But even though she was too busy, she didn't yell directly to refuse to hurt the child, and she was full of apologies for the child. Her helplessness makes people sad, and her love for children makes people moved.
original text
I still remember my first hope. It was a Sunday, from morning to afternoon until dark.
My mother promised to take me out that Sunday. I don't remember where I went. It may be the zoo, or it may be somewhere else. Anyway, she promised to take me out to play that Sunday a long time ago. It can't be wrong. It's never wrong for a person to expect a day for the first time in his life. And just that morning, my mother vowed: of course. I think I'm looking forward to it after all.
Get up, brush your teeth and eat. It's a sunny spring morning. Let's leave now. Wait a minute, wait a minute. I ran out, stood at the street corner and waited for a while. I hid behind the door for a long time. I know it won't be that simple. Wait a minute. I have to hide quietly for a while.
Mom came out, but I forgot to scare her. Why is she holding a vegetable basket in her hand? You said go! Wait, after buying vegetables, go and buy vegetables. Are you leaving after you buy food? Hmm.
It's been a hard time. I stepped on a square brick and jumped around the house, waiting for my mother to come back. I watched the sky and clouds go away, waiting for my mother to come back, anxious and excited. I squatted on the ground in the yard, fiddling with a nest with branches and crawling to find more nests. I am the only child in the yard, and I have no one to play with. I sat in the grass and looked through an illustrated book, which I have seen many times.
There are a group of girls older than me, all beautiful. I sat on the grass watching them, imagining their home, imagining what they are doing at the moment, imagining their brothers, sisters and parents, imagining their voices. The grass was green again last year, and the yard was big and empty.
My mother went through everything when she came back from shopping. Let's leave now. Didn't you say you would leave when you came back from shopping? Okay, okay, can't you see I'm busy? That's weird. I should have done it, right? Isn't it? I've been waiting. Didn't my mother say yes? I followed my mother's leg all morning: Go? Go, go, why don't you go? Let's leave now.
I just chased my mother's legs and watched her do one thing and another. I am not as tall as her legs. Those two nonstop legs are still shaking in front of my eyes. They won't stop. They tripped over me several times, and I almost twisted between them several times and knocked them down.
In the afternoon, my mother said. In the afternoon, wake up and take a nap. "Go," said mother. "In the afternoon, definitely." . But this time it's my fault, my fault, I overslept. When I woke up, I saw my mother washing clothes. It's not too late to leave then. Let me see. It is not too late. Still going? Let's go Let's leave now. Finish washing clothes. I can't forgive this time. I don't know how long it will take to wash that pile of clothes, but mom should know.
I squatted beside her and watched her wash. I said nothing, looking forward to it. I don't think I'll leave half a step and oversleep again. I think I'll pick her up as soon as the clothes are washed, and I won't allow her to delay any longer. I looked at the clothes in the basin and the clothes outside. I look at the sun and light. I didn't say a word, and suddenly I understood a little.
I can still feel the long and sharp change of light, the lonely and melancholy dusk is coming, and I can still hear my mother clicking her clothes, which is endless like the footsteps of time. That Sunday. That day. Mother found the boy squatting there motionless, and found him crying, crying silently. I felt my mother shake off the water in her hands in horror and pull me into her arms.
I heard my mother say, kiss me and say, "Oh, I'm sorry, oh, I'm sorry …" That Sunday, I was going out, but I don't remember where I went. The boy squatted by the big, heavy washbasin, snuggled up to his mother's arms, closed his eyes and stopped looking at the sun. The light disappeared irretrievably, and it was desolate.