I was only eight years old, but I was already used to going to the pawnshop to trade our belongings for money.
I knew exactly what it meant.
If I came back without any money, my mother and I would have nothing to eat that night.
My mother would never have sent such a young child to the pawnshop if she had any other choice.
Whenever she handed me a small bundle and told me to take it to the pawnshop, I knew our kitchen was completely empty.
Sometimes there wasn’t even enough left in the pot to make another bowl of porridge.
Our iron cooking pot was often spotless.
Not because we kept it clean, but because there was nothing left to cook.
That day, my mother gave me a mirror.
It was the only thing we owned that wasn’t absolutely necessary.
Even my mother used it every morning to comb her hair and get ready.
It was early spring.
We had only just put away our winter clothes, but all those thick coats and quilts had already been taken to the pawnshop.
I held the mirror carefully in both hands.
I couldn’t let it break.
But I also had to hurry.
The pawnshop closed early, and I couldn’t afford to be late.
I had always been afraid of that place.
The front door was painted a bright red.
Inside was a long, tall counter that seemed much too high for a child like me.
Every time I saw that red door, my heart started pounding.
The doorstep was so high that I had to struggle just to climb over it.
Then I would stand on my toes and stretch as far as I could to put our belongings on the counter.
I tried to sound like an adult.
“Pawn this!”
Usually, once I received the money and the pawn ticket, I would put them safely in my pocket and hurry home.
I was always afraid my mother would worry if I took too long.
But that day was different.
The shopkeeper looked at the mirror and shook his head.
“We don’t want this.”
I stared at him.
“Bring us something else. We’ll take the two things together.”
I understood what he meant.
I hugged the mirror tightly against my chest and ran home as fast as my little legs could carry me.
When I got back, I found my mother crying quietly.
She had searched through almost everything in the house.
There was nothing else left.
I had lived in that little house for years.
I had always thought we had quite a few things.
But searching for something we could sell taught me the truth.
We had almost nothing.
There were only a handful of things left that could possibly be turned into money.
My mother looked at me with red, swollen eyes.
She had already decided not to send me back.
Then I looked at her worried face and asked softly,
“Mom, what are we going to eat tonight?”
She didn’t answer.
Tears filled her eyes.
Slowly, she reached up and pulled the silver hairpin from her hair.
It was the last piece of silver we owned.
I knew she had thought about selling it many times.
But every time, she had taken it out, held it for a while, and then put it back.
My grandmother had given her that hairpin as part of her wedding gifts.
It was one of the few things my mother had left from her own family.
She treasured it more than anything.
But now, she placed it in my hand.
“Take this,” she said.
“Leave the mirror here and take this to the pawnshop.”
I closed my fingers around the cold silver hairpin.
Then I ran.
I ran as hard as I could.
But I was too late.
The red door that had always frightened me was already shut.
The pawnshop was closed.
I sat alone on the doorstep, clutching the silver hairpin tightly in my hand.
I didn’t dare cry out loud.
I simply looked up at the sky.
There it was again.
That thin, cold crescent moon.
It hung quietly above me, its pale light falling across my face and the tears running down my cheeks.
I sat there for a long time.
I cried for a long time.
Night had fallen completely when I finally saw my mother’s figure coming toward me through the darkness.
She didn’t say anything.
She simply reached out and took my hand.
Her hand was warm.
Almost burning against my cold fingers.
The moment she held my hand, all the sadness and exhaustion inside me seemed to disappear.
Even my hunger didn’t matter anymore.
As long as my mother was holding my hand, I felt safe.
I sniffled and looked up at her.
“Mom, let’s go home and sleep.”
“I can come back tomorrow morning and try again.”
My mother said nothing.
She just held my hand and walked beside me.
After we had gone some distance, I looked up at the moon again.
“Mom, look.”
“That crescent moon was like this on the night Dad died, too.”
“Why does it always hang crooked like that?”
My mother still didn’t answer.
She kept walking.
But I could feel her hand trembling slightly in mine.
She held on tighter.
And neither of us said another word.