MY TEACHER
My former teacher, who had taught me English for six years, is a woman in her sixties. I describe her as a "woman" at her age because in my mind's eye, she never loses her attraction in fashions, light cosmetics, and particularly, her skills scarves whether it is in summer or winter. I still remember the first day when I met her in junior high school, she showed me around the new campus and my nervousness melted gradually in her unassuming manner, something resembling my grandma's, and something more beyond the average older person's.
She was born in Hong Kong and after her Westernized education, she became a journalist. Owing to this special profession, she could come to China freely, there in Beijing, she met a young engineer who later on won her heart and married her. Then she stayed, serving as a faculty member in Beijing Foreign language Institution. Maybe she was destined to enjoy mo tranquility, for everything changed almost in a day's time. Because of the unprecedented culture revolution, she and her husband, they two intellectuals were sent to a small town - though it becomes my hometown - and it was they who, dedicated themselves to the so-called city construction. She swept the streets, plants trees, and did all kinds of labor but return to school. As to that period of time, she just sighed a simple reply "the past has passed, I have not, and will still not regret my decision to stay." But more and less, her wrinkled serious face revealed her untold stories and endurance. Teacher that she is, she's well-known for drawing cartoon pictures. Dull texts were changed into impressive clues and knowledge that most interested us. Often it was up to us to stand on the rostrum, expressing whatever we had to say in English. She would rather be an audience sitting among us, and of course, a stern critic as well.
She set up her own image to teach us knowledge, and also, a sense of responsibility. During one winter vacation, she volunteered to assist us in preparing the provincial English contest. I clearly remember a day just before the New Year's Eve, when she appeared a little bit late like a snowman in the classroom, the whole noisy class fell into silence. It was snowing hard outside, yet the inside warmth encouraged us to work even harder.
Ever year groups of students said good-bye to her on their way to college. Luckily I was one of her last students as now she has got retired. It seemed to be arranged that we went to see her during every vacation. How I wish to listen to her again, sharing her fresh ideas about the national affairs, about the campus, about each of her Christmas Days in Hong Kong. She's still young and talkative, as IN the days in her teaching career.
Bad news came that her husband died of cancer this summer before I went back. How could she endure such misfortune? How could she kill her loneliness? I wondered on the upstairs to visit her when I heard that piece of familiar piano music. The tone sounded so elegant that it reminded me of the player at once - it must be my dear teacher!
Now she's living alone as her two daughters live abroad. "You see the walls of original novels? I bought them at your age but not until now could I have enough time to red. And my favorite piano, the birthday present sent by my husband, will keep me company." With these words about her leisure, she sat down by the piano again.
I was deeply engrossed in her playing, through which I knew her further, a devoted teacher WHO seeks neither fame nor gain, and a splendid character who has undergone a lifetime of ups and downs.
