A paper was pasted
above the gate
The house
now belonged to the state
The books were piled in the yard
The brushes were broken
Somebody carried off the inkstone
My mother's hairpin
my grandfather's scroll
the book with my name in it
One by one
into other people's hands
The family was scattered
My father
did not come back
I was young
so only my life was left to me
Only my life
was left
The name
was left too
And that
was heavier
Son of a traitor
Son of a traitor
Bend your back
Bend your back
Son of a traitor
Son of a traitor
Bow your head
Bow your head
Forget what you learned
It is no use here
Up before dawn
drawing water
splitting firewood
sweeping the yard
My palms cracked
The hands that once held a brush
When someone called
"Yes."
When someone struck
"Yes."
The mouth that once chose its words
now said one word, "Yes"
That I could read
I told no one
Some nights
I hated my father
The hand that set the brush
on that man's name
Some nights
I missed that hand
The hand that pointed out
my wrong letters
Hate and longing
lay down under one blanket
The day that house had guests
the wine went round
and someone pointed at me
"Do you know whose son that is?"
Laughter broke out
"Show us
how your father used to walk."
I stood still
"Can't you?"
A kick came flying
I straightened my back
Lifted my chin a little
smoothed my sleeves
Slowly
one step
and another
Straight—
I did not stop
My father's little cough
the glances of the high officials
the way they called people in a low voice
and in front of the one you must smile at first
how to smile first
Son of a traitor
Once more
Son of a traitor
Once more
Once more!
Everyone laughed
I did not laugh
And yet
I had not got
a single thing wrong
I had done it
too well