By Gao Jianying

When my father was 87 he walked with a sluggish gait,could hardly force a morsel of food down, and was very hard of hearing.

His daily routine consisted of the TV, the newspaper and sunning himself, but when not doing that he would space off and fall asleep. After being cared for by my sister and me for a time, he took on a new habit–waiting for me to get home. He got to know exactly when I would get off work.In the wintertime, he would be sitting by his window, in the summertime he would be peering through the doorway in anticipation. One day I got off work late and didn’t come to check on him. The next day my sister told me that he had been laying there by the door staring off into the darkness.I wasn’t sure if it was that my father was worrying about me or just missing me. There were so many times that I would walk through the door and call his name, then sit by his side for a spell and go. When I was leaving I could feel his desperate gaze, like knives stabbing me, pleading for me not to leave, like he wanted me to stay right there by his side forever and ever, keeping him company.

Sometimes he wanted me to listen to his stories about Yan Xishan, one-time warlord of Shanxi Province, or Fu Zuoyi,who was once a Kuomintang general but later became a powerful politician for the People’s Republic of China.He told stories of scorched earth and how the Japanese or bandits came to his village robbing, pillaging, plundering and burning down everything in sight. He couldn’t hear himself speak and thought that I couldn’t either, so while he was telling his stories his voice got so loud I thought his windpipe would burst. There were so many times that he would get confused and keep calling people by the wrong name. I couldn’t help busting a gut, but at the same time my heart twisted into knots. I know it was just that he was getting up there in years and things got all mixed up in his mind.

父親87歲了，走路很慢，吃飯很少，耳朵很聾。

父親每天除了看電視、看報紙、曬太陽，就是發(fā)呆打盹兒。自從兩年前姐姐伺候他以來，他添了個新習(xí)慣，就是等我。他準(zhǔn)確地掌握著我每天下午下班的時間，冬天他在窗戶前等，夏天在大門口張望。有一天，我下班很遲，沒去看他，第二天姐姐說，昨天你沒來，爹一直趴在窗臺上瞭到天黑。我不知道父親是操心我還是想念我。許多時候，我進(jìn)門叫聲爹，在他身邊坐一會兒就走。我走的時候，能感覺到他渴望的眼神，似乎他渴望我永遠(yuǎn)坐在他身邊，陪伴著他。

有時候，他想讓我聽他說話，說閻錫山或者傅作義的故事，說日本人或者土匪進(jìn)村燒殺搶掠的事情。他聽不見自己說話，以為我也聽不見，說話時嗓門大得驚人。許多時候，他說的人張冠李戴，我覺得又好笑又難過，我知道，父親真的老了，他的思維混亂了。

他有兩個助聽耳機(jī)，平時不愿意戴。有時我和他說話，他睜著渾濁的小眼睛看我的嘴，完了就聽懂似的答應(yīng)一個“嗯”。這個“嗯”很有些獨(dú)特，拐了個彎兒，聽起來模模糊糊，既表示肯定，又表示疑問。我知道他根本沒聽見我說的話，就笑著說他“瞎答應(yīng)”，他跟著笑。看他傻笑我，笑得越發(fā)厲害，他也笑得越發(fā)厲害了。

有時候，我進(jìn)門叫他一聲，他也不答應(yīng)，看我一眼，笑笑，就坐下打盹兒去了。我看著他滿面皺紋的臉，覺得他打盹兒的樣子很逗，就“老貓兒、老貓兒”叫著，揪他的長眉毛，或摸他的光頭。他睜開眼睛，仿佛從遙遠(yuǎn)的地方回來，弄不清東南西北，看看周圍又仔細(xì)看看我，很開心地笑了，咂咂嘴，又閉上眼睛。他這樣子，我笑不出，有些害怕，怕他再也睜不開眼睛。

更多的時候，我們無聲地坐著。父親看房頂，看墻，看花草。他想什么，我不知道。我看著他的老態(tài)，想著他的日子在一天天地減少，突然心里發(fā)慌。父親世上只有一個，我可得多看他幾眼，多陪他幾天，哪怕沒話可說。當(dāng)然，這無聲期間，我常常走神，想那些生生死死的事情，那些恩恩怨怨的事情，那些轟轟烈烈和平平淡淡的事情，想父親講過的經(jīng)歷、故事和人物。想著想著，就會反省自己。離開的時候，我覺得十分滿足輕松。原來，放下手機(jī)，放下一切紛紛擾擾的欲望，陪父親安安靜靜坐一會兒，把腦子里的思想整理整理，竟是一種享受。這不是我在陪伴父親，倒是他在陪伴我。

（摘自《大同晚報》2017年6月17日）

He would often forget to wear his hearing aids. There were times while listening to me he would just sit there staring bleary-eyed at my mouth, then after finishing speaking he would reply with a guttural “uh-huh.” This was his unique trademark response; it was like his mind was stuck in second gear then it would switch gears and almost get up to speed,then it would zig and then it would zag, and he’d get discombobulated and let out this little “uh-huh”that said he was both cocksure and in doubt. But I had no doubt that he hadn’t heard a word I’d said; then I’d rib him a bit about answering me “mindlessly,” then we’d just have a good laugh. I’d watch him simpering, and the harder I laughed the harder he’d laugh.

There were times when I’d let myself into his house, call his name loudly but he wouldn’t answer, then he’d shoot me a mischievous glance, laugh out loud and fall right to sleep.Looking at his face full of wrinkles and creases as he lay there napping really tickled the funny bone. He looked like an old feline there taking a cat nap, which made me feel like calling out “here kitty kitty kitty,” then tug at his tail or pet his bald head. Suddenly his eyes opened, like he had just come back from some far away land and was totally disoriented.His eyes darted around to every corner of the room then looked me over carefully from head to toe, burst into cackling laughter and fell right back to sleep. Even though it was funny I just couldn’t muster a laugh, I was scared that his eyes would never open again.

More often than not, we would just sit there together in silence.He would stare, at the ceiling, the walls and the flowers, but I didn’t have a clue what he was thinking.Looking at the shadows of old age creeping languidly through the deep crevasses in his face I couldn’t help but think of how his days were numbered, and how small that number was getting.Suddenly my nerves were gripped in a deep panic attack. A person will only ever have one father in this world, I had to spend as much time with him as possible, even if that time was spent without a word between us. Of course,during this quiet time my mind would wonder off, turning to all those experiences, days and people that my father had told me about. All those stories of life and death, of kindness and enmity,of drama and adventure, and of warmth and peace. As I thought, I would grow quietly introspective.When leaving my father’s house,I would feel completely blissful and totally content. At the end of the day, setting my cell phone down and turning my attention to my father was leaving all the hustle and bustle and worldly desires at the door for a time of quiet solitude, with him giving me a chance to sort out the noise of my thoughts and silence my mind, which became a great joy.It wasn’t me keeping my father company, quite the opposite,it was my father keeping me company.

(From Datong Evening News,June 17, 2017. Translation: Chase Coulson)