Here’s the second part of Dr. Tzemin’s fiction, exclusively for Different Truths.

Section One

My name is Tzemin Tsai and I was born and grew up in a small fishing village. It located in a corner of the south coast of Taiwan, impoverished, backward and rustic. Most of the local residents lived on fishing and their economic conditions were generally poor. Almost every household must calculate their daily expenses carefully. However, because my father was a public servant and my mother was very diligent, we were not rich but have a stable live. Therefore, there was always no problem with living. In fact, in the hearts of my parents, there was a relatively headache trouble that I won’t speak when I’m a child, and I didn’t know how to make friends. Often, all day long, I always did not even say a word. The only person in the world who can communicate with me was my mother. When she spoke, I only listened quietly and did not answer any words. I never understood why she could always read mind just by looking at my eyes.

…it was as broad as a typical country house, enough to carry decades of memories.

Our home was a quadrangle house in the country, the vestibule was a shop, rented to a big fat uncle to run a barber shop. The atrium was the main place for a family to live, clothesline and all other activities, and there was a wood house to connect to the backyard. There was still a well and an open space in the rest, and no room on the right side. A tall slate wall was adjacent to the next door. Usually piled up with various sundries. There was a backyard after the firewood room. Several cannas and a pomelo tree stand there. A small fish pond next to the right wall. Yes, our family was not a luxury home, but it was as broad as a typical country house, enough to carry decades of memories.

The wonderful thing is that the kitchen was connected to the left side of the bedroom, so the kitchen window can be opened directly to the backyard. There were a group of chickens in the backyard. For others, they are food, but for me they are family members. I didn’t allow anyone to move my chicken, nor allow others to pick my cabbage, tomato, and bean sprouts I planted. Anyway, nothing was allowed. This was my parents’ second worry, they could only find the protein, vitamins and fat in the food from the market.

One day, my mother said, “Tzemin, can you help our mother to feed our chickens today?”

I had to go through the wood house where a lively and lovely little monkey lived in.

At that time, my mother was busy cooking, using one of her hands to hold the big pot, and the other hand stirring the smaller chicken feed tray nearby, obviously still lacks the third hand. I looked up at her. In fact, the chicken feed tray was not small for me at the time, but I have always been a little helper for my mother. I nodded hard, got up and picked up the chicken feed plate, and awkwardly turned to the backyard. But as you know, before that I had to go through the wood house where a lively and lovely little monkey lived in.

The little monkey was more elf than anyone else. When it knows that someone was coming, it jumped around and showed excitement. After picking up a banana and a mango in the corner of the kitchen, I walked in. I usually let the little monkey choose first, and the rest is mine. However, most of the time, the little monkey grabbed my mango after eating the banana, so we would quarrel.

…the little monkey was an unreasonable guy, but it doesn’t matter, for at that stage, this little guy was one of the only two friends in the world.

It screamed in the monkey language, I always used a firm expression and strong gestures to stop it, and I didn’t always give it up. We didn’t really quarrel, as you know, because in the end it always won the game, I was just only made fun of it, but therefore, you could know that the little monkey was an unreasonable guy, but it doesn’t matter, for at that stage, this little guy was one of the only two friends in the world.

After that, I went to the place where my mother raised chicken in the backyard. They were only surrounded by barbed wire and divided up a large piece of land. They were not trapped by the cage and were freer. This is one of my persistence. However, these chickens did not appreciate me very much. Sometimes they would fly over the barbed wire to the vegetable garden to pick up the vegetables and tomatoes I planted. It’s just that I’m not upset, at least not sadder than those chickens were killed or the vegetables were harvested and fried to eat. I would only gently hold them back into the net, even some strong chickens have grown bigger than me, of course, at the same time, by patting their wings, I warned them not to bite the vegetables again too. But all things were only like these.

Therefore, I often have to hear, my Dad and Mom complained to our relatives and friends that I love those chickens and vegetables must be more than them. I understand this joke, but for that only old hen, I have really and carefully conserved her from the bottom of my heart.

Many times, during that period, I liked graffiti, but the model would never change, it was always my dearest “old hen”

After painting an infinite number of times of old hens, I could gradually try to figure out the vivid images of the hens at various angles.

After painting an infinite number of times of old hens, I could gradually try to figure out the vivid images of the hens at various angles. In my mother’s drawer, there were piles of various pictures of “old hens”, and they were rapidly increasing. What especially true was that things have paid off in a year.

I could remember clearly, every time, when I poured the feeds into the trough, the flocks will gather around to snatch food and the scene was so amazing that made me who with only a thin and slender figure almost couldn’t bear it. Under the eagerness of some young and strong cocks, all the hens and chicks can’t grab enough food. But didn’t worry too much. At this time, I would call the hen to my side, and then took out some of extra feed from my pocket. Those are my customary secret treasures that I used to hide only for the old hen and the chicks. And I can succeed every time, because those bullies only care about the food in the trough and won’t notice me and the old hen. In this case, I gradually established a special revolutionary feeling with the old hen, and she naturally became my second friend in the world. I often used the time to hug her, smoothed her feathers, and talked to her, the old hen would become gentle and cute as long as in my arm.

When I would graffiti, she would lie on my feet or walk around, never went too far away, until one day, I accidentally found that through the kitchen window, my mother had been watching this scene silently.

“Tzemin, what did you say to the old hen?” asked Mom curiously.

I pointed to those bully cocks and put on a fierce expression.

I pointed to those bully cocks and put on a fierce expression. Mom knew the meaning, I felt wronged for the hen.

“But you can’t speak, can you? How does the old hen know what you are saying to it?”

My expression turned to be more confusing. When I didn’t speak, my mother could still understand me. And now why the old hen couldn’t?

(To be continued)

©Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai

Photos from the Internet