Shangke—the noodles eaten on New Year’s Eve are called "Qian Chuan", which are probably the things that the five people at the dinner table need most in the coming year.Everyone is very happy: the woman combed her hair and looked very quiet, only eating what Jiang Shangke put in her bowl; the mother ran in and out of the kitchen, bringing out a dish of re-cooked dishes or freshly cooked dishes from time to time. while listening to the sound of firecrackers outside the window, I picked out the minced meat in the dishes; while my father and Jiang Shangke were talking about things I couldn't understand-they were radiant and waved their hands excitedly, with yellow and thin skin on both sides. A ruddy complexion and full of energy suddenly appeared in the face——I have never seen my father smile so happily. It was not a conniving and helpless smile when facing me, or a melancholy and sad smile when facing my mother. Appreciation, excitement and exaltation.The smile in his eyes was so deep, like a rising tide, wrapping himself and the people on the river inside, and I could only stand on the shore, letting the waves wet my feet.

In fact, I am also happy in my heart.As far back as I can remember, this was the first time I celebrated New Year with someone other than my parents—I never saw my grandparents, nor did I have any photos.I could see that Jiang Shangke felt the same way. He was calm and casual, but cautious and flattered still ooze from every move, but I am not sure whether his surprise came from us or from his father.

That winter, there was a man wandering downstairs of my house. He stood in the dark red firecracker crumbs and looked up at the window on the third floor.One day he put five yuan into my hand and asked me if I knew Jiang Shangke.I ran home quickly, and saw him standing there through the window, stuffing the banknote back into his pocket, his figure somewhat similar to that of Jiang Shangke.

A few days later he knocked on the opposite door.Jiang Shangke was not at home, the woman opened the door ignorantly, suddenly let out a loud cry, and pounced on him like a beast out of the forest, the man almost ran away, and the woman chased after her father reluctantly, until her father rushed out Pull her back.

Later he finally disappeared, and Jiang Shangke appeared at my door that night.He sat on a corner of the sofa, with a hoarse voice, thanking his father who poured water for him.

Father sat down and they were all silent.This freeze made me panic, and I went back to my bedroom to paint for fun.Through the half-closed door, I saw Jiang Shangke began to sob, buried his head in his hands, his knees, and finally his father's shoulder.He began to speak in fits and starts, telling the story of his father's empathy and abandonment of his family.Later, he raised his head, the grievance and sadness in his eyes disappeared with tears, and cruelty and toughness floated between his brows, declaring that he would never forgive such a person.

His father held the water glass for him and patted him on the back tenderly.

From then on, Jiang Shangke often came to my house, sometimes to borrow books, and sometimes to ask questions. At this time, my father's constant melancholy expression dissipated like a cloud under the warm sun.I watched my father getting farther and farther away from us—when there was no one around, he could only talk to the cow and play the piano, but now that his child has appeared, why should he deal with me and my mother anymore?I have seen them laughing and laughing countless times, not so much like father and son, but like close friends and close friends.

I can only go to my mother for comfort.On weekends, she took me to work together, bought me a small twist, and listened to me tell interesting stories in class.When we got home, we could always see Jiang Shangke coming out of his father's study room, he greeted his mother politely, and then went home to cook, but when my father saw us, he always frowned and closed his eyes tightly, as if he was forced to leave Waking up from the dream, I saw the cruel and tragic reality.

Jiang Shangke was admitted to the best university in the country, and the school provided him with the most generous student subsidies. He also contacted a nursing home for his mother and promised to bear the expenses.Before leaving home to go to school, he was busy for a summer vacation and founded the earliest extracurricular tutoring institution in our city, asking his father to be the instructor of mathematics and physics.

We moved into a bigger house, and my mother finally didn't have to work the night shift.Both my father and I persuaded her to quit her job at the gas station, but she firmly disagreed.She straightened the folds of the corners of my clothes for me, and told me that I have to rely on myself after all.I always felt that this implied a reproach to my father, but she had a calm face and a happy mood, and I had to pretend that I had never seen through the illusion of a happy family.

Jiang Shangke seldom comes back, but every year he comes to my house with his belongings.He was able to get a large scholarship, and started a business with others. He became more mature year by year, and his gestures were full of vigor and vigor.He gave my mother a basket of fish and shrimp, gave me children's books or toys, and never gave anything to my father in public, but I always found that there were more books on my father's desk.One day I found a watch on his desk, in a nice little case.The mother was taken aback, and cautiously asked the father what he planned to do with it. The father said he would return it, picked up the box and went out the door.

It was completely dark, and my father hadn't come back yet. My mother was a little worried and asked me to look around along the road.I walked all the way to the downstairs of the Hakka on the Jiang, and was hesitating whether to go in, when I saw the corridor light up, and my father's slender shadow slipped down the stairwell step by step.Jiang Shangke rushed out after him, insisting that he accept the watch, saying that he regarded himself as an outsider.

I stood motionless in the shadow of the bushes.His voice seemed to hit a real object, vibrating in my ears, sending out circles of sharp echoes - I don't know when Jiang Shangke has been able to call him "you" easily and casually. "Uncle Liu", and I have to carefully consider for a while before talking to my father.

Father said a lot in a cautious manner, nothing more than saying that he was just a little effort, and that he had been taken care of by the guests in the river all these years, so he really couldn't afford such a gift of thanks.They pushed and gave way, their figures entangled in the dim moonlight and the dim corridor lights.Finally Jiang Shangke became anxious, grabbed his father's hands to keep him from moving, clasped the watch on his wrist, and shouted in a low voice, "Who said this is a thank you gift!"

The tip of his nose was almost touching his father's cheek, and his eyes were firmly locked into his father's eyes. I even suspected that they were full of nostalgia and admiration - but he quickly let go of his father, took a few steps back, lowered his head, and quickly explained Said it wasn't to thank his father, just wanted - he rubbed his nose awkwardly - to give him something, then added grudgingly that he could spend his money as he wanted.

I hurried home, and the moment I turned around, I seemed to see him clinging to my father's shoulders.I told my mother that I hadn't found my father.To my surprise, my father came back soon, and there was no trace of the watch on his wrist, and the nepeta gluten soup my mother cooked had not cooled down yet.

I began to deliberately reduce the frequency of speaking with my father.No one was surprised, the mother herself was becoming more and more polite to the father, and the father was buried in the sea of ​​books besides board and lodging at home, and he didn't find anything wrong at all—maybe he found out, but this change was exactly what he wanted.I don't know what the original intention of my behavior is, but I know that it is not out of anger, but more like a temptation. I look forward to my father's reaction and try to find the lowest threshold of father-son emotion.This process lasted for many years. It was not until my father picked up his luggage and walked out of the house without looking back when I was 15 years old that I realized how ridiculous I was—maybe this family relationship never left any traces in his heart.

But at that time, I still had unrealistic fantasies, and even complained to my mother, saying that my father treated Jiang Shangke better than me.Mother smiled tolerantly, without saying anything, ironed father's shirt, hung it in the closet, then took out the watch from Jiang Shangke from the drawer, and carefully put it in the shirt pocket.

When I saw that watch, something collapsed in my heart, like a sandcastle on the beachhead that was eroded by the tide day and night, and finally fell apart in a gust of wind.Before, I was jealous of Jiang Shangke's closeness to his father, but this gift that failed to return seemed to have become a clear proof that his father acquiesced and even accepted this kind of closeness.

After that, I never confiscated anything Jiang Shangke gave me, and I didn't even want to touch the food he sent.These favors, in my opinion, are the sympathy and charity that my mother and I received under the shade of my father.I even swore secretly that I would return them together in the future, along with my father's share.

The mother began to formally discuss the divorce with the father.If I walk lightly when I go home, stand quietly in the corridor for a while, or pretend to fall asleep at night and lie on the bed with my ears pricked up, I can clearly hear their voices.Both of them are very calm, and my mother's calmness is beyond my imagination. In fact, she has even been persuading her father to dissolve her marriage, saying that her father has found a purpose in life, and she is doing well now. It is a good thing for everyone to separate.

During that time, I suddenly found myself tired of the ordinary campus life.The class teacher called me to the office, pointed at the large blanks in my exercise book and sighed, instead of scolding me, he persuaded me not to delay myself because of family affairs.I didn't explain, and I didn't repent, I still went my own way.One day my mother came to pick me up from school suddenly. We pushed our bicycles and walked slowly, and no one spoke along the way.After parking the car in the basement of the community, she hugged me and cried, saying that I am so selfless, what should I do if she is no longer here.

Thinking about it now, she felt abdominal pain around that time, and she also predicted her future fate.But at that time, I was still ignorant and ignorant, unable to feel the strong sadness in her words, but felt her tears dripping into my dry heart.At the same time, I was keenly aware that my mother had excluded my father from our tomorrow.

I was admitted to the city's key high school, which was also the school that Jiang Shangke once attended.On the day when the results of the high school entrance examination were obtained, my mother and father went to the Civil Affairs Bureau to go through the formalities, and my father moved out that day.He only took away his own clothes and some books, and after picking and choosing, he left a few books on my bed, saying that I might need them in the future, and his eyes gently passed over my cheeks.I stood by the window and watched him bend his tall and thin body, clumsily and laboriously move the small suitcase to the back seat of the bicycle, and ride out staggeringly, with poor balance, he almost fell to the ground , while Jiang Shangke came from afar and moved the suitcase to his bicycle.

Looking at their figures leaving side by side, I actually felt relieved, as if watching a stray bird return to the geese, or a wandering wanderer set foot on his way home.My father never seemed to belong here, and I began to understand my mother's thoughts a little bit.

My father sends money back every month.He lives in his tutoring school.When I was studying by myself next night, I often saw a lone light shining in that small building, and the window reflected the figure of my father, thin and sparse.He just moved from one inn to another. The heart of a sojourner has not yet found the peace of his homeland.

Jiang Shangke has a business mind.People from the tutoring school often come to the gate of our school to distribute some leaflets, claiming that there will be discounts if you pass them.A year later, all these leaflets disappeared overnight, and the lights of that small building were no longer turned on.I had no intention of discussing this topic with others during the chat, only to learn that the school had been reported, its reputation had declined, and it could no longer be maintained.

The classmate who knew the inside story pretended to be mysterious, saying that a physics teacher in that school was a pervert.Seeing that I was puzzled, he leaned into my ear and whispered that it was homosexuality. It is said that he was a university teacher before and was expelled for this.

I subconsciously said something, it's impossible.

That man curled his lips, how could it be impossible, he was cuddling with a man, someone bumped into him, a large group of people went to make a fuss, the school was almost destroyed.I was stunned and didn't know how to react. He was a little disappointed, frowned at me and said, homosexuals will get AIDS, how disgusting.

is that true?Is it father?I dare not ask, let alone think.But soon Jiang Shangke stopped me at the school gate after school at night, eagerly asking me if I knew my father's whereabouts.

He hesitated, and only vaguely said that his father came to him again, and he didn't want to go with his father, and his father tried to ruin his career.I told him that his father had never been home, and he lit a cigarette with an "oh", and he was as proficient as a mature man who can do well in society, but his eyes still showed loss and confusion.

I know less about my father than Jiang Shangke, so I can't give any useful advice.But I still felt angry, accusing Jiang Shangke of causing his father to suffer, so that he not only lost his livelihood, but also damaged his reputation.

I vaguely guessed who the other hero in this anecdote was.I hope Jiang Shangke can angrily refute me, tell me not to listen to people's nonsense, tell me that my father was completely framed by others, and tell me that those rumors are all unfounded.But he just listened silently, without making any excuses, and unconsciously rubbing the watch on his wrist with his fingers.

I recognized that it was the piece he had given to my father, and my heart shuddered, and I gradually stopped talking.He closed his windbreaker, smiled at me lonelyly, and asked me to believe in my father, saying that he had always been one of the people who got up and walked into the endless stream of people after school.I seem to see him raising his wrist, closing his eyes and kissing the watch almost reverently, but in the blink of an eye he disappeared into the noisy crowd.

Later, at a certain street corner, I seemed to recognize the back of my father riding a bicycle.His pedaling was very laborious, and I could imagine his frowning brows and tight mouth corners just through his stooped, old and silent back.When he moved forward against the crowd and squeezed a gap in the traffic with difficulty, I felt that even the air he broke turned back and weighed heavily on his back.

After that, my father stopped sending money, and Jiang Shangke didn't show up during the Chinese New Year, but he sent some things to my house.In spring, my mother received another money order, and the payer was Jiang Shangke, from the city where he was studying in college.Then came a letter from him explaining that the money had been remitted on behalf of his father.After I was full, my mother remitted the money he sent back to the original address several times in a row, and then we had no contact with him.

The university I was admitted to was in the same city as Jiang Shangke's alma mater.My mother asked me to visit Jiang Shangke's mother. I found the nursing home with a little memory, but I didn't know the woman's name, so I could only check the list of family members one by one.The nurse at the reception found the hospital bed registered under Jiang Shangke's name, but told me that the patient had passed away more than two years ago.

When I was in my third year of junior high school, I went home on vacation, and was surprised to find that my mother was much more emaciated, and her appetite was pitifully small.She smiled kindly and said that she had trouble digesting when she was older.I insisted on taking her to the hospital. When the doctor diagnosed "advanced gallbladder cancer", I collapsed immediately, but she had a calm face and lovingly stroked my hair.

Mother can't go to work, in fact she's too weak to twist a towel.I took a few months off and stayed with her in the hospital.At first she was able to lie on the bed and chat with me peacefully, holding my hand tightly like when she was a child, but later she didn't even have the strength to open her eyes.She began to swell, and her thin calves became thicker, and the finger marks left by me when I massaged her did not disappear for most of the day.

My family's savings cannot afford such consumption.Sometimes I have hallucinations, feeling that what drips from the bottle is the blood and sweat of my mother's first half of her life, and now it is all returning to her blood vessels.She never mentioned such things as giving up treatment, but I know she is not fantasizing about getting back to health, but just does not want to make me sad, and I always smile, imagine our tomorrow with her, and promise to buy a house in a big city I did not take her to live in a big house, and I had to rely on her to take care of my children.

I gradually learned how to cook. Sometimes in the early morning, before she woke up, I ran to buy a big bone and stewed it at home. I took it to the hospital at noon. Although my mother couldn’t eat, most of them went into my stomach. .I do her laundry, scrub her body, read to her, tell her what I learned in college, what awards I won, how I was praised by the teacher, and I can't wait to show her all the life skills I have and all the future. possibility.She understands what I mean, and if I learn one more dish, her eyes will be more peaceful and relieved.

But late at night, when the light in the hallway outlined the sunken profile of her face, tears poured out of my eyes.One day I fell asleep sitting in the corridor after crying, and the next day I was woken up by the doctor who came to round the ward. He gently reminded me to continue to pay the medical and hospital fees—the doctors and nurses here are very nice, They see that it is inconvenient for me to be alone, so they often come to help take care of my mother or help her go to the bathroom, and also collect donations for me. Even if I have nowhere to go, I don’t want to trouble them anymore.

My mother wouldn't let me contact my father.I really don't understand the meaning of this kind of self-esteem above life, and I had a big fight with her.She just told me over and over again that there are many things I still don't understand.

Without telling her, I got Jiang Shangke's phone number from my high school teacher, stood in front of the phone booth and dialed it nervously.He quickly picked it up. I murmured and borrowed money from him, and heard my father vigilantly asking if something happened to my mother.

At that moment, all the flukes of self-deception were self-defeating, and all the dirty rumors were self-evident. Anger and grievances swallowed up all my sanity. I hung up the phone and squatted on the ground crying.The streets are bustling with people, and no one is willing to give even the slightest glance in my direction.

Three days later, Jiang Shangke appeared at the entrance of the hospital in a hurry.I struggled for a while, but still took the envelope in his hand—poor people are not qualified to talk about self-esteem.I handed him the pre-written IOU, but he tore it up on the spot without reading it.

Using my mother's health as an excuse, I politely declined Jiang Shangke's visit request and asked him not to inform my father.He said yes, turned around and took a few steps back, and told me that my father lived with him and that everything was fine.Just take it as if I said something in vain, and he strode away, turning his back to me and waving.

But my mother still sensed something was wrong. She asked me if I had sold the house, and I knew she had already guessed the truth.One night, after everyone in the ward was asleep, she handed me a photo.

The photo was old, and there was a deep crease in the center, separating a man and a woman who were behaving intimately on it.I recognized one of them as my mother, though she never looked as lively and cheerful as I could remember in the photograph.

There was a faint smile on the mother's face, this is me and your father, she said.Under the torment of the illness, her voice was very low, and her breath was not clear, as if corroded by time.

I frowned and held the photo up to my eyes.That man was nothing like his father.

Your father, continued Mother, left before you were born, he didn't know I had you, we were not married.

I stared at her in disbelief, almost suspecting that her nerves were also disturbed by cancer cells.My body trembled as I watched her lips open and close, spit out a series of notes of unknown meaning.I searched for flaws and loopholes carefully, but her statement was reasonable and impeccable: she refused to have an abortion, broke up with her parents, came to this small town alone, but was criticized by others for being unmarried and pregnant, and could not find a suitable one. At that time, his father—or adoptive father—was gay and broke up with him. In order to get rid of his suspicion, he said that his father had harassed him for a long time, so his father was also fired.After they got acquainted, they quickly reached an agreement, buried two broken hearts with a single marriage agreement, and fought back two vicious speculations.

My mother made me swear never to let my father visit her.He hasn't had a good life these years, let him be comfortable for a few days, she said, slowly closing her eyes.Holding that photo in my hand, I hurried to the bathroom, turned the faucet to the maximum, and cried unscrupulously in the constant flow of water.

Then one day at noon, I went home to get the stewed chicken soup, and when I came back, my mother's hospital bed was already empty.The half-drinked water on the bedside table was gently swaying against the glass wall. The golden sunlight leaped in from the window and slanted on the snow-white bed sheet, reflecting the folds on it into thousands of ravines. Other people in the room came and went, oblivious to the collapse of this corner.

A nurse came running from the door and whispered to me that my mother had passed away.

I looked up at my father's tombstone.He died six summers ago.

"Where has it developed in the past few years?" Jiang Shangke asked.I told him that I stayed and worked in the city where I studied in college.

Jiang Shangke lowered his head and twitched the corners of his mouth lonely, "Me too. We lived there for more than ten years, but in the end he still wanted to come back."

When he mentioned his father, I first thought