Sichuan girl Jiangsu wife Taiwan grandma

Author: Liu Aili
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: I was born with a cross on my back, a cursed soul. The days dragged on, from summer to autumn, then from autumn to winter. Despite her husband urging her to return to her parents' home in Chengdu to bring her mother to reunite with them, the teacher's wife remained unmoved. Changshun didn’t give up on persuading her and frequently visited the Liu family, aided by an elderly man who was a believer, guiding and advising her. It wasn’t until she was seven months pregnant that she finally agreed to hire a maid who didn’t require payment and decided to go to Zigong with Changshun. In early 1932, a heavily pregnant woman, after days of arduous travel, returned to Zigong, her hometown, her home. Winter snow was falling in the sky, not heavy, but gently drifting down like white flower petals swaying from the heavens. The Hu family’s ancestral home, a three-hall six-courtyard complex, lay before her. The gate was painted brown, freshly repainted, but every window, every step, every brick, and every tile was so familiar! Green bamboo swayed gracefully by the wall, its leaves still lush and green beneath the thin snow, exuding a charming elegance in the cold wind. Servants gathered around the only daughter of the Hu family who had attended school—the fifth young lady! Shouts came from all directions, “The fifth young lady, the fifth young lady!” The pregnant woman was lost in thought when the laughter and chatter of the young lady broke through. A stranger, an old man with a water pipe, appeared before her, strolling and smoking leisurely, pulling her back to reality.
“Is this not Hu’s fifth daughter?” the old man asked. Changshun didn’t answer but greeted politely, “Good day, Lord Li!” Then he helped the fifth young lady into the back courtyard. The Hu family’s mansion had been sold to the son of an old man who smoked water pipes after the eldest son of the Hu family lost it in a gamble. The Li family, sympathizing with Hu’s mother having nowhere to go, left the back courtyard’s (woodshed) and maid’s room for her to live in. Hu’s mother relied on doing laundry and housework for the Li family to sustain herself.
The mention of the fifth daughter brought the pregnant woman back to reality. Facing the former Hu family mansion, she broke down in sorrowful tears. The humble (woodshed), slightly reinforced with additional planks to cover its dilapidated walls, now welcomed her return. A mix of bitterness and helplessness filled her as she reunited with her mother, while shame and humiliation overwhelmed her seeing her mother reduced to this state. Her own home, now belonging to others, left her heartbroken. The loneliness and sorrow overwhelmed her, making her aching heart and soul.
After a wave of shock, the pregnant woman began to tremble uncontrollably. A surge of hatred, like a dark storm, overwhelmed her. Her anger, inflamed, surged through her veins, as if a thousand horses charged into every cell of her body, straining every nerve. It flooded her mind, and suddenly, the world spun around her, and she fainted!
Changshun and Hu’s mother rushed her inside to lie down on the bed. Lord Li also hurried into the inner room, asking the women to bring hot tea and some ointments. After a tearing labor, the unconscious pregnant woman began to bleed from below. Everyone scrambled to help, and Changshun rushed out to find a midwife.
After hours of toil, on the second day of the Lantern Festival, the pregnant woman gave birth to a preterm female infant—her second daughter in the Liu family—in the (woodshed) of her hometown in Zigong. The mother, still unconscious, had a high fever that wouldn’t break. The premature baby was frail and difficult to care for. The mother, upon returning to take care of her daughter, felt even more guilty. She not only tended to her severely ill daughter, but also had to protect her young granddaughter, a preterm infant who couldn’t cry or call out, like a tiny kitten.
That unlucky premature infant was me. From the moment I was born, I carried a heavy cross. I was inexplicably drawn into the conflicts between two generations of relatives and became a shield for my mother’s arrows. She would intentionally or unintentionally shoot one, piercing me, burning me, wounding my heart, forcing me to run away, to leave, to wander far from home! My unhappy childhood was deeply scarred by my mother’s cruelty. The tragedy of our Liu family was caused by my mother’s stubbornness and recklessness. Although my grandmother asked me to swear never to mention the past in front of my mother, it could never leave my mind. Sixty years have passed since my grandmother passed away, and my longing for her has never faded. Every year, I pay my respects to her from afar, burning a red envelope as a token of gratitude.
Without my grandmother’s care, I wouldn’t have survived. Without her compassion and guidance, I wouldn’t have survived after running away. Without her encouragement, I wouldn’t have left, nor would I have what I have today. The mother, suffering from postpartum complications, saw her beautiful home turned into someone else’s and felt immense pain. She disapproved of her eldest son gambling away the family fortune and falling into banditry, believing it was his own fault. But she couldn’t forgive her mother for allowing her son to sell everything, leaving her with no place to return to.
Yet, she overlooked that under the old social system, women were taught to endure the foolish notion of “obeying father at home, obeying husband after marriage, and obeying son after husband’s death.” They were raised to be gentle, kind, and resigned.
P25-26