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我記得最深刻的一件事是一個(gè)中秋節(jié)的中午，我們家難得的包了一頓餃子，每人只有一碗。正當(dāng)我們吃餃子時(shí)，一個(gè)乞討的老人來到了我們家門口，我端起半碗紅薯干打發(fā)他，他卻憤憤不平地說：“我是一個(gè)老人，你們吃餃子，卻讓我吃紅薯干。你們的心是怎么長的？”我氣急敗壞的說：“我們一年也吃不了幾次餃子，一人一小碗，連半飽都吃不了！給你紅薯干就不錯(cuò)了，你要就要，不要就滾！”母親訓(xùn)斥了我，然后端起她那半碗餃子，倒進(jìn)了老人碗里。

My clearest memory is of a Moon Festival day, at noontime, one of those rare occasions when we ate jiaozi at home, one bowl apiece. An aging beggar came to our door while we were at the table, and when I tried to send him away with half a bowlful of dried sweet potatoes, he reacted angrily: “I’m an old man,” he said. “You people are eating jiaozi, but want to feed me sweet potatoes. How heartless can you be?” I reacted just as angrily: “We’re lucky if we eat jiaozi a couple of times a year, one small bowlful apiece, barely enough to get a taste! You should be thankful we’re giving you sweet potatoes, and if you don’t want them, you can get the hell out of here!” After (dressing me down) reprimanding me, Mother dumped her half bowlful of jiaozi into the old man’s bowl.

我最后悔的一件事，就是跟著母親去賣白菜，有意無意的多算了一位買白菜的老人一毛錢。算完錢我就去了學(xué)校。當(dāng)我放學(xué)回家時(shí)，看到很少流淚的母親淚流滿面。母親并沒有罵我，只是輕輕的說：“兒子，你讓娘丟了臉。”

My most remorseful memory involves helping Mother sell cabbages at market, and me overcharging an old villager one jiao – intentionally or not, I can’t recall – before heading off to school. When I came home that afternoon, I saw that Mother was crying, something she rarely did. Instead of scolding me, she merely said softly, “Son, you embarrassed your mother today.”

我十幾歲時(shí)，母親患了嚴(yán)重的肺病，饑餓，病痛，勞累，使我們這個(gè)家庭陷入了困境，看不到光明和希望。我產(chǎn)生了一種強(qiáng)烈的不祥之兆，以為母親隨時(shí)都會(huì)自己尋短見。每當(dāng)我勞動(dòng)歸來，一進(jìn)大門就高喊母親，聽到她的回應(yīng)，心中才感到一塊石頭落了地。如果一時(shí)聽不到她的回應(yīng)，我就心驚膽戰(zhàn)，跑到廚房和磨坊里尋找。有一次找遍了所有的房間也沒有見到母親的身影，我便坐在了院子里大哭。這時(shí)母親背著一捆柴草從外面走進(jìn)來。她對我的哭很不滿，但我又不能對她說出我的擔(dān)憂。母親看到我的心思，她說：“孩子你放心，盡管我活著沒有一點(diǎn)樂趣，但只要閻王爺不叫我，我是不會(huì)去的。”

Mother contracted a serious lung disease when I was still in my teens. Hunger, disease, and too much work made things extremely hard on our family. The road ahead looked especially bleak, and I had a bad feeling about the future, worried that Mother might take her own life. Every day, the first thing I did when I walked in the door after a day of hard labor was call out for Mother. Hearing her voice was like giving my heart a new lease on life. But not hearing her threw me into a panic. I’d go looking for her in the side building and in the mill. One day, after searching everywhere and not finding her, I sat down in the yard and cried like a baby. That is how she found me when she walked into the yard carrying a bundle of firewood on her back. She was very unhappy with me, but I could not tell her what I was afraid of. She knew anyway. “Son,” she said, “don’t worry, there may be no joy in my life, but I won’t leave you till the God of the Underworld calls me.”

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