My mom was mute, and also, the village’s notorious outcast–publicly branded a tramp. When I was ten, I saw her, clothes disheveled, rushing out of the local bachelor’s shack, clutching two hundred dollars. I hid behind a haystack, watching the village kids pelt her with stones, calling her filthy. She didn’t dodge. She just held those two bills tightly to her chest, her face bloody, and smiled at me. It was from that day on that I never called her “Mom” again. I started studying relentlessly, just to escape this godforsaken valley and never come back. The day I got my college acceptance letter, I thought I could finally be rid of her. But then, the police surrounded our village. I stood behind the crowd, clutching my freshly arrived college acceptance letter. My mom was escorted out by two officers. Her hair was a mess, her shirt collar torn open, revealing a faded, yellowed undershirt. She was still clutching a pair of scissors tightly, blood dripping from the tip. “I told you she was a jinx!” Mrs. Miller from next door spat on the ground, cracking sunflower seeds. “Sure, she was always with men, but killing Mr. Hayes? The town leader? This time she’s gone too far!” “That trash deserves to be executed a hundred times over.” People around us pointed and whispered, their faces alight with the thrill of a spectacle. I buried my head low, repeating to myself over and over. Please don’t look at me. Please don’t recognize me. But that woman, she stopped dead in her tracks. She searched frantically through the crowd, her eyes wide. The moment she saw me, her murky eyes suddenly lit up. Her mouth hung open, and she struggled desperately to reach me. “Ah… ah ah!” The officers yanked her, but she resisted. She tried to reach into her pocket, where she usually hid money. “Settle down!” an officer barked, pushing her into the car. The entire village’s gaze snapped onto me. “Hey, isn’t that Aurora Hayes?” “The college girl, with a murderer for a mom. Can she even go to college now?” I felt a wave of nausea and turned to run. I remembered a similar twilight when I was little. A strange man emerged from her house, adjusting his pants, a satisfied look on his face. He tossed a few crumpled bills on the ground. My mom knelt, picking them up one by one. Afterward, she’d bow low to him, then clutching the money, she’d happily run over, wanting to buy me candy. I didn’t understand. Dad had left her a significant inheritance. Our family wasn’t poor, so why did she do this? Or was it like the villagers said? She was just naturally depraved, incapable of living without a man. I slapped her hand away, and the candy rolled into the mud. “Filthy.” She froze, standing there, bewildered. From then on, I was ostracized at school. My backpack would be stuffed with dead mice, my desk carved with “SLUT.” I never cried. But I blamed her for all the hatred. I studied relentlessly, aiming for the top of my class. I thought, once I got into college, I could fly out of this valley, completely shed this stench of scandal. Just yesterday, I received my acceptance letter to the State University. I thought I had finally crawled out of the mud. But now, she was dragging me back down with her. I looked at the photo of us on the wall. It was taken ten years ago. She was hugging me, smiling so foolishly. I rushed over, ripped the photo down, and tore it to shreds. “Why are you ruining me?!” I screamed at the empty house. “Being a tramp your whole life wasn’t enough? Now you want me to be a murderer’s daughter too?”
The next day, I was taken to the police station. The interrogation room lights were stark white. Across from me sat an old detective, Detective Reynolds, his hair gray, his eyes sharp. “Aurora Hayes?” He flipped through the case file. “The victim, Mr. Hayes, suffered seven stab wounds.” “Each one fatal. His carotid artery was severed.” “Your mom attacked viciously.” I listened, numb. Mr. Hayes was the town leader. He had always treated our family with respect, even speaking up for us when others badmouthed us. I didn’t understand why Mom would suddenly kill him. “What was the motive?” I asked. “She won’t say,” Detective Reynolds lit a cigarette. “She hasn’t uttered a word since she was brought in, wouldn’t even gesture.” “She has only one request, she wants to see you.” Through the iron bars, I saw her. After just one night, she looked ten years older. Half her hair was white, the dried blood on her face had formed black scabs. Seeing me enter, she trembled with excitement, the chains rattling loudly. “Ah ah!” She reached her hand through the bars, trying to grasp mine. Her fingernails were still caked with dry, black blood. I recoiled, stepping back. Her hand froze in mid-air, her eyes dimming instantly. “Why?” I stared at her, not a single tear falling. “Why did you kill him?” She opened her mouth, gesturing frantically. Her left hand shaped like a book, her right hand making a counting money gesture. Money again. School again. But we weren’t short on money. Was she trying to make me feel guilty? My rage exploded. “Money, money, money! Is it really all about money?!” I lunged forward, and through the bars, I slapped her hard. The sharp sound echoed in the interrogation room. She didn’t dodge. The slap landed squarely on her face, splitting the dry blood scab. Detective Reynolds rushed in, grabbing me. “What are you doing? This is a police station!” I shook off the detective’s hand, pointing at the mute woman, screaming hysterically. “Do you really think I didn’t know about the inheritance Dad left?!” “Do you know what the villagers said about me because of what you did?!” “You ruined me!” Sarah covered her face, large tears rolling down. Ignoring the blood at the corner of her mouth, she continued to gesture desperately. First pointing outside, then clasping her hands together, then bowing repeatedly. She was pleading with me, begging me to go to school, begging me to leave this place. Seeing her in such a humble, lowly state, I remembered the men moving on top of her and felt only disgust. “I don’t need your filthy money.” I pulled out the torn half of my acceptance letter from my pocket. In front of her, I crumpled it into a ball and threw it at her face. “From today on, you’re not my mom.” “Whether you live or die, it has nothing to do with me.” She froze, looking at the crumpled paper on the floor, her lips trembling, unable to make a sound. I turned and walked away. “Aurora!” Detective Reynolds called after me. “Your mom, she was protecting her pocket, inside it…” “Throw it away.” I didn’t look back. “Her things, I find them disgusting.” As I walked out of the police station, a heart-wrenching wail came from behind me. “Ah!” I paused, then walked even faster. I told myself, this was her karma.
The case was decided quickly. The evidence was conclusive, and the suspect confessed without hesitation. She even refused the court-appointed lawyer. The day the verdict came down, it was overcast. Aggravated murder, cruel methods, heinous circumstances—death penalty, to be carried out swiftly. I was packing my bags when I received the verdict. Seeing the words “death penalty,” I felt a subtle sense of relief. If she died, no one would know I had a mom who went to jail. The gossip would eventually fade in a few years. I sold the few acres of land we owned. It was good land in the village, but I was in a hurry to sell and got a lower price. Mr. Hayes’s relative bought the land, giving me the money with a look of disdain. “Take it. This is the money she sacrificed her life for.” I didn’t say a word, took it, and put it in my pocket. Nobody wanted the dilapidated house, so I sold everything inside for next to nothing. Pots, pans, old furniture—it all brought in eighty dollars. While tidying the bed, I pried a rusty tin box out from between the bricks under the bed. A rusty mooncake tin. I remembered that box. When I was little, whenever a man came over, she’d put money in it. I’d always thought it was her burial fund. Opening the box, a musty smell wafted out. It was packed full of money. One-dollar bills, five-dollar bills, the largest denomination was only ten. Not a single hundred-dollar bill. But every bill was smoothed out perfectly, stacked neatly by size. Some corners were stained with black coal dust, some with white cement powder. I counted it. Twelve thousand dollars in total. Exactly enough for my four years of college tuition and living expenses. I looked at the money, a mix of emotions churning inside me. Was this what she had saved her whole life? Where was Dad’s inheritance? So many five and ten-dollar bills, how many men did she have to entertain for this? I felt disgusted. I wanted to throw this money away, to burn it. But looking at the empty house, and at the bus ticket in my hand for the provincial capital. I still kept the money. “This is what you owe me.” I said to the air. “You gave birth to me, then ruined me. This is what you owe me.” Before I left, the prison called. They said family members were allowed one last visit before the execution. “I’m not going,” I said into the phone. “I’m busy registering for school, I don’t have time.” There was a long silence on the other end. “Aurora, that’s your own mother,” the officer’s voice was filled with anger. “I don’t have a murderer for a mom.” I hung up, pulled out the phone line, slung on my backpack, and locked the broken door. Under the big old tree at the village entrance, a crowd had gathered. Mr. Hayes’s son sat there crying, cursing as he wept. “A life for a life!” Seeing me, he picked up a stone and threw it. “Kill the bastard!” The stone hit my back. It hurt. I didn’t stop, gritting my teeth, and walked out of that village. It wasn’t until I was on the bus heading to the provincial capital that I finally let out a long, shaky breath. Aurora, you’re free. A month later, I was in the university cafeteria, gnawing on a fried chicken leg. The dorm mother called me, “Aurora Hayes, phone call!” I wiped the grease from my mouth and ran downstairs. It was Detective Reynolds. “Your mom… she’s gone.” His voice was low. “This morning at ten, the execution was carried out.” My hand tightened on the receiver, then relaxed. “Oh, okay.” “She passed peacefully, didn’t suffer,” Detective Reynolds paused. “She just kept staring at the door, her eyes open until the very end.” My heart trembled, but I quickly suppressed it. “Anything else? If not, I’m hanging up, I have class.” “Nothing else.” After hanging up, I stood in the bustling campus. Around me were brightly dressed college students, laughter, and bright sunshine. I touched my meal card in my pocket again. The money in it was earned with her life. But I told myself, it was her atonement. I bought a can of soda, the icy liquid pouring down my throat. I told myself: Aurora, celebrate this new beginning.
Life at college was free of curses, judgmental stares, and no one knew my past. I studied hard, joined clubs, and even got a boyfriend. I felt like I had completely cleansed myself. Until Detective Reynolds appeared at the school gate again. He was in plain clothes, carrying a black plastic bag, shivering in the cold wind. Seeing me, he hurried over. “Aurora.” I frowned, instinctively stepping back, glancing around. Thankfully, my boyfriend wasn’t around. “Why are you here?” I asked in a low, unfriendly tone. “These are your mom’s belongings,” he handed me the black plastic bag. “She clutched it fiercely before she left, wouldn’t let anyone touch it.” “She gestured that I absolutely had to give it to you personally.” I looked at the bag, and said coldly. “I don’t want it.” “Take it.” Detective Reynolds sighed, forcing it into my hand. “It’s a keepsake.” Then, he gave me a deep look, turned, and left. I held the bag, feeling its surprising weight. I walked to the trash can behind the dorm. Opening the bag, a stale smell, a mix of mold and blood, assaulted my senses. It was a padded jacket. Deep blue, an old-fashioned style, the collar worn white, the cuffs patched all over. It was that tattered padded jacket she’d worn for over ten years. I remembered. Every winter, she’d wear this one jacket. Working, sleeping, going out—it was always this one, stained with indelible grime. “So disgusting.” I picked it up distastefully with two fingers. On the front of the jacket, there was a large, dark red stain. It must have been the blood from when she killed Mr. Hayes that day. I remembered her smiling at me, her face covered in blood. My stomach churned again. “Why keep this junk? It’s repulsive.” I raised my hand, swinging the jacket forcefully towards the trash can. There was a piece of wire sticking out from the rim of the trash can. “Rip!” The jacket caught on the wire, tearing a long gash. The cheap, dark cotton stuffing inside wasn’t what came out. “Thud.” A thick wad of something fell from the jacket’s interlayer, landing in the snow. Immediately after, a neatly folded piece of paper fluttered down. I froze. The wad was wrapped tightly, layer upon layer, in plastic. It had come undone, revealing a corner. It was all money. Five-dollar bills, ten-dollar bills, even a handful of coins. Exactly like what I’d found in the tin box. I stiffly bent down and picked up the paper. The paper was heavily creased, still stained with a bit of dried blood. I opened it. It was covered in tiny, crooked words. Like a child’s scrawl, almost illegible. She couldn’t read, much less write. These words, she must have painstakingly copied them from a dictionary in prison. I looked at the first line of words, and I froze, tears instantly gushing out.
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