I lay in Mother’s arms, filled with anger. Mother held me tight, sobbing, her tears dripping onto my neck. I lay there, motionless, filled with anger.
“Why did you have to bring me into this world, Mother?” I asked angrily.
Mother didn’t reply; she looked ghastly pale.
Suddenly I thrust out my right hand and tore at my chest furiously.
“For Mother’s sake, my child. . . .” Mother seized my hand.
I began to cry.
Wind whistled through the loquats outside the window. Raindrops, large and cold, fell onto my heart. I gazed at Mother—her face so ghastly pale—and reached to put my arms around her neck, which felt so thin and bony.
“Let me die, Mother!” I wailed, hanging on to her neck.
“Can’t, can’t child, my child. . . .” Her tears continued to fall onto my face.
Dim light shone on her hair, her messy, frosty hair.
Silence. Silence. Not a soul in the world, except for Mother and me; not a sound between heaven and earth, except for the wailing wind and rain.
“Let go, let go, Mother. I return to you this heart, I return to you this heart! You shouldn’t have given me this heart when giving birth to me. What’s its use in this world of ours!” With that, I tore at my chest again with desperate fingers, bursting with anger and sorrow.
“Oh, child!” Mother wailed with abandon. She seized my hand, which I struggled to break free.
Wind whistled through the loquats outside the window. Raindrops, large and cold, fell onto my heart. Dim light shone on her hair, her messy, frosty hair, her tears gushing forth. I held tight her neck, her thin, bony neck, wailing with abandon, too.
A teardrop from Mother’s eyes fell into mine, mixed with my tears, which gathered into a river.
Wading upstream in the river I entered Mother’s eyes, landed in Mother’s heart, and noticed that it had withered.
“Mother, you’ve given so much of your heart to your child, yet the heart you’ve given your child has received no blessings, only curses; no joy, only sorrow. So, here, Mother, I’ll take it out and return it to you!”
I unbuttoned the clothes, cut open the chest with fingernails, dug up my bleeding heart, and placed it atop that of Mother’s. The two hearts blended into one, our blood coursing with warmth again.
Hastily I sealed the chest, buttoned the clothes, stole away from Mother’s heart, came out from Mother’s eyes, and retraced my steps back to Mother’s knees.
Mother didn’t know.
“Mother,” I said to her, wiping away my tears, “I won’t be despondent any more. I don’t mind being ‘human’ from now on.”
Mother smiled, her heart filled with joy, her eyes glinting with hope.
Only Light, only the light on the wall, that knew what I had done inside Mother’s heart, couldn’t bear to see the smile and dimmed sadly thereafter.
(1924)