Good night, old age
My father looked at the map of China on the wall and said that this part of Shaanxi was like a key. After saying that, he subconsciously touched the belt of his pants, where there is a set of keys that can open an old house with a lock. This house is in southern Shaanxi, hidden in a ravine.
It was the second day of his parents' visit to Wuhan. It was snowing outside, and the electric heater was on like a pot of fire. My father thought it was too expensive, and said that if we were at home, we could heat the house by adding some wood to the fire.
I realized that my father was homesick, so I talked to him about the tea pots in the fire, the wine simmering in the fire, and the yams buried in the ashes. The first thing I did was to ask my father to do something about it, and he said, "I don't know what's going on with the cat, but I don't know what's going on with the cat.
This took my mind away. I've been in Wuhan for ten years, and I've taken my parents to live a few times, and they always leave a person at home to take care of the crops, the people and the rituals, and the cat with the face. This time, it took a lot of determination for them to come along. I have to find someone to take over the farming, otherwise the land is deserted like what words; call the relatives, otherwise the guests come to the door locked that like what words; as for the cat, naturally, we have to hire someone to do cat meals.
My siblings and I don't want them to go back to our hometown, but we don't dare to tell them for fear that they will feel held hostage. But they came, and I still left them behind. Except for weekends, it was just the two of them at home, and thankfully there was a dog, Xiao Zhu, to add some laughter to them. I called every day at noon to ask them whether they had eaten, and answered that they had eaten, either boiled cereal paste, or potatoes boiled bean curd, or green vegetables boiled tofu, all the old family way of eating.
In the evenings, my father and I would have a glass of wine and gossip, and usually I would talk about how one of my neighbors or relatives lived in the city, playing chess and reading books. I'm not sure if I've ever heard of a cousin who went to a senior citizen's college to learn calligraphy, but my father laughed and said, "I can't help it, I don't have any land in the city, and I'm tired of keeping my hands busy.
Father likes to read books, read the "Six Memoirs of a Floating Life", said the writing is really good, but it is a pity that Shen Fu and Yun Niang life is too bitter. He complimented Jiang Tan's "Autumn Lights Zoomerism" is well written, read Wang Zengqi's "Human Grass and Trees", and complimented Mr. Wang's homely, a good old man. While my father read, my mother either teased Xiao Zhu or sat on the balcony to look at the flowers and plants. Mother went to literacy classes and could recognize some words at first, but later forgot them all. When her three sons and daughters had all started their own families in the city, she sighed one day, "So I've raised three guests!" They envied others who had old men, young men and children in their families. In fact, our family is the same, but scattered in several places.
I was sad to hear this. I've been in the city all these years, often without a sense of home, often whining about some "dream not know body is a guest", worrying about endless things, but every time I go back to my hometown, I always have to make a hesitant look, afraid of the parents worried about it. On the way to the city, they bowed as a stepping stone, and later we forgot the original dream, trapped in the world. Even if you go home every year to visit, but a fact is - not to say that it is not abandoned parents, at least it is abandoned parents: other people's families to enjoy the happiness of the family, they only envy the part, and afraid to give their children trouble.
The year before last, my mother fell, half of the body can not move, they did not say a word. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new product, but I'm sure you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new product. I immediately understood what was going on, and immediately called friends and relatives to help send to the hospital. Although the location of the bleeding point in the brain does not hurt the vitals, but the hands and feet still have obstacles. The mother said: this time spent so much money, just like you buy back a mom, I have to live a few years, otherwise, you are too rowdy.
One night, my father and I talked about life and death and the location of the cemetery he was preparing. He said that if he died in the city, he must send the ashes back to his hometown, he said that he promised his grandmother to stay with her after her death; he said that the place is close to the old house, like a new place to sleep, close to the house there is another advantage, you want to see me, do not have to run away. I wondered if he was being pressurized by the idea of keeping him in town.
They are still alone. I'm not sure how much I'm going to be able to do this, but I'm going to be able to do it, and I'm going to be able to do it, and I'm going to be able to do it. I said, I used to go back twice a year, and now I'm with them every day, why are they still waiting up? The mother said, that is used to, now it is not the same, there is something to look forward to.
On weekends, I helped my mother to go to the small square not far away from the sun, my mother suddenly pointed to a person said, like a person in our village. This is just the beginning, and then every time she went downstairs, she always saw a person like someone in our village, either back like, or hair like, or walking posture like. One day, she saw a pine lion dog, how to look sad, mother suddenly happy, said: look how much this dog like so-and-so! I also laughed, she said the neighbor is not smiling, but really have a few similarities.
The year is approaching, parents miss the old home of the waxing moon, the aroma of burnt wine, the aroma of simmering sugar, the sound of the right and left neighbors, and the lack of a hot air here. Every family and friends call to greet, my father always said quite good, hung up the phone will be thoughtfully sighed. One day, I came back, my father was very happy to say: the senior university to learn calligraphy cousin back home, do not live in the city, said it is like a corn planted in the park, how to see how not a crop. It seems that the cousin's words let the father produced **** Ming, I was apprehensive for a while.
Two days before the Spring Festival, my brother came from Nanjing, talking about a business trip to Guangzhou not long ago to visit an old neighbor, said that the neighbor took his hand and cried tears a snot. My brother said, how could an old man cry like that? Father said, young people do not know the countryside, the ancients to "meet the old friend" and "the night of the wedding" included in the four great joys of life, that is not nonsense.
Parents did not spend the first New Year's Eve in their hometown, my mother said a while ago to the hometown of a Wang Xianxian made a wish, so I went to buy incense. I totted a flower pot of soil on the balcony. Mother and Wang Shenxian said: I am sorry, so far away, causing you to run, this city and dare not firecrackers, slow you down, when I go back to honor you, I wish you can do your best ah. I asked my mother what she wished for, and she smiled and didn't say. I asked again, my mother said please Wang Shenxian blessed me with drowsiness, said she woke up from a nap, see me still sitting, so I wished Wang Shenxian let me go to bed earlier.
No more love poems like that
Grandpa a **** had 4 children and only survived mom one; grandma is also very special, after giving birth to dad this one child and never again.
Dad and mom were both admitted to the railroad system in the early 1950s, and were the first batch of railroad workers in new China. With the desire for a new life, they participated in the Railway Staff Games together. Dad participated in the pole vault competition, mom's project is sprinting. At that time they did not know each other, but the two stayed in the same picture of the Games.
They also participated in the railroad cultural performances together, Mom danced "picking tea and butterfly" dance, Dad participated in the chorus - the Soviet song "**** the song of the members of the Youth League". After the show, the group photo was taken, leaving the two of them again.
This is called fate.
Perhaps it was then that Dad began to pay attention to his mother - that poorly spoken, head-down walk, known as the railroad telegraph "four beauties" one of the beautiful girl.
Mom in the many letters of love throughout the introduction of their own achievements or brilliant history, saw a love letter of only 7 words: "I want to make friends with you." Mom replied back with 3 words, "I agree."
Together very simple 10 words, let them carry the later long-term separation of the hardship and pain, but always faithful.
A year after the relationship was established, Dad shouldered the responsibility of supporting his parents and went to Xinjiang with the dream of building the border.
From Anhui to Xinjiang, it was a three-day, four-night train ride. The two young people who have not even held hands, rely on communication contact, never considered the future can not be transferred to the same.
I once saw a small book wrapped in a pictorial in my mom's drawer, and on the first page, in dad's handsome script, "For sister Suqin, brother Taki."
The love poems written by Papa seem to be in Pushkin's style, which was the fashion of those days.
Inside the book was a beautiful photo of mom with her hair up in a demure updo and wearing a white pearl necklace. Mom said the necklace was borrowed from a colleague. She sent the photo to her father in Xinjiang, who wrote on the back, solemnly quoting a passage from the Russian writer Chekhov: "Everything should be beautiful, whether it is the appearance, clothes, heart, or mind. In this, my wife, is the embodiment of my ideal." That's how mom looked to my idealistic dad.
All sorts of conjectures about my dad and mom unfolded in my little mind: was my mom older than my dad? Why did Dad call Mom "sister"? In my father's love poems, they became two mysterious people.
Later, after my many proofs, finally figured out that the father and mother were born in the same year, the father's birthday in the first month of the lunar calendar, the mother's birthday in the eleventh month of the lunar calendar, so the mother is younger than the father by almost a year.
But why did dad call mom "sister"? Later, I simply went straight to ask mom, "Why does dad call you sister?"
"No, your father has always called me by my first name." Mom acted as if she didn't remember the book of poems.
I could only console myself with the fact that the wear and tear of the years had dulled mom's memory.
After five years of sending letters by geese and geese, at the age of 27, Dad and Mom, being the older generation at the time, decided to get married.
But at that time, mom still did not know, dad has no possibility to transfer back from Xinjiang, dad's salary is how much, dad's family has no house to live. Until the first time to see the grandparents, mom only know, grandparents on the dad so a child, dad to bear all the living expenses of grandparents - I really do not know mom and dad that 5 years of correspondence are talking about what.
After working in Xinjiang for 15 years, my dad was finally transferred back when I was 6 years old.
15 years, Dad every year, a year to the family, his wife's thoughts into strength, enduring 3 days and 4 nights of long-distance train travel torment, in just 20 days, enjoying the best time of his life, during which the birth of our three sisters.
Dad came back to Grandpa's house every day at dinner, one because mom lives in Grandpa's house, and the other because there is a group of like-minded people here, discussing the fate of the country and the future together. While Dad was "pointing out the mountains and mountains," Mom was busy with her chores, but she listened to their conversations, nodding her head and smiling from time to time. When she is not busy, she sits aside and looks at her father with affection, the admiration in her eyes is clearly back to her father. Love poem.
Not a poet will lose the father, in the mother's 50th birthday, gave mom a collection of world famous poets to his wife's love poems collection, in the title page with a Pushkin-style poetic style of writing a love poem dedicated to mom, the 50-year-old man is still "on his knees" in his reputation as a "goddess" of the mother, the mother of the mother, the mother of the mother, the mother of the mother of the mother. The 50-year-old man still "kneels" at the feet of his mom, whom he calls a "goddess".
We don't have that kind of era anymore, we don't have that kind of love anymore, and we don't have that kind of love poem anymore.
The third pain in life
When I was 20 years old, I was squeezed off the one-way bridge of the college entrance exams, and all my dreams and glory went up in smoke overnight. I chose to escape, without any attachment to the village that gave birth to me for 20 years, and came to the county town alone to work in a factory. I want to live a show to them, I want to let my parents in the village in front of the old and young people to raise their heads again.
However, God seems to be determined to let me go through trials and tribulations, less than half a year at work, an accidental mechanical accident once again destroyed my vision and dreams - the loss of the middle finger and index finger of the left hand. That day was the fifteenth day of the seventh month of the lunar calendar, I was lying alone in the hospital ward, suffering from the torment of physical and mental double pain.
On the day of the accident, the factory intended to notify my parents, but I didn't agree.
On the day of the accident, the factory intended to notify my parents, but I did not agree. At this time of the year, my parents were working in the farmland, and their tired backs could not bear such a heavy burden.
After twenty days in the hospital, I was discharged. At this time there are three days before the Mid-Autumn Festival, the factory gave me a month's leave. Sitting in the car home, my mood is extremely complex. When I left this village, I swore that I would never go back until I had made a name for myself outside. Now I'm back, not only the situation has not changed, but also lost two fingers, I feel really can not face my parents.
On the road, I have several times suddenly stood up, want to get off, want to go back. The first thing I want to do is to get out of the car and go back to the car, but I don't know what to do. I'm not going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do it. I can't choose not to see my parents for the rest of my life because of two missing fingers.
Walking to the head of the village, looking far away from the door of the house, I do not even have the courage to go forward again. I don't know how long I wandered under the big elm tree at the entrance of the village, and I don't know how many times I made up my mind, I finally appeared in front of my mother.
My mother was not surprised that I came back, but was just surprised to say, "Your unit is really good, early vacation." My mother thought I was coming back for the Mid-Autumn Festival.
From the time I walked in the door, my left hand was in my pants pocket. I pretended to talk to my mother as if nothing had happened. When my mother asked about my work and life, I said it was fine.
I asked my father what he was doing. My mother told me that my cousin is getting married today, and he has gone for a drink, so he may not be back until the evening.
My mother asked me, "Are you hungry?" I said I had eaten in the morning. Mother said: "You are thirsty, right, to the house to cool off for a while, I go to the east end of the melon field to buy two watermelons." I said no, but my mother still picked up the basket and went.
When my mother handed me the watermelon, I took it with my right hand, and when I ate it, I held it with my right hand, and kept my left hand in my pants pocket.
After a few mouthfuls of watermelon, I may have been too nervous, but I accidentally dropped the watermelon on the ground. When I went to pick up the watermelon, I used my right hand, which attracted my mother's attention. She asked me, "What happened to your left hand?" I said it was nothing, I just touched it. When my mother heard this, she actually pounced on me and said, "Show it to me." I refused, turned around and ran back to my room, my mother followed, she tugged on my arm and pulled my hand out of my pants pocket. Mother only looked at it, and cried with a childlike wow.
My mother repeatedly looked at my hand and cried for a full 10 minutes before asking me, "How long has it been touched, and does it still hurt?" Mother did not ask me how I touched, the factory is how to deal with this kind of thing. In her opinion, the process of touching is no longer important, she can not accept the result.
Throughout the day, my mother was stagnant, and her words were always inarticulate. I tried to comfort her with a forced smile, but every time I appeared in front of my mother, she cried again.
At night, lying in bed, I did not fall asleep. At ten o'clock or so, my father came back. As soon as my father pushed the gate, my mother immediately turned on the lights in the courtyard. I know that my mother did not sleep at all, she was waiting for my father.
That is, three to five minutes, my father hurriedly pushed open the door of my room. I knew that my mother had told him about my situation in those three to five minutes.
My father turned on the light in my room, he had drunk a lot of wine, and when he pushed open the door to my room, I smelled the smell of wine emanating from him. I was afraid of my father since I was a child, and after such a big incident, I really didn't dare to face him, so I pretended to be asleep and closed my eyes tightly.
My father came to my bed, holding the head of the bed, slowly squatted down, and put his head close to the hand I put on the body. My father's eyes were a bit nearsighted, and his face was so close to my hand that I could feel the airflow from his breath spraying hot onto my hand.
After my father looked at my hand, he sat down on the floor. Perhaps because of the wine, he sat on the ground half a day before getting up. When he stood up, I secretly saw him also shed tears, silent.
After my father stabilized himself, he sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. He raised his hand several times and reached for mine, as if he wanted to touch it, but several times, when he was about to touch my hand, he retracted it.
At this moment, I really wanted to sit up, jump into my father's arms, and cry. But I still held back, and even held my breath.
After a while, my father went to the cupboard and brought a pillow. He gently picked up my hand and placed it flat on the pillow. He was afraid that when I turned over at night, it would hurt the wound.
When my father left my room, his footsteps were very light, and he moved out of my room almost bit by bit. Not long after, I heard a burst of extremely suppressed sobbing in my parents' room ......
It was the low, extremely suppressed sound of pain, and it was the voice of my mother, who sobbed uncontrollably, and finally cried so hard that she couldn't catch her breath. My father's low sobs also reached my ears a little.
I finally understand: my body is the gift of parents, their own two fingers, is connected to the heart of parents ah! In fact, the most unbearable pain in life is not the pain of physical disability, nor is it the pain of the heart when hope is lost and life choices are made, but it is the third kind of pain - the pain of the parents who watch their children suffer but are unable to "suffer on behalf of their children"!