My story with my mother is over.

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My Mother and I

[Full Story]

Word Count: 24,637

In 1949, my mother was born into an ordinary rural family in northern Jiangsu. She was the youngest and only daughter among her maternal grandfather's six
children . In rural China during the 1950s, there was no such thing
as wealth disparity; the only difference was the number of work points earned by each family. Because she had five
older brothers, the family didn't need her as a laborer, so she didn't have to
drop out of school early like her five uncles.

After graduating from high school in 1967, my mother was considered an intellectual and, through connections,
found a job as an accountant in a unit under the Nanjing Municipal Bureau of Materials. Later, through an introduction, she met my father, a fellow villager who also
worked , and they married. In the factional struggles of the Cultural Revolution, no one knew their fate tomorrow.
Tragically, my father took the wrong side in that chaotic period, was dismissed from his post, and sent back to the countryside. The ensuing
violent fighting directly led to his lifelong disability and mental breakdown. To avoid implicating my mother, my grandfather's family filed for
divorce, but this was strongly opposed by my maternal grandfather and uncles, as my mother was already
two months pregnant. This sudden change destined my mother to remain single forever. This is also why I am writing these words.

I believe most children begin to remember things around the age of seven or eight, and my memories begin from that time as well. Among the fragmented memories of my

childhood

, the most profound impressions are the alarm clock ringing in the morning and the clanging of my mother's
bicycle . Being a heavy sleeper is probably a common trait among children. It seems like there's never enough sleep, so
the alarm clock is the sound I hate the most. Every three to five minutes after the alarm goes off, I rub my sleepy eyes
and yell for my mom. My mom always sits down by my bedside when I yell, and then
reluctantly puts on the clothes she has prepared, amidst her countless scoldings. I can never forget the
moment I'm dressed, when she gently pats the back of my head and says, "Hurry up, dinner's ready." A

school day quickly passes by in a mix of seriousness and playfulness. Every child waits for
their . I always stand on tiptoe among the other children, craning my neck to look at my mom's figure in the distance.
It's almost a tacit understanding formed over a long period of time. My mom is always not far from the school gate,
where she can see me and I can see her. She gives me a look, and I can rush out of the crowd and walk towards her under her protective gaze
. Usually, when I sat on the back of my mother's bicycle, I liked to hug her waist, close my eyes, and silently calculate
the time for the next turn. So, I often used the bicycle bell as she turned to check if
my lean back, hook my arms around her waist, tilt my head back, and let out a joyful "oh oh!" If I was wrong, I would press my head against her
back without making a sound. Sometimes, my mother would smile knowingly and join in this little game. The innocent boy
, unaware of the ways of the world, let the days flow by slowly in this routine and carefree state.

II.

That year, I was 15 years old. This was a year that brought about significant changes for my mother and our family
. The wave of reform had rapidly transformed our city. My mother, unable to resist the persuasion of her colleagues, resigned from her small job at
the materials bureau and started a plywood business through connections with former colleagues. Being a boarding student,
I naturally didn't know how my mother ran her business, but from the updated furniture and my mother's reduced
control over my allowance, I realized that our family was slowly becoming wealthier. Our home became
more lively and vibrant, and we received more visits from relatives back home.

One summer during my first year of high school, my maternal grandfather, who rarely came to the city, unexpectedly knocked on our
door. My mother was delighted that my father had come all this way, so she invited me to sit with
him . My grandfather asked about my mother and me, then suddenly fell silent,
looking troubled. My mother asked, "Dad, is something wrong? If you need money, just say so."

My grandfather coughed and said, "Nothing, nothing, as long as you're doing well." Then he lowered his head again,
but my mother and I knew he must have something on his mind. So my mother asked, "Is it something else?" My grandfather gave me a
noncommittal look, as if there was something he couldn't tell me. My mother then gestured for me to leave
and told me to close the door behind me. Actually, my mother and I both knew what my grandfather was going to say; he was going to touch on
the least wanted to talk about—my father. I stood quietly outside the door, sensing
what was about to happen.

My maternal grandfather said, "I think you know that nothing's wrong with our family, and your brothers are all doing well. But
we can't just ignore what's going on on their side. You and the children haven't been back for over ten years. We
know and we haven't forced you, but they still treat us like family. The children's grandfather and uncles often come to
our house to say hello and ask about you. I heard a couple of days ago that the children's grandfather is quite ill. I think you should take the children
back to see him, so they won't laugh at us for being unreasonable. After all, you haven't divorced. Why don't you take some time
to go back?"

My mother didn't say anything, and the two of them remained silent in the room. Finally, my maternal grandfather said, "I know
I shouldn't have opposed your divorce back then, but things have already come to this. Let's save face, after all, in the countryside, people value these things
. I won't say anything more. I'm going to catch the train back now." After seeing my maternal grandfather off, my mother didn't speak for a long time, sitting blankly
in the room. Seeing my mother's hesitant look, I felt very sad. I went over to my mother and said, "Mom,
go back . I'll go with you. We'll be back in a day." My mother looked up at
me with a very helpless expression.

Three.

After informing our hometown, my mother and I packed our things and boarded the bus home a few days later. It was
a completely unfamiliar road, a road I had never traveled before, from birth until I was 16. In 1986
, rural areas in northern Jiangsu were still very poor. Through the bus window, I saw dilapidated villages on both sides and a bumpy, dusty road ahead
. My mother held my hand tightly the whole way, and I could feel her nervousness. After a bumpy 200-kilometer journey, we
arrived at the town where my grandfather's village was located. As soon as we got off the bus, my uncle came to greet us in a tractor.
"Sister-in-law, you're back. Get in the car, everyone's waiting at home." My mother nodded without saying anything
and pulled me onto the tractor, which had already been laid out with a quilt.

Clearly, my grandfather's family had made preparations; many relatives had gathered in the courtyard. I didn't know if it was to
welcome my mother and me or to show off the family's power. Because we didn't recognize anyone there
, no one greeted us. My mother and I stood blankly in the courtyard, receiving scrutiny from everyone. Finally
, my uncle came over and said, "Sister-in-law, come inside. Actually, Dad's fine, just a cough. My brother is much better than
before ; although he doesn't recognize people, he can eat and use the toilet without problems. It's alright." My mother
took my hand and followed my uncle into the house.

This was the typical furnishing of a farmhouse in northern Jiangsu. A large square table stood in the center of the room
, with two wooden chairs on either side. I could guess that the old man sitting in the chair was my grandfather.
He had the face of an ordinary old farmer, his hands on his knees, his back hunched, looking up at my mother and me.
The middle-aged man on the small stool next to him didn't look at us; he was muttering something to himself, his head tilted to the side, his eyes
unfocused yet then sharpening as if staring at something. I clung tightly to my mother's side, unable to believe
my eyes, unable to believe this was my father. Just then, my grandmother came in, wiping her hands, and said, "Please invite your
sister-in-law to sit down." She then started chatting with my mother. My uncle pulled over a chair, saying, "
Sister-in-law, sit down. Let the children go out and play." He then grabbed my hand and pulled me outside.

IV.

As someone born in the 1970s, I received a lot of traditional education, so I've always despised and
disdained erotic descriptions. But here, in this piece recounting an important trace of my life, I must
elaborate on those things I once scorned, and the subject is none other than my mother, because it
touches the deepest and most authentic corners of human nature. Its real existence is irresistible. There is no pornography here, only
an analysis and exploration of human nature. Let the story begin when my uncle pulled me into the yard.

The people who were originally in the yard hadn't left; they were gathered in small groups, whispering amongst themselves.

"This is the wife my eldest son married when he was in the city. It's been over ten years."

"She hasn't come back since she got married?"

"No, something happened, and she's been raising the child alone in the city."

"She must be in her thirties by now."

"About that."

"My goodness, she's five or six years older than me, but she looks younger than me."

"Of course city women look younger than us. What do they eat and drink?"

"Yeah, look at her figure, unlike yours, which is as thick as a barrel."

"You're not much better than me, hahaha." "

At this age, and so beautiful, with all the bad men in the city, there's bound to be some."

"Of course, how many can keep their way?"

I didn't know when Grandma had appeared beside me, and she took my hand, saying, "Be careful of gossip."
Then she pulled me into the house. That night, I went to sleep in my uncle's room, and my mother went with Grandma. Perhaps because I was at
someone else's house, I woke up very early the next day. My uncle was still asleep, so I quietly got up and wandered around the yard
. As I wandered, I suddenly heard voices coming from my grandmother's room. I went over and saw my mother and grandmother talking.

"Are you going back today?" my grandmother asked.

"Yes, there are still things to do there," my mother said.

"Bring the children back more often when you have time. We don't want anything from you, just let people know that we are still a family."

"Okay."

"It's not easy for a woman to be out there. The atmosphere outside is not as good as in our village. We are a respectable family."

"Who's not respectable?" my mother was a little angry.

"Never mind, I'm just reminding you that there are people gossiping outside."

"What are they saying?"

"Nothing, never mind, I'll go make breakfast."

My mother and I didn't eat breakfast. We just left some money and set off on our journey back to Nanjing
. My mother didn't say a word the whole way, and I could sense her low spirits.

5.

When we arrived in Nanjing, it was almost 3 p.m. My mother went straight to her room. I
sat alone on the sofa in the living room, feeling utterly lost. The house was very quiet, except for the monotonous ticking of the wall clock.
Suddenly, I heard a soft sobbing sound coming from my mother's room. Ah, my mother was crying. This was the first time I had heard my mother cry since I
was born until I was 16. It was a suppressed sound, a sound of grievance,
a sound of release. This crying made me uneasy. I stood helplessly at the door of my mother's room, not
knowing what to say to comfort her. Suddenly, I couldn't control myself and started crying too.
My mother opened the door and patted my head, saying, "Go back to your room and rest for a while. I'm okay."

"Mom, don't cry. It hurts me to hear you cry."

"Okay, I'm okay now. I won't cry anymore." Then she closed the door again.

Perhaps the two-day trip had truly exhausted me, and I drifted off to sleep as soon as I got back to my room.
When I woke up, it was nearly evening, and I could hear the chopping sounds coming from the kitchen; Mom must be
preparing dinner. As I got up to open the door, I found a note slipped under the door. Its contents are etched in
my memory forever.

"My dear, this is the first time Mom has talked to you about family matters as an adult
, even though you're only 16. You heard Mom cry, and you wanted to know why. It's not because of Grandpa and your father's
illness ; Mom is crying for herself. Mom feels wronged and stifled. From the day your father left us
, Mom has been working tirelessly to keep this family afloat. I have no idea how much I've sacrificed for these things..."

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My story with my mother is over.

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