HAN-PING CHIN
436
was angry with me about the fountain pen. We both used one
hand to rotate the mill and let the other hand rest.
It
was a rare
opportunity for Mother to talk to me. She said:
"Father is upset by the loss of your fountain pen. You should
know that the money to buy the pen was not easily spared. In
fact, it was dug out from his mouth [saved from his food]. He
thought you would be vigilant about your valuables. During his
apprenticeship, any small error would bring a curse or even a
beating. His cautious and serious manner was tempered from the
sticks of his master and foreman."
She fed some rice into the funnel of the mill, and continued:
"Since Father is satisfied with your school work and our
neighbors value your behavior, he was less hurt. I told him that a
fountain pen is trivial compared with our big losses. You see, we
abandoned our home when Japanese troops approached the
Yangtze River. At that time, you were too little to worry. The
Japanese did not let up, even after we fled far from home. This
time you were old enough to see how we lost our pots and pans. "
"All these years, your father has toiled to raise you children.
You have seen our old cat moving the kittens, one after the other,
holding them by the scruffs with her teeth. That is what Father
has had to do. When I had your sisters, Father couldn't come
home for years, so I had to thresh grains during my pregnancy
and even wash diapers in the pond the day after the baby was
delivered. Then my entire body became arthritic. You want to
know why five children died and only three have survived?
Perhaps I committed sins in another life-but the retribution
comes in this one."
Her eyes were wet, yet she held back the tears. When she
was able to control her voice, she continued:
"Everybody has a predestined amount of tribulation. I told
Father that a property loss might be balanced, by divine decree,
with some reduction of deserved physical suffering. He did not
believe in the Buddha when he was young, but fate has made
him reconsider."
I propped up the upper part of the stone mill with a broom
handle, and Mother brushed the grooves to get the last bit of flour
and clean the mill. Before we walked home, she put the basin
with the flour under her left arm and said:
