Title: The Mysterious Tale of the Water Monkey
I spent my childhood in the countryside, and life there was simple, leaving few lasting memories. However, one particular incident still haunts me to this day.
In our village, there was a man greatly respected for his kindness, hard work, and dedication to helping others. Sadly, his life took a tragic turn when his wife died during a difficult childbirth, leaving behind a deaf and mute son with limited mental faculties. The man struggled to provide medical care for his son, depleting his savings and accumulating debts. The villagers empathized with his plight.
One fateful night, the man suddenly ran through the streets, crying out that a water monkey had taken his son from him. Everyone rushed to help, with the villagers with good swimming skills diving into the river to search, while others stood by with torches for light. However, their efforts were in vain, and the son remained missing throughout the night. After weeks of searching with no results, it was assumed that the child had drifted away to the sea. The mourning father was advised to accept the inevitable, and they held a hasty funeral.
Years later, I learned that the man had remarried and had a new son. Life seemed to have taken a turn for the better. Nevertheless, people would occasionally mention seeing the water monkey again, though no one ever had concrete evidence to prove its existence. The sightings usually remained unverified.
One summer during my school break, I was eating lunch at home when I heard someone shout, "We've caught the water monkey! We've caught the water monkey!" I immediately dropped my utensils and ran outside. All the villagers were heading towards the riverbank, and there was a massive crowd gathered. The man whose son had been taken by the water monkey was among them, eagerly pushing his way through the crowd to witness the spectacle.
Due to my short stature, I decided to separate from the crowd and climbed a tree by the riverbank to get a better view. I saw the lifeless body of the water monkey, its fur disheveled, its face hidden, its body scarred with wounds, and one of its legs appeared to be injured. It lay lifeless on the riverbank, surrounded by a pool of blood, presumably beaten to death by the villagers. It was hard to fathom that such a fragile creature could have taken a child's life.
As I observed, I suddenly heard sobbing. I turned to see the man, the one who had lost his son, now crying in secret. I watched, hidden among the tree branches, and his expression of grief appeared even more profound than when he lost his first son.
In the years that followed, I couldn't help but contemplate the incident. The man had exacted revenge for his son, removing a supposed menace. However, his silent tears that night hinted at a deeper grief, leading me to believe that the water monkey was a figment of folklore. The man had likely always known that there was no water monkey in the river. His private mourning had been for the tragic loss of his first son, a realization that chilled me to the core.