1985年的信
The letter from grandpa: a Chinese short story
Name: ________________ Date: ________
Key words
| Word | Pinyin | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| 寄 | jì | to send; to mail |
| 解释 | jiěshì | to explain; to interpret; explanation |
| 工人 | gōngrén | worker; laborer |
| 只好 | zhíhǎo | to have no choice but to; to be forced to |
| 按照 | ànzhào | according to; in accordance with |
| 地址 | dìzhǐ | address |
| 恐怕 | kǒngpà | I'm afraid; probably; perhaps |
| 将来 | jiānglái | future; in the future |
| 戴 | dài | to wear (a hat, glasses, jewelry, etc.) |
| 理解 | líjiě | to understand; to comprehend; understanding |
| 流 | liú | to flow; current; stream |
| 正好 | zhènghǎo | happen to; as it happens |
English (for the teacher)
Last week, Grandma got a letter. The envelope had gone yellow, and the stamp on it was from 1985. The sender said: Zhou Zhiyuan. The addressee said: Lin Shufen.
Zhou Zhiyuan was my grandpa. He died two years ago.
Later, someone from the post office phoned to explain: the old post office building was being knocked down, and behind an old cabinet the workers had unexpectedly found a sack of letters that were never delivered back then. So they were looking for the people the letters were addressed to back then, using the addresses on the envelopes. Grandma had never once moved house in her life, so although this letter was more than forty years late, it found her in the end.
Grandma's eyes aren't good, so she had me read it out to her. I carefully unfolded the letter. Grandpa's handwriting was big, and every character was written with great care.
Shufen: Next month I'm going south for work, and I'm afraid I'll be gone for years. There's something I've never had the courage to tell you to your face: I like you, and one day I want to marry you. If you're willing to wait for me, then on the third of May, please wear that red scarf and come to the station to see me off. If you don't come, I'll understand, and I'll never bother you again. Zhiyuan.
When I finished reading, the room was quiet for a long time. I thought Grandma would be sad, but to my surprise she suddenly started laughing, laughing until the tears ran down.
“I never even got this letter!”
“So, on the third of May, did you go to the station or not?” I asked, curious.
“I did.” Grandma wiped away her tears. “But I went to see off my cousin; he just happened to be on that train too. It was terribly windy that day, and my mum insisted I put on a scarf.”
That scarf just happened to be red.
Grandma said that on the platform that day, the moment Grandpa saw her, he went bright red. He came over, all worked up, took her hand and said: “I understand, thank you! Don't worry, I'll definitely come back!” And with that he got on the train. Grandma stood rooted to the spot, completely baffled, thinking this man must be mad.
Three years later, sure enough, Grandpa came back. The first thing he did was go to her house. A year after that, Grandma really did marry him.
“Right to the very end, he thought I'd gone there that day just for him.” That's what Grandma said.
She carefully put the letter back in its envelope, then took the red scarf out of the drawer. The scarf was very old now, and its colour wasn't as bright as it used to be. She laid the letter gently on the scarf and said quietly: “There, Zhiyuan, this time I really got it. My answer is yes.”