About This Novel
In the winter of 1977, my mother and I went back to our hometown of Pucao to attend the funeral. I was nine years old that year. The third uncle, forty-seven, is dead. Mi Town is fifty miles away from Pucao. There were no cars at that time, so I had to walk to my grandma's house. I remember that there had just been a heavy snowfall that day, and my mother and I came out of the house at dawn, stepping on the snow and walking on the rugged mountain road. The crunch of snow under my feet and the coldness of snow pouring into my shoes buried the hardships of rural life in my young mind. Along the way, my mother had nothing to say, her face was sullen, her steps were hurried, and she didn't care about my speed. She kept walking forward as if she was catching a train. From time to time I would run a few steps to catch up with her and ask when I would be there.
What Readers Think
Rating
Community(0)
Rating
Community(0)
