"Its cry was like a cut, cutting the silence and cutting everyone's gut, which was so sad. It was the "Dad" that she had been trying to suppress for so many years, the "Dad" sounded like it broke out from the bottom of her heart, she cried and rushe...
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After that, the two of us returned to the East. We were union officials, we didn't go to gatherings. From fifty-four to fifty-eight, fifty-nine and the hard years, you knew. About work and life in the forest, I could tell until morning, some nights I was surrounded by commandos three times, some days I didn't eat rice, I ate only corn, but well, that's another story. I would like to return to my friend's father-daughter relationship. On forest nights, lying in a hammock, seeing only the nylon roof sheet, when he missed his daughter, he kept regretting why he hit her. That suffering kept tormenting him - one day when we were whispering, he suddenly sat up:
-Right! In this forest, people sometimes shoot elephants, I have to make an ivory comb for her.
And he longed for a piece of ivory, a piece of elephant's ivory. Fortunately, not long after that, because of the lack of food, we thought about hunting, hunting with the arrow, not with the gun. At that time, we still had to keep the forest quiet. We didn't go hunting for an elephant but happened to meet it. We were about to release it, but Mr. Six decided to shoot it.
I still remembered that afternoon - the afternoon after a rainy day, the raindrops were still on the leaves, and the forest sparkled. While I was working under the nylon roof, I suddenly heard an outcry. From the trail running in the deep forest, he hurriedly ran back, holding the ivory piece and showing it to me. His face was as happy as a child receiving a present.
Then he took the American twenty-millimeter cartridge, thinned it into a small saw, sawing the ivory into small pieces. In his spare time, he sawed each comb's teeth, carefully, meticulously, and diligently like a silversmith. I didn't know why I liked to sit and watch him work and felt happy when I saw more and more ivory dust falling. Each day, he sawed a few comb's teeth. Not long after that, the comb was completed. It was more than ten centimeters long, about three and a half centimeters wide, a comb for girls, a comb for brushing long hair, a comb with only one row of wide teeth. On the back of the comb was engraved a small line of words that he had bent his back to diligently carve each stroke: "Lovely and cherishingly give to Autumn, my child". That ivory comb hadn't combed his daughter's hair, but it seemed to untangle his mood a bit. On the nights when he missed his child, he rarely remembered that he regretted hitting his children, missing his children, he took out the comb to look at it and then sharpened it on his hair to make the comb more shiny and smooth. With the comb, he wanted to see his child even more. But then an unfortunate thing happened. One day at the end of the year fifty-eight, that year we were not fortified - in a big clash of the US - puppet troops, Mr. Six sacrificed. He was shot in the chest by a bullet from an American plane. In the last hour, unable to leave anything behind, it seemed that only the father-daughter love couldn't die, he put his hand in his pocket, took out the comb, handed it to me, and looked at me for a while. I didn't have enough words to describe that look, just knew that, until now, I sometimes remember his eyes.
-I'll bring it back and give it to her with my own hands.
I looked down at him and spoke softly. Only then did he close his eyes and pass away.
Guys! In those dark days, it was okay for the survivors to live in secret, and for the deceased to die in secret. His grave couldn't be heightened - if they found graves, they would dig up and find traces - so his grave was a flat one, as flat as the surface of a forest. I took a knife and carved it into a forest tree next to where he was lying to make a mark to remember this spot.
Lived like that and died like that, how could you bear it? We had no choice except to take up arms.
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