Volume 5 I turned around and saw that Teacher Xiao was actually sitting on a tractor Chapter 2

  Here is the translation:

  The Spring Festival of 1975 was approaching, and the streets were already filled with atmosphere. The units on both sides of the road had long since changed their signs to "Happy Spring Festival" at their gates, and colorful boxes of pastries had been placed on the shelves of shops. But the weather before the Spring Festival was terrible. A strong northwest wind blew from morning till night, its loud howling making people's hearts tremble with fear. When I left school, it was already 5:30 in the afternoon, and the sky was almost completely dark. Outside the school gate, there was a bus stop. This stop was specially set up for the big unit next door, and it was called "Big Station". I stopped under the station sign. Walking east, after crossing the road, there was a tall, vermilion-painted gate tower, with a pair of stone lions squatting at the entrance, just like the ones on Tiananmen Square. Every time I entered from here, I felt as if I was entering through the lion's mouth, step by step into its belly. This was the west gate of this big unit. The compound occupied a very large area, and there was a famous artificial lake in the campus. Our school's swimming pool had long since been drained of water, but this lake still maintained its rippling waves. On the lakeside, there was a corner called "Tianxiu Garden", which was the residential area for the main leaders and some renowned professors who had not been overthrown. My mother's family lived inside. Walking west, there was another gate. In fact, it couldn't even be counted as a gate - just a door frame, with most of its paint peeled off, revealing the rotten wood inside. Maybe there used to be a door here. Entering from this "gate" led directly into the big unit's staff dormitory compound, where my grandmother and I lived.

  I stood in the darkness, with strong winds almost blowing me away. Should I go back and tell grandma first? I hesitated, but it's better not to say anything, let grandma think I'm still at school, that would make her feel more at ease. So, I headed east again, once more experiencing the feeling of "entering a lion's mouth, step by step into its belly".

  When I arrived at my mother's house, she had already finished work and was cooking dinner in the kitchen. She asked me to sit in the living room for a while.

  This is a brand new three-bedroom apartment, with snow-white walls and pale green doors. The smell of cement can still be faintly detected. In the living room, there's an additional circle of sofas, with spotless white sofa covers. I heard that my mother and her husband "have made progress again". My mother has been promoted to a member of the Great Revolutionary Committee, while her husband has been transferred from the Great Revolutionary Committee to the Municipal Writing Group. This family of theirs, I don't have any feelings of connection with them, only knowing rationally that one of them gave birth to me, and therefore can boss me around.

  The sofa is not for sitting, I'm sitting next to a square table.

  "Have you eaten? Come and have some!" The mother in her apron brought out a dish from the kitchen and placed it on the square table.

  I quickly stood up, "No, I'll go back and eat."

  "Is it because the old lady doesn't let you eat here?"

  "No. My grandma is waiting for me at home for dinner!"

  The mother didn't say anything else and silently started wiping the table.

  Ling's main part looks like her mother. They both have a striking face, with a stern and cold expression between their eyebrows. Her mother is a very strict woman, who doesn't talk much, even when she's happy, she doesn't smile often. Her hair is always combed neatly, whether standing or sitting, her body is always straight.

  I am also her biological daughter, but I don't look like her at all. This may be one of the reasons she doesn't like me! Who do I look like? Do I look like my father? No one has ever mentioned this.

  All I know is that seventeen years ago, when I was one year old, she and Father divorced. Fifteen years ago, when I was three years old, she became Ling's mother and left me.

  Mother wiped the table and sat down beside it, saying: "Okay, then I'll talk to you about serious things first!" She also shouted into the inner room: "Lingling, pour water for your sister!"

  I just found out that Ling also stayed at home and ignored me all along.

  My mother took a glance at me and asked, "Graduation is near, isn't it?"

  "I said: 'After the Spring Festival.'"

  "How will you distribute it?"

  "Like the 73rd session, basically all of them cut in line."

  "Where can I cut in?"

  "Right in Changping."

  Mother nodded and asked: "Are you going to join the production team?"

  "I'm the boss, I don't need to line up."

  Her mother crossed her arms over her chest, leaned back in her chair and said: "Who says the eldest can't cut in line? The second child is 12 years younger than the first, so only the first child can cut in line! It's national policy, why do you just pick the part that benefits you?"

  "I bit my lip: 'Isn't it said that if there's really trouble at home, the eldest can also skip the queue?'"

  "What's wrong with our family?"

  "My grandmother is in poor health and has no one to take care of her."

  "Is grandma your immediate family? I am, and you are too!" Mother said, straightening her back. After a pause, she said: "Although you don't live with us, others will still consider you as one of the two children. If you don't go, in two years your sister will have to go instead. Do you dare to let your sister go? Your sister is not suitable for rural life, she can't even stay there for a day! Later on, if she refuses to go, it will affect her father's reputation. Others will use this matter to attack him!"

  After a whole day of consideration, her mother was thinking about her husband. Her mind is really deep!

  "So, you should go join the queue." Mother said with a tone that brooked no argument.

  My heart suddenly turned cold, and I felt like crying, but I won't cry here.

  At this time, Lingling walked out with a cup of water and saw the scene. She put the cup in front of me: "My mom is talking to you!"

  I asked my mother: "What about my grandmother?"

  "Your grandmother's body isn't very good, is it?"

  Lingling added: "Exactly! Every day making phone calls for others, running around with great energy!"

  My eyes widened and a surge of anger rose in my heart.

  "Mother said: 'This is our own family's business, why are you always dragging outsiders in? Besides, I think the old lady won't have any problems for several years to come!'"

  I retorted: "Then you can't bully her either!"

  Ling Ling rushed over and shouted at me: "Who bullied her? How dare you speak to my mom like that?"

  "And how dare you talk about my grandmother?"

  "What's wrong?"

  "I won't allow it!"

  Ling Ling suddenly stretched out her hand and pushed me: "Get out! Get out! Get out of our house!"

  I stood up, pushed her away, and turned around to walk out.

  "Stop right there!" Mother shouted from behind, "Who spoiled you like this? I only let you live with her because she raised you! What's wrong with you now, don't you care about anyone else except your grandmother? Turn around and face me!"

  I stood facing the door, motionless.

  "Didn't hear? Turn your face around!"

  I still won't move.

  My mother suddenly rushed over, grabbed my shoulder and shook it violently, scolding me angrily. Lingling pressed my head against the door and bumped it hard. I didn't make a sound, but desperately struggled to break free, causing the door to shake loudly with each bump. It wasn't until Lingling's father came home from work and pushed open the door that the two women stopped.

  I hid under the stairs of the library, wiping away my tears, afraid that if I went home with red eyes, Grandma would notice. Some people say crying is also a kind of enjoyment, but I couldn't even enjoy a good cry. I couldn't let Grandma see me cry, or she'd be more heartbroken than I was.

  As soon as you enter the gate of the teachers' dormitory, you can see a small house. It stands alone on the right side of the door frame. There is a public telephone in the house, and Grandma is responsible for passing on phone calls to dozens of households in the entire courtyard. Grandma makes a living by doing this to support us two. My grandfather was originally the principal of a well-known middle school, but he passed away soon after liberation. Grandma was also a teacher at that school, but because her family background was "capitalist", despite being an excellent teacher for many years, she was dismissed from her public post during the Cultural Revolution.

  The small house was divided into two rooms, the outer one being where we made phone calls and cooked meals, while the inner room was where my grandmother and I slept. As I entered the house, there was no one inside, but the phone was left on the table. Before my grandmother returned from making a call, I quickly grabbed the mirror on the desk to carefully check if there were still any signs of crying on my face, and then tidied up my hair which had been messed up by my mother and Lingling. After doing all this, I quietly lay down on the bed.

  There was a commotion outside, followed by a man answering the phone in a loud and rough tone. A few minutes later, it quieted down outside.

  The curtain was lifted, and an old woman with a thin build came in. At first glance, she looked like a typical southerner, with a pale face, deep eye sockets, and white hair that was neatly tied back with bobby pins. She wore a thick cotton padded jacket on top, but only a thin pair of pants on the bottom, and on her feet were homemade "cabbage shoes".

  "What's wrong with you, lying down without eating?"

  I stared at the ceiling and didn't say anything.

  Grandma walked over and put one hand on my forehead.

  I dodged and turned away, uttering a perfunctory sentence: "I don't want to eat anymore."

  Grandma withdrew her hand and said firmly, "That's not going to happen!" She turned around and walked out. Outside, the sound of a spatula hitting a wok was heard. Before long, the aroma of fried scallions wafted in.

  The room was dark. The light came in through the gap of the curtain. I stared at the ceiling, and a thing floated into my mind. It seemed to be the first thing I remembered after I knew things. At that time, my family still lived in a courtyard house in the city. On that day, a woman came to our home with red and swollen eyes. She didn't say a word, just looked at me. She brought me a new flower apron, put it on me herself, then handed me over to my grandmother and left. It wasn't until much later that I knew that on that day, my father had died of illness. The woman who came was my mother. Every time I think of this thing, my hand feels something - the feeling when my mother grasped my hand and put the apron sleeve on my arm at that time.

  My father is a vague figure in my memory. He was originally a lecturer at this university, but he died too early, and now almost no one remembers that there was such a person. There are no photos of him left at home, and everyone avoids mentioning his affairs as if they were taboo. It wasn't until the Red Guards ransacked our house that I learned from their curses to my grandmother that my father was a "rightist", and my mother divorced him for this reason. From my political class, I know that the derogatory term "rightist" has a history that is exactly as long as my growth history. As far as I know, among my peers, only I have a relationship with this derogatory term. This makes me very sad. All kinds of fathers who work in various professions are everywhere, why did I happen to get a father who was a rightist? There are all sorts of families that can be reincarnated into, why did I happen to be reincarnated into a family with a rightist father? I once asked my grandmother to tell me about my father's affairs, but as soon as she mentioned her son, she pulled my hand and said pitifully: "Don't ask these things anymore, don't think about these things! It's all in the past, people are dead, what's there to ask?"

  Grandma was most afraid of others mentioning her son. She really seemed to have never had such a son, or that person was not her son at all. At the beginning of the Great Cultural Revolution, Grandma was always called to be beaten and struggled against. Once I was there too. Others asked her: Is Yu Yang anti-party and anti-socialist? She nodded and replied: Yes! Others asked her: Should Yu Yang be infamous for eternity? She nodded and replied: Should! Anyway, no matter what others asked her, said about her, or scolded her, she would nod. At that time, I really felt disgusted with Grandma's behavior. Back home, I didn't care about her, and even didn't want to eat the food she cooked. But I found out that Grandma often cried quietly in the deep night. Gradually, my heart softened, and I pitied Grandma. Grandma was my only relative, no matter how she was treated outside, as long as she came back home, she would take care of me meticulously, protect me, and never pass her grievances to me. I felt that Grandma was the kindest person in the world, the most compassionate person, and the most lovable person. Now if someone dares to come and struggle against Grandma again, I will definitely stand up to protect Grandma, I will fight for Grandma with my life, I will!