Fire is burning up the paper spinning wheel. In a flash， an old spinning wheel begins to drift like butterflies fluttering1 into my memory. The old spinning wheel once belonged to Grandma. It was re
Fire is burning up the paper spinning wheel. In a flash， an old spinning wheel begins to drift like butterflies fluttering1 into my memory.
The old spinning wheel once belonged to Grandma.
It was really old， as old as some withered artifacts in a museum or of an out-of-date story.2 Its hand rocker arm was rubbed smooth and bright， which could show its long life.
Grandma told me the spinning wheel was the dowry3 her mother gave her. Before Grandma got married in 1925， her mother repeated what she had always exhorted4： A woman who can’t spin isn’t a real woman.
So Grandma spun her life into the long thread with braided5 cords.
Grandma devoted most of her time to spinning whenever she was free from other domestic chores like cooking or cleaning. There was often buzzing from her room， like a drowsy lullaby，6 or an old and simple song. When I was a child， I liked to sit by Grandma on a wooden bench， watching her spin with my eyes fixed and my ears pricked7. Time had left its marks on her hands with horizontal and vertical wrinkles interlacing with each other， making them the witness of the elapse8. She lifted her big， roughened hand and flexibly moved back and forth through hundreds of intertwined threads.9
With her left foot treading on the wooden pedal in a certain rhythm only known to herself， Grandma spun with the most exquisite skills.10 She was so proficient11 in spinning as if her hands were full of magic—all the seemingly complex sewing and threading was an easy task for her. Without lifting her eyes or pausing her work， Grandma often told me stories as old as her wrinkly face. She said a woman should follow rules and should not take chances or run about madly. She particularly enjoyed talking about her glamorous12 youth and good old days like how she could spin a lot of thread and finished a delicate piece of cloth overnight， how people around were impressed and how she was credited as a handy and competent girl. She had always been a woman so industrious that she hurled herself at13 life with an energy that made her seem always at work， like the ceaseless running spinning wheel.
There was a gleam in her eyes. The satisfaction and pride often lighted her face， declaring that she had been what she was supposed to be “a real woman”.
My Grandma was ill in bed at that time， but eventually she discovered the wheel’s whereabouts27. How she burst out in fury！ Her hollow eyes glared with disbelief， her thin chin thrust with anger.28 She lay in bed， too shocked and irritated to utter a word. Then she exhaled all the pent-up anger and exclaimed in a hoarse voice， half crying， “Why did you ruin it？”29
“It’s too old and useless.” We tried to explain，“There’s no space for it.”
Her anger quickly subsided into untold melancholy.30 “You can repair it； you can use it when you get married.” I was startled at her remark which reminded me of the heavy promise.
“Grandma， we don’t need to use that spinning wheel you know. Nowadays， shops are full of polyester fiber31... Now I’m studying. Someday I might go out to the big outer world.”
“Big outer world？” Grandma’s face was filled with wonder.
She would never know.
Grandma’s anger and despair were incomprehensible32 to me years ago. I had always believed in a naive conviction33 that age and depression could be overcome by a simple encouragement. I tried to convince her that by the time I got married， I could just simply buy smart clothes in supermarkets without any trouble. Yet I failed to realize that life ahead of her was never a big， new world， but the unchanging stony earth. A poor village.
In 1987， Grandma died of old age and perhaps the incurable depression at losing the spinning wheel. A year later， our family moved to a bigger county， leaving the poor village behind.
Now， living in a bigger city where spinning wheels have become extinct， I often recall my Grandma， that haunting image of her spinning under the dim light， that branded34 silhouette. A stinging guiltiness and gloom seized me whenever I thought of breaking her beloved wheel.35
Twenty years have passed since Grandma passed away. Nearly every tomb sweeping festival， my parents will go back to the village where she is buried. I go back with them sometimes. Now， here I am again， to see her. I follow the local customs and burn some paper money， a paper house， and a paper spinning wheel.
The spinning wheel burns into ashes. The smoke stings my eyes. I bewail36 the fact that she spun her whole life and dreams into that wheel. A life without glamour or affluence. A life so mundane without sparkles of uniqueness. A life shared by thousands of common rural women who have buried their youth in illiteracy and impoverishment.37
Then the sound of buzzing comes. Yes， it’s her， a real woman. Grandma is still spinning， with her painful eyes filled with tears.
1. flutter： 飘动，翩翩飞舞。
2. withered： 枯萎的，凋谢的；artifact：人工制品，手工艺品。
3. dowry： 嫁妆。
4. exhort： 规劝，告诫。
5. braided： 编织的。
6. drowsy： 昏昏欲睡的；lullaby： 摇篮曲，催眠曲。
7. 儿时，我喜欢坐在奶奶身旁的一把木凳子上，目不转睛地看着她纺线，倾耳细听。prick one’s ears： 竖起耳朵。
8. 奶奶的手上，一条条皱纹纵横交错，印记着岁月的流逝。interlace： 交织；elapse：消逝。
9. roughen： 变粗糙；interwine： 缠绕。
10. pedal： 踏板；exquisite： 精致的，细腻的。
11. proficient： 精通的，熟练的。
12. glamourous： 迷人的，光彩的。
13. hurl at： 猛投。
14. grumble： 抱怨，发牢骚。
15. exhilarate： 使高兴，使兴奋；buoyant：愉快的，乐观的。
16. kerosene lamp： 煤油灯。
17. stamp： 用脚踩踏。
18. stoop： 俯身，驼背。
19. 她的身影宛如一尊雕像，直至今日，每每想起，它总会悠悠浮现在心头。silhouette：轮廓，侧影；haunt： 萦绕心头，常出没；dormant： 蛰伏的，休眠的。
20. arithmetic： 算术。
21. fleeting： 短暂的，一瞬的。
22. deteriorate： 退化，变坏。
23. unwittingly： 不知不覺地，不经意地；be imbued with： 充满。
24. skirting board： 踢脚板，壁脚板（墙体和地面连接处的条形装饰物，起装饰和保护作用，多为木头、石材、瓷砖材质）。
25. feeble： 虚弱的。
26. hermit： 隐士。
27. whereabouts： 下落，去向。
28. 她凹陷的眼睛圆睁着，瘦削的下巴扬起，满是怀疑和愤怒。hollow： 凹陷的；thrust： 扬起。
29. 然后她深呼一口气，压抑着心头的怒火，用沙哑的声音吼着，几近哭出声来：“你们干吗毁了它啊？！”exhale： 呼出，发出；pent-up： 被压抑的；hoarse： 沙哑的。
30. 她的愤怒很快转为一种难以言状的惆怅。subside： 减弱，平息；melancholy： 忧郁。
31. polyester fiber： 聚酯纤维。
32. incomprehensible： 不可思议的，难以理解的。
33. conviction： 信念，确信。
34. branded： 铭刻于心的。
35. 每当我想起自己摔坏了她心爱的纺车，歉疚和悲哀就会深深刺痛我的内心。stinging： 刺痛的，强烈的。
36. bewail： 哀叹，悲叹。
37. 这是既无魅力，也不富足的一生；这是平庸无奇，黯淡无光的一生；这是埋葬了万千乡村女性的青春韶华，并置她们于无知和贫穷的一生。mundane：平凡的，单调的；illiteracy： 文盲，无知；impoverishment： 贫穷。
