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My Father
作者：刘银求 张增威 陈青 王文 来源：《世界家苑》2024年第01期
ABSTRACT：My father Mr Jia pingwa’s short prose language plain， sincere feelings is exquisite， is unworkable through a few typical events reflects the father’s personality characteristics of the full text language typical of southern shaanxi， the characteristics of strong aboriginality for my father’s English translation， this paper try to smooth faithfully the content of the translation of the original works.
Keywords：Jia pingwa;My father;prose;family affection
My father， Jia Yanchun， devoted his entire life into teaching in rural areas， lived in Dihua Town， Danfeng County after he retired. At the beginning of that year， he suffered from his stomach cancer again. Seven months later， he couldn’t get up. Suffering from hunger and pain again and again， he died with a smile on his face suddenly at the night， twenty-seventh days later. At that time， the Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching and it was raining heavily. However， I was preparing to return back home the next day from a place four hundred miles far away. It could be beyond my consideration of my father’s passing away so quickly. Something accident related to my family seemed to predetermine to me in the past. On the very day when he arrived in Xi’an to have a health examination， I suffered from swollen eyes for no reason at all in the early morning. In the afternoon when he arrived， I immediately realized that something bad would inevitably happen. The health examination indicated that cancer was transferred. And my father was sent away after half a month later. I was nervous and struggling. In the meantime， I divined for him constantly. The auspicious divination had made me doubt that he would make a miracle. When I received the
announcement that he was ill seriously， I thought it was my father’s idea and he would hand over lot of things to me. After getting off the bus， seeing my elder male cousin granting me with a mourning hat， I suddenly realized that I had got back too late and everything was too late. My father slept calmly in his bier， eyes closed， with a copper coin in his mouth. Therefore， I had to accept a fact：he wouldn’t go out from the inside house to greet me as usual after hearing my footsteps and then told my mother， actually turning his face to me：your son comes back！ Nor would he always wave his hand and pick up the water boiler when I handed him a cigarette. That was to say， my father would never be intimate with his son.
I sat in the paillasse of the mourning hall and spent the last long night with my dead father. I fully understood the truth that life is short and bitter， but in the face of my father I could not feel a sense of detachment about it. In the muddy courtyard， everyone was busy with different things， and the drum band was blowing and beating. Through the light， I stared at the pear tree， which was planted
My Father
