Cheeks and doves

I don't know since when, on the bougainvillea trellis in front of the house, a pair of turtle doves came to make a nest. One day, I heard the chirping of the baby birds and followed them to discover the pretty little nest hidden in the foliage. Mom told me to let them stay, don't chase them away, it's pitiful. So from then on, the little bird family lived with my family.

My mother, I don't know if it was because she was afraid the birds would leave or because she felt sorry for the birds' hard work, so every morning she would buy rice and spread it in front of the yard, then close the door and watch them through a small crack in the door. One time I woke up early and caught my mother's strange behavior, and was surprised to ask her what she was doing. She shushed me and told me to speak softly, they would be startled. Who the hell were they? I curiously looked through the crack in the door and saw a pair of turtle doves pecking at the rice while looking around to keep watch. Ah, it turned out to be a pair of birds on a flower trellis. Just that, my mother was so attentive and engrossed in watching as if she were watching a musical performance. Old people often have their own hobbies that young people like me cannot understand. I explained it to myself like that and completely forgot about it.

One day, while eating, Mom announced that they had a new litter. I was surprised and asked Mom: Oh, I don't remember our Si being pregnant. Mom glared at me: I didn't mean Si, I meant two turtle doves. Oh, it turns out it's the family of birds on the flower trellis in front of the house. I teased: So how many litters does it have, Mom? Who would have thought Mom would tell me three litters, the first litter had two, the next litter had three, I don't know why this litter only has one, maybe Mom didn't feed them enough. Then Mom mumbled and calculated that they should increase their feeding times or they didn't have enough nutrients so they had to switch to pellet food. I could only shake my head, both pitying and amused, pitying Mom for being home alone and bored and taking care of the birds as a joy, and also amused because Mom acted like those birds were nothing more than pets.

I forgot about those birds. I tend to forget things that are not important. Besides, I am busy with work all day, and I don't have the mind to remember trivial things. I also forgot that my mother is getting older and older. Old people are like yellow leaves on a tree, you never know when they will fall.

Mom never reminds me that she is old.

Mom never demanded or got angry or blamed me for anything.

Mom always smiled and told funny stories she heard from the neighbors. I felt reassured by her smile. I listened to her stories indifferently, sometimes secretly wondering why she was so free. Mom didn't know what I was thinking, or if she knew, she ignored it. When old people are no longer healthy, they often ignore things that are not to their liking to ease their worries. If you can't find joy, you should ignore sadness, Mom often said.

But the youngest son of his mother did not understand the profound meaning of that saying. He was still buried in his work, and even when he was almost forty, he still had not found a daughter-in-law to keep his mother company. He simply thought that having a daughter-in-law was not necessarily fun, and that if the two of them did not get along, they would quarrel and have more headaches. He simply thought that giving his mother money every month to spend, buy milk, and buy delicious food to nourish her was enough. He did not know that his mother secretly gave nutritious food to his second brother and sister's children because they had many children and were struggling financially, so they would not eat nutritious food when they were old, only children needed to eat to grow.

When my youngest son realized my loneliness and my deep thoughts, I was no longer by his side. While lying on the sickbed, I kept reminding my brothers: Has anyone fed the birds yet? They are so poor that they are hungry. I didn't know that since I got sick, the little birds had moved to another place. Maybe they were hungry or because there were more people coming and going in the house, making it more noisy, so they were scared and left. I just believed my children that they had fed them twice a day as I had told them. So before I closed my eyes, I told my youngest son to remember to feed the birds for me, don't let them be so poor that they are hungry.

The son was still busy with his work, not even thinking about the little bird's nest. He only missed his mother, missed the delicious meals she cooked. Every time he lit incense on the altar and looked at his mother's portrait, he felt sad. The family meals became less frequent, he would just stop by a restaurant to eat before returning home.

Until he brought his girlfriend home to visit, and heard her say that there seemed to be a bird's nest on the flower trellis, and heard the chirping of baby birds, he suddenly remembered the pair of doves, and what his mother had told him. He quickly searched for the small bag of rice his mother had kept in the corner of the cupboard. There was more than half a bag left. He took a handful of rice and threw it out in the yard, then imitated his mother by closing the door and sneaking a peek. The pair of doves with blue feathers on their wings swooped down to eat, pecking at the rice while looking around to keep an eye out. His friend chuckled and whispered, "You have such a strange hobby." Only then did he remember that he had thought of his mother like that. He also remembered her hunched figure, her passionate demeanor as she watched the pair of birds eat. Tears rolled down, the boy softly called out, "Mom!"

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