It was noon. I stood at the gates of the school, helping the first-graders cross the road. It was my turn for road marshall duties.

I caught sight of Mrs. Cho -- Cho Hsin-Yung's mother -- standing furtively outside the gates with a lunch box in her hand. I called out to her. She seemed embarrassed to see me.

"Yes, Mr..."

"Mrs. Cho, haven't I told you? The school does not allow parents to bring lunch boxes for their children. If all mothers were like you, the gates would be crowded and these children would have problems leaving the school."

"I know, I know..."

Humph! You know and yet you still bring the lunch box. "Can't you let him take his lunch box by himself?"

"I know, I know..."

This must be the umpteenth time I heard those words. Every afternoon, parents bringing lunch boxes for their children in school would always crowd around the school gates, making it difficult for the children leaving school to walk out.

***

Cho Hsin-Yung was a quiet, obedient student in class.

I was surprised when I caught him dozing off in my class one day.

"What...?" He murmured with a blank expression on his face when I woke him.

The next day, it happened again. Infuriated this time, I called Hsin-Yung over loudly.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, HUH?" I was so furious that I could not suppress the harshness in my voice.

All of a sudden, he just lowered his head and wept silently. That caught me off-guard.

"Tell me. Why do you keep falling asleep in class?"

"My mom's in the hospital! I've been staying up last night to keep her company."

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. The anger within me dissipated, and was replaced with regret.

"Why is she in the hospital?"

His answer made my heart sink.

"Tuberculosis!"

Hsin-Yung has never been a strong child. If that unfortunate day comes, how is he going to carry on?

I felt pity for the child as I thought about it. During dinner that night, as I watched my wife feed our son, memories of Mrs. Cho standing furtively at the school gates as she waited patiently for her son to collect his lunch box came flooding to me.

***

The next day after school, I rode my motorcycle to pay Mrs. Cho a visit at the hospital.

In a matter of a few weeks, Mrs. Cho had become so emaciated that I could hardly recognize her. The deathly pale face, the bald head... could she really be Mrs. Cho?

As I walked in, she seemed surprised to see me. She struggled to get up, but a cough sent her body swaying.

"Please don't get up, please!"

"Oh, thank you, Mr...," she gasped with much effort. The tears were running down her cheeks.

At the corridor, Mr. Cho muttered to me, "Only two months left! Sigh... I really don't know what to do..." He tried in vain to hold back his tears.

Back in school, I reported the matter to the principal.

"Hsin-Yung's father is above 60, and his mother is leaving soon. Can we organize a mass donation campaign in the school to help the poor boy?"

The principal readily agreed.

After a few days, we managed to collect $52,120. I brought the donation money to the hospital, only to discover Mrs. Cho in coma.

"We are going to bring her back home today." Mr. Cho's face looked wan and tired.

My heart sank. This was it.

"Can you do us a favor?" asked Mr. Cho.

"Sure! I'll do whatever I can."

"A few days ago, she was tugging at Hsin-Yung's hand, crying, 'Mom can't bring you lunch boxes anymore!'... I was wondering if the school could allow her to bring him his lunch box one last time, because that's the only time she could truly feel proud being his mother."

My voice choking, I could only nod my head.

***

It was noon. With sirens wailing, an ambulance drove up to the school gates. Mr. Cho got off, carrying a stretcher with the help of a paramedic. With tears welling in my eyes, I stood aside, performing my road marshal duties.

"We're here! We're here!" Mr. Cho bought a pre-packed lunch box.

Lying on the stretcher with her outstretched bony hand weakly lifting the lunch box, Mrs. Cho was slowly brought near the gates.

At the other side, Hsin-Yung stretched forth his right hand to receive his mother's lunch box.

"Mom!" Hsin-Yung cried in anguish.

Mrs. Cho's sunken cheeks began twitching. It seemed as if she wanted so much to speak, but the words somehow failed her.

"Mom! No!... Please don't go!..." The voice shrieked in helpless despair.

Tears flowing uncontrollably, I cursed myself for being so hard in the past.

***

Hsin-Yung's mother passed away the next day.

Some day after her funeral, Mr. Cho came into my office and handed me a brown package.

"Thank you so much for your help. This is the donation money that you have helped collect on our behalf. I believe there are students out there who need the money more than us, so I have come to return it."

He placed the package on the table and left.

As I held the package, it felt warm. So warm that my heart felt it, too.

***

Since then I visited Hsin-Yung at his place everyday. I was worried he might not be able to take the blow of his mother's death.

"Don't worry, sir. I'm fine, really," the sensible boy reassured me. "Actually, I've known about Mom's illness long ago. I didn't really mean to disobey the school orders, too. It's just that during the day, it was only at noon time that I'm able to eat what Mom cooked for me."

"Huh, why?"

"Mom was weak in health, so Dad insisted on doing the cooking at home. Only at noon time when he was not in, could Mom secretly cook lunch for me and bring me lunch boxes."

And the tears fell once more.