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墨書 Inktalez
In the early morning, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting mottled patterns on the bedside. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and began to prepare breakfast.
My father's life seemed to revolve around eating, drinking, and having fun. In the past, I always thought such a lifestyle was carefree and free. It wasn't until I entered last night's dream that I realized how much harm this carefree attitude caused my mother. I sat silently across from my father, eating breakfast. He glanced at me and said with a smile, "The weather is nice today; shall we go out for a stroll?" I nodded. Yet, in my heart, I wondered if he remembered that he got drunk again last night and hurled those unbearable words at my mother.
We walked down familiar streets. My father continued to chat and laugh, but I could no longer feel any admiration for him. I thought of my mother. She endured ten months of hardship carrying me and bore me after my father’s infidelity, suffering so much humiliation. But what was the result? All she received was endless insults and humiliation from my father. At this thought, a surge of anger welled up inside me.
As night fell and we returned home, the lights in the house seemed particularly dim. My father sat at the dining table, holding a wine glass and drinking sip by sip. "She's just a worthless slut, an insatiable whore!" my father's voice echoed in the empty room. The anger I had suppressed surged to the surface: "Dad, when someone dies, their debts are settled; show some mercy with your words." My father squinted his eyes, staring at me ominously: "What did you say? I didn't hear you clearly; say it... again!"
I looked at him, "You know what I said!"
Dad roared, "She did wrong, and I can't even say anything about her!"
His voice was loud but hollow; I couldn't tell if it was due to too much alcohol or a guilty conscience.
"She is dead!"
"She cheated on me! Any man would be furious."
"She has been dead for fourteen years. We need to look forward in life." Surely, all this anger should have faded by now, right?
Dad furrowed his brow and angrily flipped the table over: "You ungrateful son! I raised you, and you side with her!"
The table crashed to the ground, dishes and food scattered everywhere, leaving the house in chaos.
I was stunned, then took a deep breath: "Dad, she is my mother. She may not have raised me, but she gave me life."
Dad pointed at me: "She ran off with someone else and didn't want you anymore, yet you still side with her. I raised you!"
"I know, which is why for all these years at work, whenever you needed money and I had it, I gave it to you. At 27 years old, I still have no savings."
I looked at Dad earnestly, hoping for his understanding: "Mom raised me until I was seven; she has seven years of nurturing grace towards me. Dad, I can't be heartless."
Dad waved his sleeve and left with a parting shot: "An ungrateful wolf!"
Bitterness filled my heart as I silently cleaned up the scattered dishes and food on the floor. I didn't cook again; instead, I went to my room to rest.
I was so tired.
In a daze, I heard a sound and perked up my ears to listen.
This was the first time in years that I had heard Dad argue like this.
It saddened him, but I didn't want to apologize.
I wasn't wrong and had no need to apologize.
Hearing Dad rummaging for food in the kitchen made me chuckle inwardly. They say Dad holds no grudges; whether it's generosity or something else, I'm not sure anymore.
For twenty years, I believed everything Dad said; this was the first time I stood up for Mom.
The wind tonight felt warm against my face, yet all I felt was comfort.
What I didn't know was that after I fell asleep, three souls came to my bedside.
Just like last night.
One of the men in black waved a light, and my soul returned to the past once again.
"Baby, I am Mommy. Mommy, Mommy!" My mother said to me in the stroller, her voice gentle and calm.
My mother was anxious, but she never let her emotions affect me. She said, "Baby needs to learn to smile because those who smile will have good fortune. A smile can take ten years off."
I giggled in the stroller, amused by her words.
Looking at my mother, I clenched my fists, realizing that my love for laughter was taught by her.
I felt tears streaming down my face; I missed my mother. If only she hadn't left me.
I vaguely guessed why my mother eloped with someone.
It was due to a broken relationship; she had given up on my father.
But I didn't understand why she didn't just get a divorce!
She could have divorced him and taken me with her.
Even if I were given to my father, my mother could still come to see me.
At least it wouldn't be like now, separated by life and death.
As time passed, I gradually grew up, learning to walk, to eat, and to say simple repetitive words in my childish voice.
The atmosphere at home seemed to ease with my growth.
One day, when I called out "Daddy" for the first time in a not-so-clear voice, a smile appeared on my father's face.
He happily picked me up and spun me around in the air.
"Did you hear that? He called me Daddy!"
"Son, say it again."
I giggled: "Daddy!"
My mother stood aside, watching this scene with complex emotions in her eyes.
A forced smile appeared on her lips, but tears swirled in her eyes.
Floating in the air, I sighed; this was the first time my father held me.
From birth to babbling, this was the first time he embraced me.
Even though I knew that what my dad said about my mom might not be true, I never doubted his love for me. But at that moment, I was confused. Did my dad really love me? He said he was going to work, yet he always wandered outside, leaving my mom alone at home without a single penny for household expenses. I didn't understand; rice comes from the fields, and vegetables grow in the garden. Does that mean it doesn't cost any money? Can we live without money?
For two years, my mom went through pregnancy and breastfeeding. During that time, my dad only gave her money twice: once three hundred and once one hundred. The three hundred he gave her didn’t last long; just a few days later, he took it back, claiming he needed it for expenses while he was out. The one hundred she received was spent on four pieces of clothing when she went to the market.
I didn’t dare to think deeply about it; what if my mom hadn’t bought those clothes? Life went on at a slow pace. My mom's pants were stained with blood, and her eyes were filled with helplessness and embarrassment. She needed menstrual supplies, but she had no money because my dad didn’t give her any household allowance.
Little me slept on the straw mat while my mom held the phone to her ear, dialing my dad's number, only to be met with the cold sound of a busy signal. With no other options, I saw my mom go to find my grandmother.
"Mom, can you give me some money?" I watched as my usually gentle grandmother asked with a serious face, "What do you need money for?" My mom bit her lip and spoke hesitantly. "I got my period and have nothing to use. Mom, can you give me some money? I need to buy some!" She pleaded with my grandmother in a very humble manner.
My grandmother gave her twenty yuan. "Twenty yuan is enough to buy one pack; that will be sufficient," she said.
Grandma keeps money in a place where thousands of dollars are stacked, with a pile of hundred-dollar bills. I saw it, but Grandma only gave Mom twenty. Knowing that Mom had no money, she came to ask for help, yet Grandma only gave her twenty. Just twenty. Only twenty. When my wife spoke up, she was given just twenty yuan.
Mom's tears welled up in her eyes, but she bit her lip to keep them from falling. Grandpa and Grandma farm over sixty acres, growing watermelons, cotton, soybeans, and rice. After deducting the costs for fertilizer, seeds, and pesticides, they still have an income of thirty thousand.
"Thank you, Mom!" After apologizing, Mom entrusted me to Grandma and went out to buy sanitary pads. "No need to thank me; since you married into our family, I treat you like my own daughter. If you have difficulties, just tell me," Grandma said as she took my hand and led me to play.
Mom smiled through her tears, patted my head, and turned to leave. I floated beside her as she walked away. Watching the young me happily laugh with Grandma made me silent. My gentle and kind Grandma! People are multifaceted. To me, she is kind; but to Mom...
Having spent so much time by Mom's side, I gradually began to see things clearly. Whenever Dad acted unreasonable, Grandma always chose silence; when Mom resisted fiercely, Grandma would softly advise her to be understanding and patient. Grandpa and Grandma's concern was merely verbal and never translated into action. But Mom was alone in this family.
People yearn for warmth; even knowing it might be false, they still dive in headfirst. What cannot be obtained from Dad makes Grandpa and Grandma's verbal concern seem precious. However, this home belongs to Mom and Dad; the diluted sincerity from Grandpa and Grandma cannot fill the void in Mom's heart.
A Relationship.
When one invests too much, discovering unexpected issues leads to reluctance, entanglement, hesitation, longing, and anticipation.
Mom poured all her love into Dad.
When she realized that Dad did not love her, she was in pain and turmoil, struggling yet still holding onto hope.
She hoped that Dad would improve for the sake of the family, doing everything she could, exhausting herself to the point of not being able to bend over, yet biting her tongue in silence.
Even when finances were tight and life was difficult, she gritted her teeth and persevered.
But not all wholehearted investment yields returns.
Time and again, disappointment had already gathered into a vast ocean, drowning Mom's feelings.
Eventually, Mom no longer had feelings for Dad; she stayed in that home only for me.
I could feel Mom's heart bleeding; her dignity was trampled upon, and her endurance was taken for granted.
Dad continued to live freely outside, never caring about the struggles at home.
He never noticed Mom's plight or her changes.
The atmosphere at home was always so oppressive; Mom's sighs, Dad's drunken ramblings, Grandma's helplessness intertwined to create a sad symphony.
"My dear, I'm sorry," Mom said softly to me, her voice filled with endless guilt and sorrow.
As Little Bean, I actually thought she was playing with me and smiled brightly.
My heart began to ache because I once thought Mom didn't love me.
Who said Mom didn’t love me? As I recalled carefully, I realized it was Dad who always said Mom didn’t want me.
It turns out that a bleeding heart can become a habit and numbness can set in.
Watching my heart bleed, I no longer felt the pain.
Just like how Mom struggled in her relationship, being hurt time and again.
Her heart was also torn apart just like mine.
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