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ABSTRACT：My father Mr Jia pingwa’s short prose language plain， sincere feelings is exquisite， is unworkable through a few typical events reflects the father’s personality characteristics of the full text language typical of southern shaanxi， the characteristics of strong aboriginality for my father’s English translation， this paper try to smooth faithfully the content of the translation of the original works.
Keywords：Jia pingwa;My father;prose;family affection
My father， Jia Yanchun， devoted his entire life into teaching in rural areas， lived in Dihua Town， Danfeng County after he retired. At the beginning of that year， he suffered from his stomach cancer again. Seven months later， he couldn’t get up. Suffering from hunger and pain again and again， he died with a smile on his face suddenly at the night， twenty-seventh days later. At that time， the Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching and it was raining heavily. However， I was preparing to return back home the next day from a place four hundred miles far away. It could be beyond my consideration of my father’s passing away so quickly. Something accident related to my family seemed to predetermine to me in the past. On the very day when he arrived in Xi’an to have a health examination， I suffered from swollen eyes for no reason at all in the early morning. In the afternoon when he arrived， I immediately realized that something bad would inevitably happen.
The health examination indicated that cancer was transferred. And my father was sent away after half a month later. I was nervous and struggling. In the meantime， I divined for him constantly. The auspicious divination had made me doubt that he would make a miracle. When I received the announcement that he was ill seriously， I thought it was my father’s idea and he would hand over lot of things to me. After getting off the bus， seeing my elder male cousin granting me with a mourning hat， I suddenly realized that I had got back too late and everything was too late. My father slept calmly in his bier， eyes closed， with a copper coin in his mouth. Therefore， I had to accept a fact：he wouldn’t go out from the inside house to greet me as usual after hearing my footsteps and then told my mother， actually turning his face to me：your son comes back！ Nor would he always wave his hand and pick up the water boiler when I handed him a cigarette. That was to say， my father would never be intimate with his son.
I sat in the paillasse of the mourning hall and spent the last long night with my dead father. I fully understood the truth that life is short and bitter， but in the face of my father I could not feel a sense of detachment about it. In the muddy courtyard， everyone was busy with different things， and the drum band was blowing and beating. Through the light， I stared at the pear tree， which was planted by my father in person. In previous years， it was full of pears but this year there was only a pear at the top of the tree. As the saying goes， in the circle of life scenes， if the former half is good the latter one would be bad， so is the reverse. But there was no comfort in father’s life. During his infancy， he was as poor as a church mouse and was often held to ransom by bandits， seeing three brothers having been kidnapped one after another for three times， and they were redeemed by selling off the family property every time. However， at the mere age of seven， he was also carried far away from home over several hundreds of miles in an evening. Due to the disgrace from which the Jias suffered， they vowed to train an outstanding person， and they just required him to read. My father didn’t dare to be indolent. Reluctantly， he finished his middle school and as a result he became the first person who was well educated in the Jias. When I started my job， for the first time I got the salary. I sent to father the first ten yuan from thirty-nine yuan. And my father used it to buy liquor and invited three elder uncles to drink. Mother told me that my father was drunk. That year I went back， and specially searched half the city to buy a very large aluminum box of cigar. My father unpacked it to smell and also called three elder uncles to smoke in a mouthful in turn. My senior uncle was old-aged and had passed away for more than ten years. According to common sense， my father should have taken care of the other two uncles， but beyond everyone’s thought， it was my elder uncles who managed their younger brother’s funeral. When it was time to hold funeral， the Jias were full of crying that afternoon， two uncles wept so bitterly that collapsed in a chair unable to get up. During the Cultural Revolution， my hometown suffered droughts which was consecutive for three years and the life of my family was extremely poor. What’s worse， my father was falsely accused of being a historical counterrevolution and put into a cowshed. On the afternoon of the Lantern Festival， my mother fried a small pile of meat valuable in the pot and my elder uncle bought four packs of cigarettes. They asked me to bring these to my father. I could only see my father through the bars’ gaps， and I would never forget him standing there staring at me. After some time， my father was escorted home with a disability from public service. It was a noon and I was weeding on the hillside when hearing the news that father had been lying on the bed. He hugged me as soon as seeing me with words：It was me that hurt my poor son. He burst into tears. My father had taught for half his life. He was timid and self-respectful. He could not bear the blow so that he was unwilling to meet people outside in half a year. But my family collapsed down both in politics and in economics.
My father was， of course， a common man，a poor country teacher. And it is impossible for him to enjoy the riches and honor of those great men. But every time I was hospitalized in town， seeing those veteran cadre upstairs sitting in the red-carpeted activity room playing mah-jongg on account of long-term convalescence for minor ailments， I couldn’t help thinking about my father.
In the Jia family， my father is a man of culture， with very high moral prestige， so that everyone asked him for the affair that they divided large families into small ones and small ones into smaller ones. Even families with different surnames in the village came to him to solve problems. These problems can be as big as wedding and funeral or as small as family dispute. Father was willing to uphold justice， but he was irritable， so he often was in a sulk. Over time， he had a certain authority and more or less had the flavor of using power to subdue. It was hard to avoid offending some people by saying what others dare not say. I used to blame him for this， for I didn’t think he should take other people’s business so seriously. However， father was angry and said：
“I can’t see those dirty things with half an eye socket！” Father was honest but severe， timid but abhorring evils as deadly foes. Therefore， he built up his character and virtue， but meanwhile encountered many hardships and difficulties from it. When he was alive， our family， and the hundred families of the village， who had grown accustomed to the advantages of him， did not seem to think much of it; but upon hearing the news of his death， the importance of his existence was suddenly felt. I sat in the mourning hall， watching how many people came and wept， listening to them complain tearfully：” now you pass away， and if something happens in the future， who can I tell？” I was gratified that my father was humble but lofty， ordinary but great. Father was an ordinary village teacher who was burdened by the family’s livelihood. He had no friends who were in high office， no companions who wallowed in money. He had been proud of me since I had become a writer and had begun to have a bubble reputation in society. His colleagues and acquaintances who he associated with were bound to congratulate him and it was hard avoid asking him for a drink. Father was extremely generous at this point， spending as much money as he had and seeking intoxicating cups.
In the spring of 1982， I was under a lot of pressure from the criticism of the press for a batch of novels， but I didn’t tell him anything. After he heard about this， he went to the county town on a special trip of thirty miles to read the newspaper， and suffered so much that he could not sleep for several nights. Father hitchhiked to town to see me， where some of my friends were discussing critical articles， and I was afraid my father would hear it and let him rest in another room. As soon as the guests left， he came over and said：Don’t hide it from me and I know all about it. Don’t look for trouble if nothing is wrong， and don’t be afraid if something is wrong. You’re still young， and you need to draw a moral from your mistakes. You’ve got a long way to go！
Then he went back to fetch a bottle of wine which he had brought with him， and said：come on， let us both have a drink. He poured out a drink， smiling at me， and gave it to me. He smiled so hard that my eyes turned red， and this time we both break our fast， almost drinking a bottle.
Father died when he was only sixty-six， and we were devastated. As for leaving us， he couldn’t stand it even more. After he was examined， I was informed that the cancer cells of him had metastasized widely and there was no possibility to cure. However， I still invited doctors one after another to cure him so as to set his mind at rest， having told the doctors to conduct carefully and say more comforting words. I knew that the medicine they gave were useless， but if father insisted， I had to let him take it. Certainly， the symptom was never relieved at all， on the contrary his situation became worse and worse day by day. He said：“Ping， what can I do now？” But what shall I do， my father？ Expression calming down and tears running through my stomach， I said to him：“you are in old age， and you will recover as long as you take it easy.”
Five days before he passed away， he had been asking my mother to buy some Chinese medicine herb for him to take. He left us with a lot of wishes unaccomplished， having struggled in misery and pains. I hoped that he was a philosopher or Christian who was able to see through life and regard death as a kind of relief. However， he was just a common person who was striving to live better in his entire life. He left us consciously with pains， which made me upset. After knowing that he smiled at last moment， I felt better to some extent. To my father’s relief， my mother managed to pull through her grief， and we were suddenly more mature and able to handle everything well. The marriage of my little sister was to be postponed， but for the sake of the rest of our father’s soul， it was held as scheduled and even more successful. The family did not scatter though our father passed away. We were trying to live for him.
According to our rural customs， we siblings ignited joss paper and fired in front of his tomb at consecutive dusks after my father’s funeral， which is called dapapa whose aim is to drive away his fears and loneliness on the hillside. The joss paper and straws were fired with the dust flying like black butterflies flying all over the sky. We were talking to him and it make him have a good rest， saying that our grandma， grandpa， uncle and many elders of our village were here， so you would never be lonely and would never feel lonely. The hillside was not far away from the yard he had constructed， so it was extremely easy for him to come and have a look. And we will never forget him and often visit him.
（作者單位：西安外国语大学中国语言文学学院）
Keywords：Jia pingwa;My father;prose;family affection
My father， Jia Yanchun， devoted his entire life into teaching in rural areas， lived in Dihua Town， Danfeng County after he retired. At the beginning of that year， he suffered from his stomach cancer again. Seven months later， he couldn’t get up. Suffering from hunger and pain again and again， he died with a smile on his face suddenly at the night， twenty-seventh days later. At that time， the Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching and it was raining heavily. However， I was preparing to return back home the next day from a place four hundred miles far away. It could be beyond my consideration of my father’s passing away so quickly. Something accident related to my family seemed to predetermine to me in the past. On the very day when he arrived in Xi’an to have a health examination， I suffered from swollen eyes for no reason at all in the early morning. In the afternoon when he arrived， I immediately realized that something bad would inevitably happen.
The health examination indicated that cancer was transferred. And my father was sent away after half a month later. I was nervous and struggling. In the meantime， I divined for him constantly. The auspicious divination had made me doubt that he would make a miracle. When I received the announcement that he was ill seriously， I thought it was my father’s idea and he would hand over lot of things to me. After getting off the bus， seeing my elder male cousin granting me with a mourning hat， I suddenly realized that I had got back too late and everything was too late. My father slept calmly in his bier， eyes closed， with a copper coin in his mouth. Therefore， I had to accept a fact：he wouldn’t go out from the inside house to greet me as usual after hearing my footsteps and then told my mother， actually turning his face to me：your son comes back！ Nor would he always wave his hand and pick up the water boiler when I handed him a cigarette. That was to say， my father would never be intimate with his son.
I sat in the paillasse of the mourning hall and spent the last long night with my dead father. I fully understood the truth that life is short and bitter， but in the face of my father I could not feel a sense of detachment about it. In the muddy courtyard， everyone was busy with different things， and the drum band was blowing and beating. Through the light， I stared at the pear tree， which was planted by my father in person. In previous years， it was full of pears but this year there was only a pear at the top of the tree. As the saying goes， in the circle of life scenes， if the former half is good the latter one would be bad， so is the reverse. But there was no comfort in father’s life. During his infancy， he was as poor as a church mouse and was often held to ransom by bandits， seeing three brothers having been kidnapped one after another for three times， and they were redeemed by selling off the family property every time. However， at the mere age of seven， he was also carried far away from home over several hundreds of miles in an evening. Due to the disgrace from which the Jias suffered， they vowed to train an outstanding person， and they just required him to read. My father didn’t dare to be indolent. Reluctantly， he finished his middle school and as a result he became the first person who was well educated in the Jias. When I started my job， for the first time I got the salary. I sent to father the first ten yuan from thirty-nine yuan. And my father used it to buy liquor and invited three elder uncles to drink. Mother told me that my father was drunk. That year I went back， and specially searched half the city to buy a very large aluminum box of cigar. My father unpacked it to smell and also called three elder uncles to smoke in a mouthful in turn. My senior uncle was old-aged and had passed away for more than ten years. According to common sense， my father should have taken care of the other two uncles， but beyond everyone’s thought， it was my elder uncles who managed their younger brother’s funeral. When it was time to hold funeral， the Jias were full of crying that afternoon， two uncles wept so bitterly that collapsed in a chair unable to get up. During the Cultural Revolution， my hometown suffered droughts which was consecutive for three years and the life of my family was extremely poor. What’s worse， my father was falsely accused of being a historical counterrevolution and put into a cowshed. On the afternoon of the Lantern Festival， my mother fried a small pile of meat valuable in the pot and my elder uncle bought four packs of cigarettes. They asked me to bring these to my father. I could only see my father through the bars’ gaps， and I would never forget him standing there staring at me. After some time， my father was escorted home with a disability from public service. It was a noon and I was weeding on the hillside when hearing the news that father had been lying on the bed. He hugged me as soon as seeing me with words：It was me that hurt my poor son. He burst into tears. My father had taught for half his life. He was timid and self-respectful. He could not bear the blow so that he was unwilling to meet people outside in half a year. But my family collapsed down both in politics and in economics.
My father was， of course， a common man，a poor country teacher. And it is impossible for him to enjoy the riches and honor of those great men. But every time I was hospitalized in town， seeing those veteran cadre upstairs sitting in the red-carpeted activity room playing mah-jongg on account of long-term convalescence for minor ailments， I couldn’t help thinking about my father.
In the Jia family， my father is a man of culture， with very high moral prestige， so that everyone asked him for the affair that they divided large families into small ones and small ones into smaller ones. Even families with different surnames in the village came to him to solve problems. These problems can be as big as wedding and funeral or as small as family dispute. Father was willing to uphold justice， but he was irritable， so he often was in a sulk. Over time， he had a certain authority and more or less had the flavor of using power to subdue. It was hard to avoid offending some people by saying what others dare not say. I used to blame him for this， for I didn’t think he should take other people’s business so seriously. However， father was angry and said：
“I can’t see those dirty things with half an eye socket！” Father was honest but severe， timid but abhorring evils as deadly foes. Therefore， he built up his character and virtue， but meanwhile encountered many hardships and difficulties from it. When he was alive， our family， and the hundred families of the village， who had grown accustomed to the advantages of him， did not seem to think much of it; but upon hearing the news of his death， the importance of his existence was suddenly felt. I sat in the mourning hall， watching how many people came and wept， listening to them complain tearfully：” now you pass away， and if something happens in the future， who can I tell？” I was gratified that my father was humble but lofty， ordinary but great. Father was an ordinary village teacher who was burdened by the family’s livelihood. He had no friends who were in high office， no companions who wallowed in money. He had been proud of me since I had become a writer and had begun to have a bubble reputation in society. His colleagues and acquaintances who he associated with were bound to congratulate him and it was hard avoid asking him for a drink. Father was extremely generous at this point， spending as much money as he had and seeking intoxicating cups.
In the spring of 1982， I was under a lot of pressure from the criticism of the press for a batch of novels， but I didn’t tell him anything. After he heard about this， he went to the county town on a special trip of thirty miles to read the newspaper， and suffered so much that he could not sleep for several nights. Father hitchhiked to town to see me， where some of my friends were discussing critical articles， and I was afraid my father would hear it and let him rest in another room. As soon as the guests left， he came over and said：Don’t hide it from me and I know all about it. Don’t look for trouble if nothing is wrong， and don’t be afraid if something is wrong. You’re still young， and you need to draw a moral from your mistakes. You’ve got a long way to go！
Then he went back to fetch a bottle of wine which he had brought with him， and said：come on， let us both have a drink. He poured out a drink， smiling at me， and gave it to me. He smiled so hard that my eyes turned red， and this time we both break our fast， almost drinking a bottle.
Father died when he was only sixty-six， and we were devastated. As for leaving us， he couldn’t stand it even more. After he was examined， I was informed that the cancer cells of him had metastasized widely and there was no possibility to cure. However， I still invited doctors one after another to cure him so as to set his mind at rest， having told the doctors to conduct carefully and say more comforting words. I knew that the medicine they gave were useless， but if father insisted， I had to let him take it. Certainly， the symptom was never relieved at all， on the contrary his situation became worse and worse day by day. He said：“Ping， what can I do now？” But what shall I do， my father？ Expression calming down and tears running through my stomach， I said to him：“you are in old age， and you will recover as long as you take it easy.”
Five days before he passed away， he had been asking my mother to buy some Chinese medicine herb for him to take. He left us with a lot of wishes unaccomplished， having struggled in misery and pains. I hoped that he was a philosopher or Christian who was able to see through life and regard death as a kind of relief. However， he was just a common person who was striving to live better in his entire life. He left us consciously with pains， which made me upset. After knowing that he smiled at last moment， I felt better to some extent. To my father’s relief， my mother managed to pull through her grief， and we were suddenly more mature and able to handle everything well. The marriage of my little sister was to be postponed， but for the sake of the rest of our father’s soul， it was held as scheduled and even more successful. The family did not scatter though our father passed away. We were trying to live for him.
According to our rural customs， we siblings ignited joss paper and fired in front of his tomb at consecutive dusks after my father’s funeral， which is called dapapa whose aim is to drive away his fears and loneliness on the hillside. The joss paper and straws were fired with the dust flying like black butterflies flying all over the sky. We were talking to him and it make him have a good rest， saying that our grandma， grandpa， uncle and many elders of our village were here， so you would never be lonely and would never feel lonely. The hillside was not far away from the yard he had constructed， so it was extremely easy for him to come and have a look. And we will never forget him and often visit him.
（作者單位：西安外国语大学中国语言文学学院）