[Brazil] Joao Guimaraes
Rosacho Xiangdong (translation)
father is a dutiful, responsible and honest man. According to several trusted people I know, he's been like this since he was a kid. In my impression, he was no more pleasant or annoyed than anyone else. Maybe just a little more taciturn. Mother, not father, is in charge of our family, and she blames us every day—sister, brother, and me.
But one day, something happened: my father ordered a boat by himself.
He is very strict about the boat: the boat should be made of mimosa wood, strong enough to float on the water for twenty or thirty years, and just big enough for one person. The mother is constantly nagging and complaining, and the husband suddenly wants to be a fisherman or a hunter? Father said nothing. Less than a mile from our house, there is a large river flowing through it, the water is calm, wide and deep, and the opposite bank cannot be seen at a glance.
I will never forget the day the boat was delivered. Father didn't look happy or anything, he just put on his hat as usual and said goodbye to us, no food or anything else. I thought my mother would make a fuss, but she didn't. She was pale and bit her lip. She only said one sentence from beginning to end: "If you go out, stay outside and never come back."
Father didn't say anything, he looked at me tenderly and motioned me to go out with him . I was afraid that my mother would get angry, but I really wanted to follow my father. We walked to the river together. I felt fearless and excited intensely. "Dad, will you take me on the boat?"
He just looked at me, blessed me, and made a gesture for me to go back. I pretended to do what he wanted, but when he turned around, I was behind the bushes and surreptitiously watched him. Father got into the boat and rowed away. The shadow of the boat is like a crocodile, quietly rowing across the water.
My father didn't come back, and he didn't go anywhere. He just paddled up and down that river, and floated and floated. Everyone was horrified. What never happened and could not happen is happening now. Relatives, friends and neighbors were talking.
The mother felt humiliated, and she hardly said anything, trying her best to keep her composure. It turned out that almost everyone thought (though no one said it) that my father was crazy. Others speculated that the father was fulfilling a promise he had made to God or the saints, or that he might have contracted a terrible disease, perhaps leprosy, and left for the sake of the family, and at the same time longed to be nearer to it.
Pedestrians passing by on the river and residents living near the banks said that no matter day or night, they never saw their father step on land. Like an abandoned boat, he floated aimlessly on the river alone and aimlessly. Mother and other relatives agreed that the food he had hidden on the boat would soon be eaten up, and that he would either leave the river and go somewhere else (which would at least save a bit of shame), or would regret it and return to home.
They were so wrong! Father has a secret source of supplies: me. I stole food to bring to him every day. The night before he left home, the whole family lit a yellow fire on the beach, prayed to the sky, and called out to him. I felt deep pain and wanted to do more for him. The next day I came to the river with a tortilla, a bunch of bananas, and some brown sugar, and waited restlessly for a long, long time. Finally, I saw the boat, far away, floating almost imperceptibly solitary. Father sits on the boat. He saw me but didn't paddle towards me, didn't make any gestures. I showed him the food from a distance, and put it in a small rock hole on the embankment (the animals couldn't find it, and the rain and dew couldn't get it wet), and I've been like this every day ever since. I was amazed to find later that my mother knew what I was doing and always kept food where I could easily steal it. She harbored many unspoken emotions.
Mother called her brother to help with farm work and business. We also invited teachers from the school to give us lessons because we have already lost a lot of time. One day, at the request of his mother, a priest put on a vestment and came to the riverbank to drive away the devil who was possessed by his father. He yelled at his father that it was his responsibility to stop this ungodly stubborn behavior. Another time, the mother called two soldiers to scare the father, but all was useless. Father drifted by from a distance, sometimes so far away that he could barely see. He never answered anyone, and no one could approach him. When the news reporter suddenly attacked and tried to take a picture of him, his father rowed the boat into the swamp. He knew the terrain like the back of his hand, and others got lost in it. In his labyrinth for miles around, with thick trees up and down, left and right, he would not be found.
We had to get used to the idea of my father floating on the river. But in fact it can't, we've never gotten used to it. I feel like I'm the only one who understands somewhat what my father wants and doesn't want. What I can't understand at all is how he can endure that kind of hardship: day and night, in the wind and rain, in the heat and cold, but with only an old hat and a flimsy shirt, day after day, year after year, life in waste and The emptiness passed by, but he didn't care at all. Never set foot on dirt, grass, islands or river banks. No doubt he also sometimes tied the boat to a secluded spot, perhaps the tip of the island, for a little sleep. He never had a fire, never even struck a match, he had no light. Just take the little food I put in the rock cave - for me. That is subsistence. How is his body? How much energy does it take him to keep paddling? Every time the river flooded, would the many dangerous things wrapped in the rapids—twigs, dead animals, etc.—suddenly crash his boat? How could he be spared?
He never talks to people. We never talk about him either, just silently in our heads. We can never miss him. If there was a moment when he seemed to miss him, it was only temporarily, and he would be awakened immediately by the horrific situation he was in.
My sister got married and my mother didn't want to throw a wedding party - that would be a sad thing, because every time we ate something beautiful and delicious, we would think of our father. Just like on a cold night with wind and rain, when we sleep in a warm and comfortable bed, we will remember that our father is still on the river, alone, without shelter, only a pair of hands and a scoop are trying their best to scoop out the water in the boat. Every now and then it is said that the older I get, the more I look like my father. But I know that my father's hair and beard must be long and messy now, and his fingernails must be very long. I pictured him in my mind: thin, weak, dark, with tousled hair, almost naked—though I left him a few clothes occasionally.
He doesn't seem to care about us at all, but I still love him and respect him, and whenever someone compliments me for doing something good, I always say, "Dad taught me to do it."
It's not Exact facts, but that's that honest lie. As I said, my father didn't seem to care about us at all. But why did he stay nearby? Why doesn't he go either down the stream or up the stream, where he can't see us and we can't see him? Only he knows.
My sister gave birth to a boy. She insisted that her father see her grandson. The weather was wonderful that day, and our family came to the river. The older sister, in her new white wedding dress, held the baby high, and her brother-in-law held an umbrella for them. We shout and wait. But my father never showed up. My sister cried, we all cried, and we all supported each other.
The elder sister and her husband moved away together, and the elder brother went to the city. Times change unknowingly. The mother finally left, she was old and went to live with her daughter. I was the only one left. I never considered getting married. I stayed alone to face the hardships of my life. Father, the father drifting alone on the river needs me. I knew he needed me, even though he never told me why. I asked others stubbornly, and they all told me: I heard that my father had explained it to the shipbuilders. But now the man is dead, and no one knows or remembers anything anymore. Whenever the heavy rain continued, some gossip would pop up: that the father was as smart as Noah and foresaw a new great flood, so he built the boat. I vaguely heard others say this. In any case, I will not blame my father for this.
My hair is gradually graying.
There's only one thing that makes me sad: what's wrong with me? What the hell am I guilty of? When my father left, I also got involved. Dahe always renews itself without interruption. The river is always like this. I was gradually exhausted because of old age, and my life was hesitant to move forward. Also loves to talk about attacks of illness and anxiety, suffering from rheumatism. What about him? Why, why? He must have suffered worse injuries, he was too old. One day he would be so exhausted that he would have to capsize the boat, or let the river wash it away until it was so full of water that it sank into the rolling undercurrent. This thing weighed heavily on my heart, he was adrift on the river, and I was forever deprived of peace. I felt guilty for not knowing what was going on, and the pain was a wound in my heart. Maybe I'll know - if things were different. I started to wonder what went wrong.
Forget it! Am I crazy? No, in our house, the word has never been mentioned in all these years. No one says anyone else is crazy because no one is crazy, or maybe everyone is crazy. All I did was run to the shore and wave a handkerchief, maybe that way he would see me more easily. I totally forced myself to do this, I waited and waited. At last he appeared in the distance, and there, just there, a vague figure sitting in the back of the boat. I called him several times. I solemnly swore to the sky, and shouted out as loudly as I could what I was eager to say:
"Dad, you've been swimming on the river too long, you're old... come back, you have to go on like this... come back, I'll take your place. Right now, if you want. I'll step on your boat and take your place
at any time." My heart beat even harder as I spoke.
He heard it, got up, and swung the oars toward me. He accepted my offer. I suddenly shuddered. Because he raised his arm and waved at me - for the first time in so many years. I couldn't... I was terrified, my hair stood on end, I ran away like crazy, I ran away. Because he is like someone from another world. I run and pray for forgiveness, begging, begging.
The extreme fear brought a cold feeling, and I fell ill. No one has seen or heard of him since. Am I still a man from now on? I shouldn't have done this, I should have been silent. But it was too late to understand this. I had to live in the vast wasteland of my heart. I'm afraid I won't live long. When I die, I want someone to put me in a small boat, go down the river, get lost in the river, sink to the bottom...the river...
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