Like Father,Like Son

Over the years,I’ve been feeling the cruel fleeting of time on my father.All his organs,including teeth and bones,are rapidly turning fragile and loose.Whenever I meet an old man on the road,I can’t help looking a few extra seconds—I sometimes even run up to them to see whether they are my father.

My father,now losing his angular face and strong figure,is aging like all the other old men—skinny,dull,and unsmiling.When he was young,he was quite noticeable because of his shining bald head.I would know when he was coming from a mile away.As a kid,I was nicknamed Ge Weijiao.“Wei” is my family name,while my given name “jiao”denotes trouble-making.My naughtiness was well-established in our neighborhood.As long as there was a fight around,I was the instigator,who would usually end up being disciplined by my father.This repeated punishment made me doubt whether he was my biological father.One day,I helped my father press red taros in the field,which pleased him so much.My teacher passed by and casually lodged a complaint against me.My father grabbed the pole and swung it at me.I was quick in eye and hand,but my long legs could not keep up,and the iron hook caught me,branding me with a trickle of blood.

I held my leg and skipped because of the pain,quite like an ant on a hot pot.He clutched me,laid me down on the ground,picked up a handful of sprouts,chewed them up,and pressed them to my wound.I could not help noticing that his steady hand was shaking more terribly than my leg.

It turned out that when I was hurt,my father was also in pain.My pain had been sensed by my father.

My father had a bad temper,partly because of my mother,and partly because of his illness.At the outset of each spring,my father suffered from bad ringworm.Once he heard that ringworm can be eradicated with a heated copper coin.In front of a twitching lamp,he rolled up his sleeves and asked me to burn the ringworm with a copper coin.I was scared and refused.So he did it himself.The copper coin was pressed on the arm,with his gnashed teeth and raised eyebrows.A smell of charred flesh squeaked and creaked,and it made the lights bend and gnaw at my heart like a knife.

But my father patted my head,beaming,and said it didn’t hurt at all.In tears,I was in agony.

這些年，感覺時間在不停提速，尤其是對父親。在他身上，歲月的沙漠化一年深過一年，從牙齒到骨骼，他所有堅硬的部分，都迅速鈍化、脆弱。走在路上，每遇見老人，我總會忍不住多看幾眼，有時，還會從他身后追到身前……我總覺得，他是我父親。

老了的父親，失去標識度和分辨率，老成所有老人的樣子——干瘦，呆滯，不茍言笑。但年輕時，他棱角分明，一頂光頭佛光普照，哪怕十里外咳嗽一聲，我也辨得出來者何人。

小時，我諢號葛維攪。維是輩分，攪是搗蛋，我的“皮”有口皆碑。基本上，只要有摩擦，罪就在我，以被父親摁在地上摩擦結束。這俗套的劇情，常讓我懷疑父親是假的。那天，我跟著父親壓紅芋，甚得他歡心。老師路過地頭，隨口參我一本。父親順手抄起扁擔抽向我。我眼疾手快，但大長腿沒能跟上，被鐵鉤抽到，烙出一道血印。

我抱著腿，疼得像熱鍋上的螞蟻，蹦蹦跳跳。父親捉住我，把我摁到地上，攬一把萋萋芽，嚼碎，敷在傷口上。我不經意看見，他穩健的手，比我的腿顫抖得更厲害。

原來，當我疼時，父親也在痛。我的一半疼痛，一直由父親默默領受著。

父親脾氣暴躁，一半是母親點燃的，一半是癬疾煎熬的。年復一年，一開春，癬就援著他身體開枝散葉。不知聽誰說的，用燒紅的銅錢燙，就能把癬斬草除根。一盞抽搐的燈火前，他捋起袖子，讓我燒銅錢燙癬。我做不到！他就自己來。牙一咬，眉一豎，火紅的銅錢往手臂上一摁。一股焦肉味吱吱亂竄，撕咬得燈火弓起腰，啃噬得我心如刀絞。

父親拍拍我的頭，滿面春風地說，一點也不疼。我滿臉梨花帶雨，痛得不能自已。

我從未想過，當父親疼時，我也會痛。父親的一半疼痛，從此由我默默領受著。

做了父親后，我回去得少了，但會經常念及父親，想象我這個年齡時的他，想象孩子這個年齡的父親。起初是做反面教材，警醒自己別像他。慢慢地，我諒解了父親，開始與他和解。無論在基因上，還是在生活里，我們都有彼此的影像。

前不久，父親的腿不堪磨損，鬧起罷工。我帶他看醫生，背他上樓、下樓。起初他很不適應，肌膚和骨骼都極不情愿地抗拒我。很快，他認了。回家時，他竟趴在我背上睡著了。在家門口，我扭頭看他，他酣睡得像個孩子一樣。我和父親，互換了三十年。

或許，也可以說，父親有一半是我，我有一半是父親。

家里的地板剛拖過，很滑。我和父親摔成一團。父親醒了，齜牙咧嘴地問我摔得痛嗎？孩子一手扶著我，一手打地板，念念有詞。我滿面春風地對他們說，一點也不疼。

（摘自《安慶晚報》2020年11月25日）

I never thought that when my father was in pain,I would be in pain,too.Half of my father’s pain has been felt by me,in silence,since then.

When I became a father,I visited his place less and less,but I often think of my father,recall what he was like at my age,and what he was like when I was at my child’s age.At first it was a reminder for myself not to behave like him.Slowly,I understood my father and began to reconcile with him.We resemble each other,whether in our blood or in our lives.

Not long ago,my father’s legs were so worn-out that he could no longer walk.I took him to the hospital and carried him up and down the stairs.He was uncomfortable at first,his skin and bones resisting me grudgingly.But soon he accepted.When we got home,he fell asleep on my back.At the door of my house,I turned to look at him.He was fast asleep like a baby.At the moment,it seemed that we had changed our roles and gone back thirty years in time.

Perhaps,it can also be said that my father is half me,and I am half my father.

The floor of the house was freshly mopped and slippery.My father and I took a tumble.He woke up,gritted his teeth,and asked me if I was hurt.My little child came up,holding me with one hand,while hitting the floor with the other.He mumbled in his own language,as if blaming the floor for its fault.Beaming,I told them that it didn’t hurt at all.

(FromAnqing Evening News,November 25,2020.Translation:Qing Run)