The Dish in the Story

Gu Yu was a 13-year-old boy. His father was one of the first generation of migrant workers in Qindao. After years of hard work， he took root in Qindao. Due to overworking， his father was ill in bed. But he was thinking about several special dishes he had eaten with his workmates. Therefore， Gu Yu got on the Fuxing train and started to look for the dishes.

At dusk in May， the sea breeze blew gently.

Gu Yu went back home from school and was ready to cook for his father.

“Dad， what do you want to have？ Anything you like. I have a cookbook in my brain. The recipes are hidden under it！” He stroked the bangs on his forehead and threw his head back as usual， looking very cool.

Dad laid down the straw in his hands， “Is it snowing？”

Gu Yu was stunned， “Dad， it’s May. How could it snow？”

Dad smiled： “It snows. I can smell the fragrance.”

Gu Yu sprang to the bed and grasped his father’s hands： “Dad， what’s wrong with you？ Are you all right？”

Dad laughed and turned to look out of the window， “I meant the sophora flower snow.”

Gu Yu laughed： “It snows. The sophora flower snows. Dad， I’ll open the window wider. Have a good smell. Sophora flowers smell good.”

There were tens of locust trees in the community， and they were old enough. In this season， branches were full of sophora flowers. They were in clusters， bright and white， giving forth their fragrance. When the wind blew， the petals fell. It seemed as if the ground had been covered with snow.

Dad sniffed with strength， “It smells so good！ But we can’t see them. The flowers are blocked by the building in front. Bai Lu’s house has a good location. They can see the sophora flowers as soon as they open the window.”

Gu Yu said： “You haven’t told me what you want to have.”

Dad was about to speak when his mobile phone rang. While Dad was answering the phone， Gu Yu thought： “How can I give Dad good meals？”

Last autumn， when Gu Yu was in his second year of junior middle school， Dad was seriously ill. Then his lower limbs were paralyzed， and he could not walk since then. In the days when he looked after Dad with his mother， Gu Yu learned to cook. He had great talent and cooked well， as well as a professional chef. Dad liked to eat the food he made and found it right for his taste.

Recently， Dad had a poor appetite. He didn’t eat much and got thinner day by day. Gu Yu worked harder to learn recipes and from food videos on the phone. He wanted to cook the most delicious food for Dad.

After the phone call， Dad picked up a woven flower basket and waved it at Gu Yu. “Does it look nice？ Listen， it’s a pity to give up my skill. Now， I am a cripple. What can I do in bed？ I will pick up this skill and weave some flower baskets. Then your mother will put flowers in them and sell them in the store. We will make money！”

Dad’s hometown was known as the hometown of straw weaving and bean-noodle mills. In the slack farming season， every household in villages would weave straw or make bean noodles. Dad learned this skill from his grandmother. In the past， when they lived in their hometown， they used to weave straw.

Mum came over and said： “Your dad was born to be a money grubber. Though he lies in bed， he cannot stay idle. He weaves straw every day， thinking about making money.”

Dad said： “Can you do it without making money？ Can we live in such a good house without making money？ Though we didn’t buy the house with the money made by weaving straw， at least half of the money was made by me with a sledgehammer. Of course， you made the other half.”

Gu Yu said： “Dad， tell me what you want to eat this evening.”

Dad said： “Anything. I’m not picky about food. Besides， I like your cooking， just as Hong Qigong liked Huang Rong’s cooking. Haha.”

There was a martial arts novel Legends of the Condor Heroes， which was given by Dad’s workmate Chang An to Dad. After so many years， the cover and pages turned yellow. Dad read it countless times. He liked the story about Hong Qigong and Huang Rong. Gu Yu had found Dad holding the book thinking rather than reading. What was he thinking about？ Only he himself knew. Dad was sentimental and usually thought of the past.

Gu Yu urged his father： “Let’s forget about Hong Qigong and Huang Rong now. Order quickly， please！ I have a cookbook.”

“Let me tell you a story first！”

“I don’t want to listen to stories now. I want to cook for you.”

“Don’t hurry！ Listen to me. My order is hidden in the story.”

Dad waved to him. Gu Yu went over， helped Dad sit up， took a pillow， and put it behind his back.

“Dad， has the leg numbness eased？”

“Yes.”

“You will get better soon.”

“Soon.”

At this time， they would talk like this. The words were always the same， as if it were a ceremony. Mum said that when a person was ill， he should look on the bright side and say more auspicious words， and then he would get better.

Before telling the story， Dad whispered a few words to his mother. Mum smiled and walked out of the house.

Dad told a story to Gu Yu.

In our hometown， there was a locust forest. Every May， sophora flowers bloomed. They smelt so fragrant， and people could smell it from a distance.

All the villagers went to pick sophora flowers. They took them home， removed their petals and stems， and then washed them. The petals were used to make sophora flower pancakes， steam sophora flower ballast， and wrap sophora flower buns. Sophora flower food was delicious. Take sophora flower ballast for example. It tasted good with garlic paste. The taste of the spicy garlic paste and the fragrant sophora flowers mixed together is very delicious.

One year in spring， I went with your grandma to pick sophora flowers. Soon we picked a basket of sophora flowers. At this time， your mother ran to us and dragged me to see the fishermen. There was a bay in the locust forest， where several adults were fishing. That year， I was ten and your mother was nine.

We ran over and stood at the edge of the bay， watching the adults fishing. A net was cast and a dozen carps were pulled up. When they put the fish into a bucket， a big carp squirmed and jumped into the grass next to it. It swung its tail and kept flapping.

An adult said： “Why not catch it？ The one who catches the fish will get it.”

Hearing this， I stretched out my hands to catch the fish， and so did your mother. I down pressed on the head and she the tail.

“I caught it.”

“I caught it.”

We fought over the fish， and neither of us would let it go. Finally， the adult said： “Stop fighting. Whoever takes it home， you cook it and enjoy it together.”

Your mother heard this and her hands loosened， “You get it！ I will go to your house and have the fish.”

Like this， I took the fish back home. Your grandma saw it and said： “How might we cook such a big fish？”

Your mother said： “No matter how you cook it， I will have the fish here. We caught it together.”

Your grandma laughed： “Good！ Good！ You will have the fish here. Then I must cook it well！”

Your grandmother cooked good fish. She cleaned the fish， sprinkled a handful of sophora petals on it， and steamed it in the pot. The fragrance of sophora flowers gradually seeped into the fish， and it tasted very good. Gee， I’ve never had such delicious fish since then.

Your mother and I rushed to eat it. Soon， a big fish was eaten up by us. This dish is not only delicious， but it also has a good name： steamed fish in sophora flowers.

Zhang Jizhou

Zhang Jizhou， a children’s literature writer and a sign-up writer of Qingdao Federation of Literary and Art Circles， has published many long children’s literature works.