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IT was a wild boar.
Bright moonlight illuminated the billowing field of tall crops and a wild boar coveting the ripe maize. The boy’s eyes opened wide， and the same was true for the wild boar. The two stared each other out.
Behind the boy in the dense corn field was a makeshift shack that had taken his father a whole afternoon to complete some days ago. As the wind blew， the crops rustled and rustled.
The wooden stick clenched in the boy’s hands became sticky with his sweat， but it was his only weapon. The boy gritted his teeth to steady himself in case the slightest drop of his guard allowed the beast a chance to attack. He had promised his father he would do a good job guarding the corn field when his father had gone for supper.
The animal’s stomach rumbled loudly. Its eyes glowed with anger. With its tusks bared， the beast bounded forward three strides. Its foul smell saturated the air.
The boy could have shouted for his parents since his home was not far away. But he didn’t. Gripping the stick tighter still， the boy prepared to charge at the animal. Yet， just one small step forward was enough to startle the boar. It had not expected the boy to launch a counterattack. The beast started to grunt. As it drew its head back， the animal was poised to attack the boy with all its strength.
From behind the shack， a man raised his shotgun. His finger was on the trigger， but someone else’s hands were stopping him. The man was the boy’s father， and the other hands were those of the boy’s mother.
The mother whispered to the father to keep their eyes on the scene. The father withdrew the loaded gun.
Their eyes were fixed on the boy and the wild boar. The boy didn’t cower or shout； he was ready to confront the beast.
Hoping to devour the boy， the wild boar panted gruffly， while the boy， in the heat of the confrontation as his heart beat wilder， was planning on planting his stick into the beast’s mouth.
The moonlight exposed a cluster of fine beads of sweat on the boy’s forehead.
As the wild boar reared its torso， the boy lifted the stick over his head. They were both gathering all the strength that they could muster. Suddenly， the boar turned around and ran away swiftly.
The boy heaved a great sigh of relief and plumped to the ground.
Finally， the parents’ frantic hearts were put at ease， and they came out from behind the shack. Excitedly， the father said， “Son， you saw off a wild boar by yourself！”His face glowed with pride.
Seeing his parents appear， the boy ran into his mother’s arms， crying loudly as the bravery and stubbornness with which he had confronted the animal subsided – he was still， after all， just a boy. With his little fists beating at his mother’s chest， the boy choked out， “Why didn’t you come and help me fight the beast？”
The mother scooped the boy up in her arms， and repeated the father’s words approvingly and full of praise，“Son， you saw off a wild boar by yourself！”
Still crying， the boy said， “Why didn’t you help me？”
In earnest， the mother replied， “We helped you with our eyes.”
This confused the boy further but it was no use. All he could do was gaze into his parents’ eyes， carefully examining them and wondering， “Their eyes are same as usual， how did they help me？”
The boy was me aged seven.
Bright moonlight illuminated the billowing field of tall crops and a wild boar coveting the ripe maize. The boy’s eyes opened wide， and the same was true for the wild boar. The two stared each other out.
Behind the boy in the dense corn field was a makeshift shack that had taken his father a whole afternoon to complete some days ago. As the wind blew， the crops rustled and rustled.
The wooden stick clenched in the boy’s hands became sticky with his sweat， but it was his only weapon. The boy gritted his teeth to steady himself in case the slightest drop of his guard allowed the beast a chance to attack. He had promised his father he would do a good job guarding the corn field when his father had gone for supper.
The animal’s stomach rumbled loudly. Its eyes glowed with anger. With its tusks bared， the beast bounded forward three strides. Its foul smell saturated the air.
The boy could have shouted for his parents since his home was not far away. But he didn’t. Gripping the stick tighter still， the boy prepared to charge at the animal. Yet， just one small step forward was enough to startle the boar. It had not expected the boy to launch a counterattack. The beast started to grunt. As it drew its head back， the animal was poised to attack the boy with all its strength.
From behind the shack， a man raised his shotgun. His finger was on the trigger， but someone else’s hands were stopping him. The man was the boy’s father， and the other hands were those of the boy’s mother.
The mother whispered to the father to keep their eyes on the scene. The father withdrew the loaded gun.
Their eyes were fixed on the boy and the wild boar. The boy didn’t cower or shout； he was ready to confront the beast.
Hoping to devour the boy， the wild boar panted gruffly， while the boy， in the heat of the confrontation as his heart beat wilder， was planning on planting his stick into the beast’s mouth.
The moonlight exposed a cluster of fine beads of sweat on the boy’s forehead.
As the wild boar reared its torso， the boy lifted the stick over his head. They were both gathering all the strength that they could muster. Suddenly， the boar turned around and ran away swiftly.
The boy heaved a great sigh of relief and plumped to the ground.
Finally， the parents’ frantic hearts were put at ease， and they came out from behind the shack. Excitedly， the father said， “Son， you saw off a wild boar by yourself！”His face glowed with pride.
Seeing his parents appear， the boy ran into his mother’s arms， crying loudly as the bravery and stubbornness with which he had confronted the animal subsided – he was still， after all， just a boy. With his little fists beating at his mother’s chest， the boy choked out， “Why didn’t you come and help me fight the beast？”
The mother scooped the boy up in her arms， and repeated the father’s words approvingly and full of praise，“Son， you saw off a wild boar by yourself！”
Still crying， the boy said， “Why didn’t you help me？”
In earnest， the mother replied， “We helped you with our eyes.”
This confused the boy further but it was no use. All he could do was gaze into his parents’ eyes， carefully examining them and wondering， “Their eyes are same as usual， how did they help me？”
The boy was me aged seven.