|
|
Finally Father scooped a morsel of rice from his bowl, putting it in his mouth and started to chew. Then the dining room suddenly became alive. Hands and mouths were moving, chopsticks flying, and dishes changing places. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of chopsticks tapping, bowls and spoons clanking, mixed with the noises of people slurping soup, chewing crunchy vegetables, and loud burping—Da Ma had been suffering from ailment of the digestive system for a long time; and she couldn’t help belching once she had food in her stomach.
But no one talked. Like most of the ardent Confucius followers, Father forbade us to speak while eating. More than once Father quoted the line from Confucius’ Analects at the dining table: “Do not talk when eating or sleeping.” I understood the “eating” part, but the “sleeping” part really baffled me. How could people talk when they were snoozing? Even they did; how would anyone find out and reprimand the violator? I had asked Mama once, and she had told me not to question the saint.
“Heaven gave you two ears, but only one mouth. That means you should listen more and ask less.” Mama had said.
The adults didn’t need to abide by the rules that Father implemented, as always. San Ma would be the first one to rebel if she were prohibited from talking at the dining table. She loved to talk to Da Ma and Mama about what she had heard the night before at the Majiang table. Mostly gossips about the relatives, the neighbors, or the townspeople. When she was tattling, Father usually lent a deaf ear, while Da Ma and Mama nodded politely, smiling; seemingly riveting in the details of other people’s secrets and agreeing with whatever conclusions she induced from the stories.
None of San Ma’s small talks interested me. Because I didn’t care Who Auntie Hong’s daughter was engaged to, how much money Second Cousin Liang owed the Majiang House, or why Grandpa Cheng wanted to marry a young Kun Qu singer.
“Such a pretty girl,” San Ma sighed. “Lao Ye, remember the girl who played Little Green in White Snake at the Lotus Pavilion Theatre last week? She’s the one.” She said looking at Father, her lip was oily from the braised pork that she just swallowed.
Da Ma let out another burp, and Mama simply smiled. I knew that Father had never taken her anywhere, let alone the theatre. Father didn’t use to show off his young third wife in public until recently. In fact, no middle-upper class man in the right mind would allow any female members of his family to show their faces in public. But things changed. Ever since the collapse of the Qing Dynasty, some of the old traditions seemed to have undergone tremendous transformations. From the government bureaucracy to costume, hairstyle, every thing has gone through drastic changes. Men’s pig tails were chopped off, foreheads unshaved; even women’s bound feet were unwrapped.
|
本城市首頁
