The Buried Truth

With a lot of doubt, I asked, "Why is my mother down here?"

While I was shocked, my father immediately adopted a scoundrel look, dusted himself off, and sat lazily on the high wooden threshold of the old house. "She committed suicide by jumping into the well," he said disdainfully.

Upon hearing that, I was furious and yelled at him in front of everyone, "Didn't you always say that my mother ran away because of our family's poverty? How come now she committed suicide? Which of your words is true?"

My dad retorted, "I said that because I was afraid that you were too young to accept it!"

I didn't know how to respond, so I asked doubtfully, "Why not bury her in the tomb in the back mountain?"

Unexpectedly, my father gnashed his teeth and said angrily, "She didn't deserve it!"

These three words immediately ignited a fury within me. I yelled, "But you couldn't bury her under this high threshold! Are you going to let her be trampled by countless people? Do you hate my mother so much that you let me step on her? What's in it for you?"

"This is the rule! Women who commit suicide deserve this punishment!" my father shouted.

"Rule? Where do this rule come from? Who made it?" I asked angrily.

Unexpectedly, my father answered with even greater arrogance than I had displayed. "This is the rule of our family! It has been established by our ancestors for generations!"

Knowing I couldn't argue with him, I gave up and asked, "Why did my mother jump into the well?"

Seeing that his dominating presence had overwhelmed me, my father proceeded with a seemingly fearless demeanor and impatience, stating, "I've already explained it to you. She simply didn't want to continue living, so she killed herself."

"Impossible!" I almost shouted these three words to my father.

Despite his apparent certainty, I knew he was lying because 20 years ago, there was a secret between my mother and me, a secret known solely to the two of us.

It was this secret that made me absolutely unable to believe that my mother would commit suicide!

However, I was too young at that time and knew almost nothing about the past, so I could only pin my hopes on my father.

In order to find out the truth, I swallowed my pride for the first time and begged him, "Dad, please tell me how my mom died."

However, he remained impervious, insisting, "She didn't want to live anymore."

Though I didn't believe it, I couldn't do anything.

Soon, the onlookers who had gathered by the entrance of the old house dispersed, and what was once a joyous opening scene transformed into a senseless mockery. I sat in a daze in the corner of the side room, confused and helpless.

When I thought about how that gentle woman left me in despair and misery, my heart began to ache uncontrollably.

I had never wanted to believe that the woman who was so gentle in my memory would leave me, who was only ten years old, and commit suicide in despair.

I heard that people who committed suicide would arrange everything in advance and then leave with a clear mind.

However, my mother had agreed to my request so sincerely. It was impossible for her to be so eager to end her life without even fulfilling my little wish.

She must have had some compelling reason to break her promise.

But what could it be? How did she die?

I asked myself this question countless times, yet all I got in response were still mottled walls and dust on the ground.

I got up helplessly. As I left, my elbow unintentionally scraped against a sizable fragment of the already crumbling paint.

As the dry lime soil scattered, the small red bricks within the wall were all exposed.

Inadvertently, I caught sight of a conspicuous white object nestled within the crevice between the dark red brick walls.