Over the years,I’ve been feeling the cruel fleeting of time on my father.All his organs,including teeth and bones,are rapidly turning fragile and loose.Whenever I meet an old man on the road,I can’t help looking a few extra seconds—I sometimes even run up to them to see whether they are my father.

My father,now losing his angular face and strong figure,is aging like all the other old men—skinny,dull,and unsmiling.When he was young,he was quite noticeable because of his shining bald head.I would know when he was coming from a mile away.As a kid,I was nicknamed Ge Weijiao.“Wei” is my family name,while my given name “jiao”denotes trouble-making.My naughtiness was well-established in our neighborhood.As long as there was a fight around,I was the instigator,who would usually end up being disciplined by my father.This repeated punishment made me doubt whether he was my biological father.One day,I helped my father press red taros in the field,which pleased him so much.My teacher passed by and casually lodged a complaint against me.My father grabbed the pole and swung it at me.I was quick in eye and hand,but my long legs could not keep up,and the iron hook caught me,branding me with a trickle of blood.

I held my leg and skipped because of the pain,quite like an ant on a hot pot.He clutched me,laid me down on the ground,picked up a handful of sprouts,chewed them up,and pressed them to my wound.I could not help noticing that his steady hand was shaking more terribly than my leg.

It turned out that when I was hurt,my father was also in pain.My pain had been sensed by my father.

My father had a bad temper,partly because of my mother,and partly because of his illness.At the outset of each spring,my father suffered from bad ringworm.Once he heard that ringworm can be eradicated with a heated copper coin.In front of a twitching lamp,he rolled up his sleeves and asked me to burn the ringworm with a copper coin.I was scared and refused.So he did it himself.The copper coin was pressed on the arm,with his gnashed teeth and raised eyebrows.A smell of charred flesh squeaked and creaked,and it made the lights bend and gnaw at my heart like a knife.

But my father patted my head,beaming,and said it didn’t hurt at all.In tears,I was in agony.

这些年，感觉时间在不停提速，尤其是对父亲。在他身上，岁月的沙漠化一年深过一年，从牙齿到骨骼，他所有坚硬的部分，都迅速钝化、脆弱。走在路上，每遇见老人，我总会忍不住多看几眼，有时，还会从他身后追到身前……我总觉得，他是我父亲。

老了的父亲，失去标识度和分辨率，老成所有老人的样子——干瘦，呆滞，不苟言笑。但年轻时，他棱角分明，一顶光头佛光普照，哪怕十里外咳嗽一声，我也辨得出来者何人。

小时，我诨号葛维搅。维是辈分，搅是捣蛋，我的“皮”有口皆碑。基本上，只要有摩擦，罪就在我，以被父亲摁在地上摩擦结束。这俗套的剧情，常让我怀疑父亲是假的。那天，我跟着父亲压红芋，甚得他欢心。老师路过地头，随口参我一本。父亲顺手抄起扁担抽向我。我眼疾手快，但大长腿没能跟上，被铁钩抽到，烙出一道血印。

我抱着腿，疼得像热锅上的蚂蚁，蹦蹦跳跳。父亲捉住我，把我摁到地上，揽一把萋萋芽，嚼碎，敷在伤口上。我不经意看见，他稳健的手，比我的腿颤抖得更厉害。

原来，当我疼时，父亲也在痛。我的一半疼痛，一直由父亲默默领受着。

父亲脾气暴躁，一半是母亲点燃的，一半是癣疾煎熬的。年复一年，一开春，癣就援着他身体开枝散叶。不知听谁说的，用烧红的铜钱烫，就能把癣斩草除根。一盏抽搐的灯火前，他捋起袖子，让我烧铜钱烫癣。我做不到！他就自己来。牙一咬，眉一竖，火红的铜钱往手臂上一摁。一股焦肉味吱吱乱窜，撕咬得灯火弓起腰，啃噬得我心如刀绞。

父亲拍拍我的头，满面春风地说，一点也不疼。我满脸梨花带雨，痛得不能自已。

我从未想过，当父亲疼时，我也会痛。父亲的一半疼痛，从此由我默默领受着。

做了父亲后，我回去得少了，但会经常念及父亲，想象我这个年龄时的他，想象孩子这个年龄的父亲。起初是做反面教材，警醒自己别像他。慢慢地，我谅解了父亲，开始与他和解。无论在基因上，还是在生活里，我们都有彼此的影像。

前不久，父亲的腿不堪磨损，闹起罢工。我带他看医生，背他上楼、下楼。起初他很不适应，肌肤和骨骼都极不情愿地抗拒我。很快，他认了。回家时，他竟趴在我背上睡着了。在家门口，我扭头看他，他酣睡得像个孩子一样。我和父亲，互换了三十年。

或许，也可以说，父亲有一半是我，我有一半是父亲。

家里的地板刚拖过，很滑。我和父亲摔成一团。父亲醒了，龇牙咧嘴地问我摔得痛吗？孩子一手扶着我，一手打地板，念念有词。我满面春风地对他们说，一点也不疼。

（摘自《安庆晚报》2020年11月25日）

I never thought that when my father was in pain,I would be in pain,too.Half of my father’s pain has been felt by me,in silence,since then.

When I became a father,I visited his place less and less,but I often think of my father,recall what he was like at my age,and what he was like when I was at my child’s age.At first it was a reminder for myself not to behave like him.Slowly,I understood my father and began to reconcile with him.We resemble each other,whether in our blood or in our lives.

Not long ago,my father’s legs were so worn-out that he could no longer walk.I took him to the hospital and carried him up and down the stairs.He was uncomfortable at first,his skin and bones resisting me grudgingly.But soon he accepted.When we got home,he fell asleep on my back.At the door of my house,I turned to look at him.He was fast asleep like a baby.At the moment,it seemed that we had changed our roles and gone back thirty years in time.

Perhaps,it can also be said that my father is half me,and I am half my father.

The floor of the house was freshly mopped and slippery.My father and I took a tumble.He woke up,gritted his teeth,and asked me if I was hurt.My little child came up,holding me with one hand,while hitting the floor with the other.He mumbled in his own language,as if blaming the floor for its fault.Beaming,I told them that it didn’t hurt at all.

(FromAnqing Evening News,November 25,2020.Translation:Qing Run)