Hwang Yuh (Albert) Chen from Taiwan When I was four or five years old, my mother was still a housewife, and she raised some ducks and chickens. One of the roosters was my favorite. He didn't have a name. I saw him as my friend. He had bright black feathers and a cockscomb. He was about two feet tall. Usually, we played hide and seek with each other in my house. When he was a juvenile, he always crowed at dawn. One day, my mother told me if I could not stop him from crowing at dawn, she would slaughter him. Then, I told him not to do it any more. It was so unbelievable; he seemed to understand what I said. He never crowed again at dawn after that day, but he came to my window and kicked the glass to wake me up every morning instead. When I started kindergarten, my mother also started to work. For this reason, one morning, she told me she was going to slaughter him. If we didn't eat him, his meat would become quite hard. Perhaps I was too young to understand why we had to eat him, but I knew I would lose my friend forever. In addition to me, he sometimes pecked every member of my family.
One night, I decided to do something to show my volition. That morning, I woke up early and after saying good morning to my mother I went out with my rooster furtively without my mother noticing. I left my house rashly and didn't take any food. I felt hungry all day long. My friend and I stayed in a small haystack that was made of straw. It was so hot there. I felt hungry, thirsty and tired; then I slept. I don't know how long I slept till my father woke me up. When I saw my father, his angry face told me that I would be killed. My father carried me under his arm, and I held my rooster while dangling in the air. I never ever had seen how strong my father was before that night. Although, my father didn't give me any punishment, I still wondered how he could find me. That straw house was my secret spot. Theoretically, no one knew this place except my rooster and me. Certainly, I dared not to ask this question to my father. After
a couple of days of disputing, I had no choice but
to face the truth that my friend was sentenced to
death. On a Friday morning, my mother held my
friend and used the knife to cut his neck.
Suddenly, his blood flowed like a fountain, and
then he died. I was not sure whether he hated me or
not. Even though I had witnessed the process, when
he became the main course of our dinner, I ate his
leg and cried at the same time. What the teacher says: Mining Memoriy Banks Return to: Childhood Memories | Issue 15 | Home Page
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