More Than Words, Op. 3

I cried for my brother six times.

I was born in a secluded village on a mountain. Day by day my parents ploughed the dry, yellow soil with their backs facing the sky.

I have a younger brother who is three years younger than me.

Once, to buy a handkerchief which all the girls around me seemed to have, I stole 50 cents from my father's drawer. Soon, Father discovered the crime. He made my younger brother and I kneel against the wall. In his hand was a bamboo stick.

"Who stole the money?" he demanded.

I was stunned, too afraid to talk. Father didn't hear any of us admit, so he yelled angrily, "Fine, if nobody wants to admit, you two should be beaten!" He raised the bamboo stick, preparing to strike me first.

Suddenly, my younger brother gripped Father's hand and pleaded, "Pa, I was the one who did it!"

The long stick rained blows repeatedly onto my brother's back. Father was so angry that he kept on whipping my brother until he lost his breath. After that, he sat down on our stone bed and reprimanded my brother: "You have learnt to steal things from your own house now. What other embarrassing things will you do in the future? You ought to be beaten to death, you shameless thief!"

That night, mother and I hugged my brother. His body was full of injuries, but he didn't shed a single tear.

In the middle of the night, I suddenly burst out crying out loudly.

My brother covered my mouth with his little hand and said, "Sis, don't cry anymore. Everything has happened."

I still hate myself for not having the courage to admit what I had done. Years have gone by, but the incident still looks like it happened yesterday. I will never forget my brother's expression when he protected me.

That year, my brother was eight and I, eleven.

* * *

When my brother was in the last year of his lower secondary education, he was accepted in an upper secondary school located at the village central. I was accepted into a provincial university.

That night, Father squatted in the yard, smoking packet by packet.

I overheard him, "Both our children have good results? Very good results?"

Mother wiped her tears and sighed, "What is the use? How can we possibly finance both of them?"

At that juncture, my brother walked out. He stood before my father and said firmly and determinedly, "Pa, I don't want to continue my studies anymore. I have read enough books."

Father swung his hand and slapped my brother in the face.

"Why do you have a spirit so damn weak? Even if it means I have to beg for money on the streets, I will send you two to school until the both of you finish your studies!"

And then he started to knock on the door of every house in the village to borrow money.

I stuck out a hand as soft I as could to my brother's swollen face, and said, "A boy has to continue his studies, if not, he will never be able to leave these depths of poverty.

I, on the other hand, had decided not to further my studies in the university.

Who knew, the next day, before dawn, my brother left the house with a few pieces of well-worn clothes and a few dry beans. He sneaked to the side of my bed and left a note on my pillow.

"Sis, getting into a university is not easy. I will go and find a job and send money to you."

I held the note while sitting on my bed, and cried until I lost my voice.

That year, my brother was seventeen; I was twenty.

* * *

With the money Father borrowed from the whole village and with the money my brother earned carrying cement on his back at a construction site, I was able to get into the third year of my university education.

One day, I was studying in my room. My roommate came in and told me, "There's a villager waiting for you outside!"

Why is there a villager looking for me, I wondered. I walked out, and saw my brother from afar. His whole body was dirty, covered with dust, cement and sand. I asked him, "Why didn't you tell my roommate that you are my brother?"

He grinned, "Look at my appearance. What will they think if they know that I am your brother? Won't they laugh at you?"

I felt so touched that tears filled my eyes. I swept away dust from my brother's body, and said, with a lump in my throat, "I don't care what people say. You are my brother, no matter what your appearance is!"

From his pocket, he took out a butterfly hair clip. He wore it on me, and said, "I saw all the girls in town wearing it. So I think you should also have one.

I could not hold back myself anymore. I pulled my brother into my arms and cried and cried.

That year, my brother was twenty years old; I was twenty-three.

* * *

The first time I brought my boyfriend home, the broken window had been repaired. And it looked so clean inside the house.

After my boyfriend went home, I danced like a small girl in front of my mother. "Mother, you didn't have to spend so much time cleaning the house!"

She replied with a smile, "It was your brother who came home early to clean the house. Didn't you see the wound on his hand? He was injured while replacing the window."

I went into my brother's small bedroom. Looking at his thin face, I felt like a hundred needles had pricked my heart.

I put some ointment on his wound and bandaged it. "Does it hurt?" I asked him tenderly.

"No, it doesn't. You know, when I was working at the construction site, stones kept falling on my feet all the time. Even that could not stop me from working and-"

In the middle of his sentence, he stopped. I had turned my back on him and tears were rolling down my face.

That year, my brother was twenty-three years old; I was twenty-six.

* * *

After I got married, I lived in the city. Many times, my husband invited my parents to come and live with us, but they didn't want. They said that, once they left the village, they didn't know what to do.

My brother had also disagreed. He said, "Sis, you just take of your parents-in-law. I will take care of Ma and Pa here."

My husband became the director of his factory. We wanted my brother to get the job as the manager in the maintenance department. But my brother rejected the offer. He insisted on starting work as a reparation worker.

One day, while on the top of a ladder repairing a cable, he got electrocuted, and was sent to hospital.

My husband and I visited him. Looking at the white gypsum on his leg, I grumbled. "Why did you reject being a manager? You will not have to do something dangerous like this. Look at you now: such a serious injury. Why didn't you want to listen to us?"

With a serious expression on his face, he defended his decision. "Think of brother-in-law . . . he just became the director, and I am almost uneducated. If I had become the manager, what kind of rumours will fly around?"

My husband's eyes brimmed with tears. I said, "But you lack education because of me!"

My brother held my hand. "Why are you talking about the past?"

That year, he was twenty-six; I was twenty-nine.

My brother was thirty-years-old when he married a farmer girl from the village.

At his wedding reception, the master of ceremonies asked him, "Who is the one you respect and love the most?"

Without thinking, he answered, "My sister."

He continued by telling a story I could not even remember.

"When I was in primary school, the school was in a different village. Every day, my sister and I walked two hours to go to school and back. One day, I lost one of gloves. My sister gave me one of hers. She wore only one glove and walked for so far. When we got home, her hand trembled so much as the weather was very, very cold, that she couldn't even hold her chopsticks. From that day on, I swore that, as long as I lived, I would take care of my sister and be good to her."

Applause filled the room. All the guests turned their attention upon me.

Words were so hard to find. "In my whole life, the one I would like to thank most if my brother."

And on this happy occasion, tears rolled down my face again before the crowd.

* * *

Love and care for the one you love every single day of your life. You may think that what you have done is just a small deed, but to that someone, it may mean a lot!