Fond Memories of Autumn
Shi Tiesheng

When my legs were first paralyzed, mytemper became terrible. Looking at the lines of wild geese flying back north, Iwould suddenly smash the window pane in front of me. Listening to the sweetsongs sung by the famous singer Li Guyi, I would throw whatever happened to beon hand at the wall.

On these occasions Mother would stealout quietly, watching me from a place where I could not see her. When I calmeddown, she would come back softly and gaze at me with sad eyes.

“They say that the flowersin Beihai Park are in bloom now. Let me wheel you there,” she used to say.Mother loved flowers dearly, but ever since my legs became paralyzed, all herflowers had died.

“No, I won’t go!” I shouted,while beating my cursed legs as hard as I could. “What am I still living for?”Mother would then rush up to me, holding my hands in hers and saying betweensubdued sobs, “The two of us should live together happily, happily…”

Although I did not know it, she hadbeen seriously ill herself all the time. It was my younger sister who told melater that mother had often been kept awake the whole night with pains in theliver.

One day I was alone in the room,watching the rustling fall of autumn leaves through the window when Mother camein. She stood between me and the window and said, “The chrysanthemums in Beihaiare blossoming. Do let me take you there for a visit.” Her sad eyes in herhaggard face silently implored me.

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow, if it suits you,”she replied, pleasantly surprised at my interest.

“Okay, tomorrow then,” Iagreed. She was so delighted that she did not know whether to sit or to stand.

“Let’s get ready right now,”she suggested.

“Oh, what a bore! Do we needto get ready for a park just a few steps away?”I said. She burst out laughingherself, sat down beside me and murmured, “After we’ve seen the chrysanthemums,we’ll dine at Fang Shan Restaurant. You used to love their puree of peas bestwhen you were a little boy. Still remember our last tour to Beihai? Youinsisted that the poplar flowers be worms and ran to stamp on them one by one…”Here she broke off abruptly, more sensitive to words like “run” than I everwas. She went out again gently.

Yes, she went out, never to come back.

When the neighbors carried her ontothe tricycle flatcart, she was still vomiting mouthfuls of blood. I had neverthought she could have been so seriously ill. Watching the three-wheeler go, Ihad not expected it would be her departure to eternity.

The young man next door carried me onhis back to the hospital to see her. She was gasping her last, in just the sameway as she had lived her entire hard life. I was told later that her last wordsbefore passing away were: “I have an invalid son and an unmarried daughter…”

It was another autumn when my sisterwheeled me to Beihai park to see the chrysanthemums. The yellow ones weresimple and elegant; the white ones, pure and noble; and the purple ones, warmand deep; all were in full bloom, dancing in the autumn breeze. I came to knowwhat mother hadn’t had time to finish, and so did my sister. We should livetogether happily…