Chapter 9 — Dark Corner Outside the Light

I dreamed that on New Year's Eve when I was five years old, broken pieces of bowls fell all over the ground. She squatted down and told me don't cry, don't cry, I'm here. The me in the dream did not cry. In my dream, I bowed my head and looked at the broken bowl pieces, then stood up and went to get the broom myself. “Du Van, someone is looking for you.” In the fall of my fourth year, I was editing a book manuscript in a rented apartment. The publisher's editor urged him urgently. This is the final round of editing before final approval, every word must be confirmed multiple times. Lam Tieu Man called out to me from outside the door, then I heard a series of unstable footsteps. Not the footsteps of one person. It's three people. I went out to the living room and saw three people standing outside the door. Dad, mom and sister. Mom was wearing a dark gray coat that I had never seen before, and her hair was grayer than the last video call. Dad stood straight, like he was trying to defend against something, but his eyes didn't dare look at me. She stood behind the two people, carrying a cloth bag. None of the three spoke first. Finally, mother. “Mom and Dad want to come visit you.” It wasn't the voice that told me to go home. Not a commanding tone. It was such a strange tone that it took me a long time to recognize it. It's begging. I leaned over, giving way. “Come in and sit down.” Four people crowded into the small living room of the rented apartment. On the tea table are still spread out the manuscript pages I edited. Mother's eyes fell on the manuscript and took a look. “Is this the book you wrote?” "Yes." She touched the edge of the paper, her fingers shaking slightly. "I haven't finished reading it yet. After reading the third article, I can't continue reading it." I didn't reply. From beginning to end, Dad did not sit down. He stood near the door, like a student who made a mistake and was called to the back of the class. “Du Van.” "Yes." “For the past year… is it okay for you to live alone?” "Fine." “Are you full?” "Have." “Is the money enough?” "Enough." Every time he asked a question, his voice lowered a notch. By the time he asked the last question about whether he had enough money, his lips were trembling. Mom took out an envelope from her pocket and placed it on the tea table. "This is the congratulatory money at your table at that university entrance party. I calculated it again. One thousand from Third Aunt, eight hundred from Second Uncle, plus other relatives is four thousand seven hundred. Counting both capital and interest, I give you five thousand." The envelope was very thick, not sealed, cash could be seen inside. I don't touch. “Mom, I didn't leave because of the money.” “I know.” Her voice suddenly became hoarse. “But this money is yours, I can't owe you.” “What I owe you is not this.” After that sentence was said, the living room was so quiet that you could hear someone pulling the trash can downstairs. Mother bowed her head. Bow very low. So low that I could see the gray roots of her hair on top of her head. “The day of the university entrance celebration party, my aunt asked me which school I passed.” Her voice broke. "No one at the table could answer. At that time, mom was holding the glass of wine, her mind was blank. It wasn't that she didn't say anything on purpose, but she really... couldn't remember for a moment." She raised her head to look at me. Scary red eyes. "You passed the entrance exam to Zhejiang University, a school that only those in the top two thousand positions in the province can enter. The day you passed the exam, what were you doing? I was booking a hotel to hold a celebration party for your sister. When your admission notice was sent home, I was packing my sister's luggage." "Forty days. That letter was in my drawer for forty days." Her voice began to crack. “Every day I pass by your door, but never once push that door open to look at you.” I stood there, my hands in my pockets. In my pocket, there was a piece of candy Lam Tieu Man stuffed for me in the morning, hard and hard. “Mom, my eighteenth birthday, do you still remember?” She was stunned. “Your birthday is…” She paused for three seconds. “September 15.” "Incorrect." There was another period of silence. “…August 23?” “That's not true either.” Mother's face immediately lost all color. She turned her head to look at her father. Dad opened his mouth but couldn't say anything. She looked at her again. She stood in the corner, her head bowed, her voice very low. “July 9.” I looked at her. “I remember.”

“When I was in third grade, I told you.” Du Di Huyen raised her head, her eyes red. "You said your mom always doesn't remember your birthday, so tell me to help you remember, so at least one person remembers." I had forgotten about this. But she still remembers. Mom just couldn't take it anymore. She covered her face, her shoulders kept shaking, crying but making no sound. Dad went to help her, his eye sockets were red. In the living room, there was only the suppressed sound of my mother's crying. I looked at them, I had a very strange feeling in my heart. Not joy. Not angry. It's a very deep, indescribable fatigue. It's like running a long race, finally reaching the finish line, but when you get there you realize you just want to sit on the ground and don't want to do anything. "Mom." She raised her head, her face full of tears.