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The inventiveness of the memory can be a cruel thing. The
sound of excited footfalls racing down Wutong Lu 梧桐路 is
actually a solo homeward trudge after school. The carefully preserved snaps of
"many happy family dinners" are really the two rare occasions Dad
didn't come home drunk. The beguiling, apple-cheeked Xiao Ling 小铃...
well, just the only girl in the xiao xue 小学 who
talked, and was friendly, and sometimes let herself be touched. And you, my
best friend, my confidante, my day and night - who are you, really? After ten
years, after the tear-stained farewellat the Nanpu Bridge Station 南浦大桥站,
after years of letters, promises, hope, misery, I see you now across the
street. And I realise that who I thought you were, and who I thought I was,
belongs to the winter of 1936, but it is already Spring. [Loo Ching Ling 吕晶琳] |
