Sunken Fish - Chapter 12
In my wild imagination, my frail mother got up to get sesame paste. She dipped her finger in it, tasted it, and finding it not sweet enough, added sugar spoonful after spoonful, drinking bowl after bowl. Her stomach was so full that she collapsed on the floor, drowning in the sesame paste that spilled from her throat.
Five years ago, I was diagnosed with diabetes. I think my mother may have died from the same disease—either too much or too little sugar in her blood. Diabetes is a long, drawn-out battle. In any case, I learned about my mother through these inherited traits: crooked teeth, an upturned left eyebrow, and an unusually strong desire.
On the night she left Shanghai, Sweet Mom once again demonstrated her spirit of sacrifice, refusing to leave her hometown.
“I’ll be useless in America, and I can’t speak English,” she said shyly to her father. “I don’t want to be a burden on our family. Besides, Bifang is almost thirteen and doesn’t need a nanny anymore.”
She glanced in my direction, hoping I would plead for her.
"Don't argue about this. You absolutely have to come!"
My father was very anxious because the gatekeeper was waiting. His surname was Luo, and our whole family disliked him, but he had made preparations for our hasty departure.
Sweet Mother continued arguing in front of my brother, grandfather, father, and servants, then glanced at me, hoping I would speak. She wanted me to jump to her feet and kowtow, begging her not to leave me. I didn't, and she hinted, "Bifang doesn't need me; she's already told me."
That's true. That very morning, I said something similar to her. She scolded me for sleeping too much, calling me a lazybones. She said I was just like my mother, and if I didn't change these bad habits, I'd suffer a terrible fate. I wasn't fully awake and wanted to keep sleeping, so I covered my ears and yelled, "Shut up, you cow!" That's when she woke me up.
Now my family and I are leaving late at night. The gold, silver, and diamonds are stuffed into my toy dolls, where my mother's hair clip is also. I stole it from Sweet Mom and sewed it into my clothes.
Old Luo, the gatekeeper, urged us to hurry up, but Sweetie's Mom was still dawdling. She was secretly plotting, hoping we would all beg her to change her mind. My thoughts were exactly the opposite: what would happen if Sweetie's Mom stayed? How would my life change?
A series of deep thoughts sent shivers down my spine, making my knees and spine feel weak. I had a premonition that something terrible was about to happen, and this was a habit I'd developed my whole life. Because my mother was the same, I was afraid I would collapse and die suddenly like her. I learned to suppress my feelings, to accept things as they are, and to let things take their course.
"Say something," my father coaxed me, "apologize quickly."
My silence will determine my fate.
Hurry up!
My father started scolding me.
For about a minute, I felt my legs go weak.
Suppress it, I told myself, suppress the anger.
The father finally broke the silence and repeated to Sweetie's mother, "You must come."
But Sweetie's mother pounded her chest and shouted, "It's over! I'd rather die here than be with this evil girl!" Then she ran out of the room.
A few days later, we left Shanghai.
As my family boarded the American ship, I looked back at the Shiliupu Wharf and the European-style buildings along the Bund. For the first time, I felt that this city was like a fairy tale, hidden in the late spring sunset, appearing and disappearing, its full form forever elusive. This will forever remain an unforgettable dream in my life.
I leaned on the ship's railing, imagining Sweetie alone in the house on Massenet Road. The room was still luxurious, but it felt gloomy and lifeless. Soon, the changing times would shock her, a member of the "bourgeoisie"...
As I pondered this, a strange feeling arose within me—the exhilarating satisfaction of successful revenge. I thought that in my next life I might be punished—I would be reborn as a cow, while she feasted on beef.
Suddenly, I felt several thin, bony fingers pinching my face, almost drawing blood.