|
|
此文章由 何木 原创或转贴，不代表本站立场和观点，版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 何木 所有！转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明，并保持内容完整
Chapter 61
Late that night, Bing, half intoxicated, lay pensively on his back. Qiuyan was beside him and said, ‘Bing, do you think I need to find some work, or should I study?’
A little surprised, he asked, ‘Why?’
‘Look at Alice and Rebecca, they both have jobs.’
‘Well, accounting is boring, you wouldn’t like it.’
‘But I can’t just stay at home all day long.’
‘Why not? People don’t usually like to work,’ he reasoned, like a teacher. ‘If I can stay at home, I think I will be okay. Work is not fun, but a lot of trouble, especially accounting, with those tedious, eye-draining numbers.’
‘But Rebecca seems to like it.’
‘I don’t think she enjoys doing it,’ he was analysing, ‘she likes music and photography, but her likes can’t support her life, so she has to do accounting.’
‘But why does she have to work? Peter is running a business, they should have enough money.’
‘People who don’t want children need a lot of money to feel secure.’
‘What?’ she asked, in disbelief. ‘I think people with children need a lot of money, not otherwise.’
‘No, you are wrong,’ he merely conveyed what he had learnt from Rebecca. ‘People are all the same, fearing loneliness, ageing, illness and death. People with children, like us, may assume something for security, whilst those without try to hold monetary terms to relieve their dread of getting old.’ He pulled her body close to him. ‘A married couple without children, without a common bond, may not trust each other. Peter and Rebecca don’t even have a joint bank account.’
‘Really?’ she asked, ‘Why? They are a couple with such love.’
‘They have a double income. Every month they may have money left, so there is a matter of saving, in whose account, and over the years, they have had no intent to buy a house. They are not like us, using up all we have.’
‘So they don’t feel as secure as us?’
‘Of course not,’ he said, not so sure of that in his mind. ‘They may appear happy, having a lot of fun, but deep down they fear, fear one day they will leave each other, and live on their own, and that nobody will look after them when they are sick, or weak.’
‘Why don’t they just have a child, at least?’
‘Because having a child will sacrifice the immediate fun and freedom. The personal achievement will be hardly got, especially for women.’
‘But…’ she hesitated.
‘What? Come on, where is your voice of spice? ’
‘She looks so young.’
‘Hehe, she hasn’t borne a child.’
‘Don’t you like her a bit?’
He turned to her, alarmed, ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘The way you talked to her, I know you admire her a bit,’ luckily her tone was not serious. ‘Bad-egg.’
In spite of himself, he was hardening. So they made love. But at the climax, in his closed eyes, it was the body of Rebecca.
…
One day, he got a call from his sister Ming, whose voice mingled with sobs.
‘What?’ her news was a strike, and thundering. ‘Liver cancer?’
‘The doctor said he would at best have seven to eight months of life,’ Ming steadied her voice, ‘even if with immediate treatment,’
‘Don’t cry,’ he begged, anxious to know what the hell had happened to his father. ‘Tell me from the beginning.’
‘Just last week, he said he felt a pain in his lower abdomen. We thought it was just, just something like stomach-ache, for he had not shown sickness, except getting thinner. But it was worse yesterday, so we brought him to a doctor.’
…
After the call, he passed the news to Qiuyan.
‘How old is your father?’ she asked.
‘I think 57 or 58,’ said Bing, who always had a problem remembering one’s age, even his own.
‘So we must go home,’ she said, ‘he has not seen Adina yet.’
‘Oh, what a fool! I should have insisted he come here last time together with mum. He said we should save the money for next time.’
‘Well, it’s so sudden, you could not have known,’ she smoothed his guilt a little, ‘your father has been healthy, though rather quiet.’
‘It must have been due to his heavy drinking in recent years.’
‘Drinking is always bad,’ She regarded him, and hinting, said no more.
So he asked his manager for two weeks’ leave, and chose a day to visit the Chinese consulate for visa. They had an Australian citizen as a child, so they thought it natural for the parents to be of the same citizenship, without the kind of debate for someone like Peter and Rebecca, who had been uncertain in which country to take roots, and die. But the girl behind the window worked very fast, with her nimble fingers turning the passports and the paper swiftly. ‘In three days you come to get the visa,’ she said, tossing the receipt at him, in the Chinese speed that would put non-Chinese to shame.
They arrived in Mianyang, at his sister’s home.
Everyone was smiling, including his father, as soon as they saw Adina.
‘Adina, go to Ye Ye,’ Qiuyan handed her daughter to her grandpa, who sat on the couch opening his hands wide. But Adina stood before him, studying him carefully.
‘Adina, hah, so tall, and pretty,’ the old man reached to touch her hand. ‘How old are you? Adina?’
‘Four,’ she answered, proudly, as she always did to this type of question. ‘Are you Ye Ye?’ she asked, her eyes still estimating him.
The old man held her arms, ‘Yes, I am the daddy of your daddy.’
Bing’s mother escaped from the room, a move triggering the quiet tears of other women present. Bing didn’t cry. But his father had become so thin, his face sallow, his lips dry, his eyes and cheeks sunken, his cheekbones never so outstanding, especially in his smile.
Oh, a man is going to die! And he is his father!
His father had been and was still very obstinate. He refused to have any operation or chemotherapy. ‘I don’t want to get a bald head,’ he said, ‘but I promise I won’t smoke, or drink. I will take some medicine or pain killer or whatever the doctor advised, but no operation nor chemotherapy.’
‘Dad, don’t worry about money,’ Ming entreated. ‘We can afford that, please listen to the doctor.’
‘No, it is not about money,’ he said, with his plastic mouth. ‘You all know what cancer is.’ He looked around the table, and added, ‘if you have the money, I would like to visit Australia, for a number of days.’
This was indeed a surprise, to the people about him, including the doctor who was invited by Ming for the discussion at home. But the wish was understandable, almost inspiring. Bing asked the doctor of the negative impact of the travel.
‘This can’t be recommended, strictly from a doctor’s point of view. He needs all the possible rest he can get. So many hours constrained in the plane will worsen his condition.’
Bing said, ‘If we buy first class seats, will it be better?’
‘Of course, to some extent. With enough space he can sleep better.’
Then Bing wondered if an Australian visa was possible for his father in his current condition. He checked the website and found no particular requirements for a short visit, so long as it was not an infectious disease like tuberculosis. So the decision was made, and Bing proceeded with the visa application for his parents. In the meantime, the three went to Happy Mountain to see Qiuyan’s parents, when it was also decided to change the flights to extend Qiuyan and Adina’s stay in China, so that they could go back to Australia together with his parents, after their visas were hopefully approved.
Which they did, about two mouths later, when his parents, both by first class, and Qiuyan and Adina in economy reached Sydney Airport.
Adina flew to him like a swallow, ‘Daddy, daddy,’ she called, her plump hands wrapping at him. And his father, haggard looking, his hand held by his mother, was with his eyes delighted, not very unlike Qiuyan or his mother at their first time landing on foreign soil.
‘Dad, how are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Good enough,’ his father said, and panted, and smiled, ‘I actually had some sleep,’
Evidently his father’s spirit was in better shape than his physical frame, which had much deteriorated through the months. Indeed, as Bing now realised, it was his father’s first time on a plane. Everyone who has come to this world has some dreams, and taking an airplane flight must be one of them; and his father, though dying, had just fulfilled it.
Bing’s Toyota, meticulously washed and vacuumed that morning, was shiny outside, tidy inside. Today it carried five people, in full. Bing the driver was recalling some minutes of his old times, of his first Shanghai trip, of the man-powered pedicab in Mianyang, of his first beer, of the pig-meat he had eaten, together with his father, who gave him a watch, and stood on the platform watching the train move, lost because he had not seen his son’s waving hands.
So the time had flown for twenty years. Now Bing was driving a car, not luxurious but his own, which was filled with happiness, or sadness, under the white sky of Australia, carrying the family towards his own house.
His father on his left was taking a nap. The warm sun and the fresh air must have lulled him to a slumber, delicious as it seemed. His mother remained silent.
Only Adina was active, ‘Mummy, why can’t the car fly?’
This was evidently a difficult question, for her mother turned to him, ‘Answer your daughter, why can’t the car fly?’
‘Hum, well…’ he was thinking. ‘Because it is not a plane, it has no wings.’
‘Oh,’ Adina was convinced, but only for a while, before she pursued it further, ‘why don’t you buy a car with wings.’
This one was easy, ‘Because, there is no car with wings,’ but her next one was not, ‘Why is there no car with wings?’
But after two seconds, he had an answer ready. ‘Because people haven’t built them yet.’
‘Oh,’ she seemed convinced, but only for a while, ‘Why haven’t they built them?’
‘Because they are not smart enough.’
‘Oh,’ she seemed convinced, but only for a while, ‘Why…’
Her grandpa intervened, ‘Because they are not as smart as Adina,’ and he turned back to her, with difficulty, ‘When you grow up, you can build a car with wings.’
But she protested, ‘No, no, I will build a big plane, Ye Ye, you build the small car.’
They all laughed, including his mother.
Bing asked for one month’s leave, which was approved by his manager, who was nice and perfectly understood his situation.
So every morning, they would await his father’s rising from his bed. His sleep was patchy, broken cruelly by his pain. And depending on his condition, Bing would drive the family to the places he had considered, and come back in the afternoon. After their Sydney adventure, he probed the possibility of visiting the Gold Coast. His father didn’t favour the idea. ‘Too far, cost a lot of money,’ he said.
‘Not about money,’ Bing replied, ‘just think whether or not you feel fit for the travel.’
His credit card had a limit of $10,000, bit by bit he would pay the expenses off. His sister had so far paid for the tickets, and had also vowed to take on all the expenses, although he, as a son, would be ashamed if he let her do it.
So they went to the Gold Coast, where they rented a car. With Adina in the group, the adults seemed to have little chance, or reason, to be unhappy. The group conducted their trip slowly, to accommodate Bing’s frail father, not like those tourists, most of them leashed by a guard, who had to rush for photos, preferring dead memories to the present reality. But Adina was running, in directions that were unpredictable, keeping her parents busy restraining her. Only on the beach of Surfers Paradise, where Adina could enrapture herself in building sand castles, did her parents have some peaceful time with the two elders.
The glorious sun seemed to have driven away the shadows, and the sorrow that would have liked to clung to them. One afternoon, his father asked to stay alone for a while on the beach, facing the sea.
So he was left alone, in a chair, under a cap, facing the sea.
Bing, sitting beside his mother on the mat, asked, ‘Mum, sometimes I feel Dad is like a stranger.’
‘Stranger?’ his mother didn’t get him.
‘I mean, I don’t remember him being so quiet.’
His mother began to understand. ‘You remember your grandfather?’
‘Yes,’ Bing said, ‘you mean he inherited something from him, a bit eccentric?’
In spite of herself, his mother smiled, ‘So long as you are not like them.’
‘I am at least talking, not a lot, but enough, hehe.’
Her smile went on, ruefully, then with a sigh, significant to his ears. ‘Your father has not been very happy since he married me.’
Bing was conscious his mother was broaching a topic, which was supposed to be rather private in a soul. He didn’t encourage her to touch that, but waited.
‘Your father had a girl before me, but your grandpa was strongly against them. At that time, parents’ consent for a possible marriage was essential, so they had to break up. Then I was introduced to your father, and immediately won your grandpa’s favour. He said I was the type of person who can endure a lot of labour. Maybe just because I was illiterate, not even knowing how to write my name. You may not know that I had been, before marrying your father, a child-bride. I left my parents when I was ten years old.’
Bing was surprised, sufficiently, ‘Really? I never knew that part of the story. I thought you were just adopted, after your parents had passed away.’
‘Yes, I was a child-bride. My first husband died in an explosion when building the road from county to town. I was then seventeen.’
‘Oh.’ Bing was incredulous.
His mother went on, ‘I had heard of the girl. She was a middle school graduate, better than me.’
‘Well, nobody could know, in advance, which was better or worse,’ Bing said, grabbing a handful of silky sand, and splashing it. ‘So you think it was because of her Dad was what he had been, drinking so much?’
‘Not just that. He had been happier when he worked as an electrician in the town,’ said his mother, sighing, and arising, to relax her feet. ‘And he was also very happy when you and Ming got into university,’ she paused to massage her lower back for a while, ‘Ahai, who knows, it is just fate, many people of his age drank as well, much worse than he did, without getting cancer. Maybe he was just too relaxing, too early to have been freed from hard labour. Anyway, he had not done much. A lot of old people in the village still worked in the fields day and night, and they didn’t get cancer,’ she sighed, her body quivering, ‘or maybe, maybe, I shouldn’t have married him.’
She had to sit down, because it was easier for her to bend, and cry.
…
Two weeks later, he sent them to the airport, and four months later, his father, who had by then shrunk to a mere constitution of hard material, died in his arms. The family tomb was then inhabited with one more, along with the three whose bones must have been aged smaller.
|
|
Single男做饭系列之 烤羊排 (2008-12-4) steprego 
发表于 2014-9-16 15:00
