Which intersection did Third Brother enter the mountain from that day? Where did he go deep in the mountains? He didn't have tools like a shovel or a hoe, so how did he manage to dig up the bamboo shoots? What did he eat in a day? I have always wanted to know, but now that 40 years have passed, I don't have the courage to ask about these painful memories in front of my third brother.
My third brother was very eloquent, and with his extroverted personality, he always made people laugh when he spoke. My wife could be considered an expert in the integration of brain and mouth in terms of listening and speaking. In terms of speaking skills, I was inferior to her by eight or nine segments. They were completely on different levels, but she always praised him for being good at talking and was willing to listen to him. When third brother was talking about the past that happened to him when he was young, he didn't mention the matter of digging bamboo shoots and being beaten. This also confirmed my judgment that this beating was the thing he hated the most about father.
Father gave me a contradictory, sharply opposing, and vague impression of a two-faced personality. Just from the scene of him fiercely beating up a child less than ten years old like Third Brother, it was enough to prove that he was a "murderer". It was not too much to frame him as a "fierce" person. Us brothers could mercilessly spit on him without being condemned by morality and conscience. When my mother went to Qingdao, she told Aunt Liu about Father beating Third Brother. Aunt Liu firmly concluded that Father was a real bully. When I was fifty-six years old, Father passed away. When I returned to Jiangxi to take care of the funeral, I went to Qingdao to visit Aunt Liu and told her that my father was dead. She just whispered,"Is your father still worth mentioning?"”，I felt very embarrassed when I heard Aunt Liu say this because Aunt Liu was a Christian. This implied that I, the son of a bully, had never forgotten my bully father. My mother went to see God 20 years earlier than my father (1987). She had lived with my father for nearly 40 years. Before she left, she did not leave behind the conclusion that my father was a "bully". Instead, she said,"Your father is old and his teeth can't stand it anymore. You have to cook him well." Your father doesn't wear any good clothes. In the summer, buy him two undershirts and make him two pairs of big pants. They have to be loose-fitting…" (I started to cry when I wrote this. I left the computer and cried for a while. I drank a glass of water and wanted to calm myself down, but I couldn't…)
No! He couldn't say that his father was a "murderer". In order to prevent his family from starving to death, he risked being attacked by wolves in the middle of the night to go to the countryside to beg for more. He also brought back a few small pieces of braised pork that he got when he worked overtime to share with his family. However, he secretly picked up the residue in the swill to satisfy his hunger. Under the situation that his family could not eat enough, he asked his family to bring the only pot of porridge to the family who were too hungry to move on their way to escape from famine. These scenes and true acts of kindness had long been engraved in my bones. Even if they turned into ashes, they would remain in the universe forever. They would not change or be obliterated.
To be objective, there were only a handful of events that had left a "violent" side in our memories, including the beating of our third brother this time. He had destroyed the father-son relationship between us brothers and him by comparing one evil to nine good, or at most, two evil to eight good.”We brothers may first think of his "first evil" or at most "second evil", rather than his "eight or nine good".
At this point, a hazy question appeared in his mind: "Why is it so easy for us brothers to remember so few of Father's 'evils', but so difficult to remember so many of his' kinds'?”When he fiercely beat up my third brother, who could no longer get up, I trembled and hid in the corner of the bed, crying. At this time, the red braised pork he brought back after working overtime and the swill to satisfy his hunger, the touch that once touched me would disappear at this moment, but it replaced everything with hatred for him. Perhaps it was unfair for my father to use this emotional mode, but that was the truth at that time. It had long become an unchangeable brand in my mind.(After writing to this point, my complicated feelings returned to calmness, and the sadness and excitement from before had faded away...)
Father clearly knew that Third Brother had been hungry for a day and was so tired that he could not even crawl. Why did he still beat Third Brother so fiercely? Could it be that his third brother's stubbornness and bloodlust came from him, and he could unwillingly see his own stubbornness in his third brother? Perhaps his father did not like or even hated his own bloodlust, and this disgust and hatred for his own bloodlust found an imitation to vent on his third brother. It seemed that as long as he eliminated this stubbornness and bloodlust from his third brother, the bloodlust that he did not like could be eliminated.(This is just my speculation. I have no chance to discuss this with my father because he has gone to God. Even if he has not left, I would never have the courage to discuss this topic with him, even though I am also sixty years old.)
From an objective point of view, his father's beating of his third brother might be due to his inability to bear the burden of his family. He lived in the lowest class of society and was illiterate. Whether it was his ability to think or act, he was considered the most mediocre person in society. However, he had to bear the burden of supporting a family of seven in a reality full of social disasters. This was indeed far beyond his ability to bear.
The humble him could not find anyone to appeal to in the real world. No one would be willing to listen to him cry about poverty. He could not tell his family either. At home, he only faced a group of children who were ignorant of the world. He felt that he did not have the ability to tell these children the pain and unbearable in his heart. He would not tell his mother. He knew that his mother was helpless. No matter how hard it was, he would bear it himself. It was precisely because of this that he had his own unique traits. We brothers did not inherit the advantages. We accepted our fate and never blamed anyone. From the moment I could remember to the moment my father passed away, I had never heard him complain to society, the government, the leaders, or his colleagues.
The only person he could talk to was Jesus, whom he believed in. In the middle of the night on the second night after he beat up Third Brother, I seemed to hear a suppressed and low cry in my dream. I followed the sound and slowly looked for it. I seemed to see a black shadow in front of Third Brother's bed. I was so scared that I woke up. In the darkness, there was really someone kneeling in front of Third Brother's bed. His head was on the ground. The cry came from there. When I heard it again, it was Father's voice. It turned out that Father was kneeling on the ground and praying. That voice was extremely sad, humble, and gentle. It was hard to believe that this came from his mouth. This was a completely different person from the way he had beaten his third brother up. He repeatedly confessed to the " Lord " who was listening to him in the dark that he was guilty of hitting his third brother, but he had to do so because the child was too young and it was dangerous to enter the mountain alone. He had to teach his son a lesson by beating him up, but he knew it was a crime. I was actually moved by the fact that my father could make such a beautiful and kind sound. Because of his pious prayer, the iceberg of hatred I had for him began to melt.
Father kneeled on the ground and repented to his "Lord" thousands of times. He hoped for a miracle. He hoped that the "Lord" would answer him, even if hearing a reply from the "Lord" would cause his soul to leave his body. However, the "Lord" was so humble, so generous, and so kind. The Lord just listened quietly in the dark. He did not show any anger at Father's "sin", not even a word of blame. It was probably four hours. Father was tired from kneeling and his throat was dry. He supported himself on the ground with both hands and stood up shakily. He staggered away from Third Brother's bed. The next morning, he still looked at us coldly and went to work. For the next three nights, he knelt in front of his third brother's bed and prayed in repentance. Other than God, I was the only one who listened to his prayers for the next few days. From listening to him, I seemed to know that when Dad made a choice between good and evil, he was first willing to choose the good. When the choice of "good" was blocked or when the choice of "good" still could not achieve his goal, he could only be forced to choose "evil".
In the darkness, I listened to my father's confession to the " Lord ". I thought of my " sin " of using my orange leg to strike my classmate. I also hoped that this " sin " could be pardoned by the " Lord " because I had been forced to choose " evil." However, no matter how good the reason was, choosing 'evil' was the price of being sent to hell.
When my father was alive, he tried his best to make me a Christian. He thought that I would listen to him more than his sons because I would not contradict him when he said "Lord". He didn't expect his third brother to believe in Jesus with him, because more than 20 years ago, when his father talked about faith to his third brother, his third brother said," I'm too busy. Who has time to believe in those things?" His father pushed his father to the south wall. From then on, his father no longer had any hope for his third brother to believe in Jesus. However, after my father died, I didn't know what kind of motivation made my third brother repent and become a devout Christian believer. Whenever I called my third brother, he would always say "Lord". If he didn't say anything about "Lord", he would have nothing to say. It was enough to prove that third brother and father were the most connected sons, and not me. This also allowed Father to have a good explanation to God in heaven. Because before Father closed his eyes, I vaguely didn't promise him about the matter of faith. Speaking of which, I was the son who let him go to see God with regret, while Third Brother made up for his late glory in front of God after he left.
This book comes from：m.funovel.com。