My old house is a five-room thatched house next to the Lotus Pond River. It has a civil structure and faces west to east. The thick and solid wooden door, the simple and elegant windows, the carving of the wooden structure and the overall layout are all telling the master’s former style, extravagance and magnanimity.

There is a big vegetable garden in front of the door, with several green spinach, chili, Chrysanthemum coronarium…… Just like the grass garden described by Mr. Lu Xun, every summer, the oil spoon sings here and crickets play the piano here.

Later, as the brothers built up their families one after another, they lived in new houses. The old house has also been continuously split, and it is getting smaller and smaller and more crude, gradually losing its classical and atmosphere.

When the fourth brother separated from the fifth brother, they simply removed the old house completely.

Later, the fourth brother transformed the ruins of the old house into a vegetable garden. Although the fourth brother managed his vegetable garden to enjoy it, I didn’t like it. How did he know that without the old house, my soul could only travel to the end of the world.

As I get older, my old house complex becomes stronger and stronger.

On last April, I went back to my hometown to visit my parents. I stayed silently on the ruins of the old house for a while. The remaining bricks, stones and porcelain seemed to touch casually, and there would be a vivid past resurrection in an instant. Every step, it seems that you can bend down to pick up a childhood memory……

The old house is a masterpiece of father’s exhausted efforts. When I was a child, I often heard from my father that he shoveled the soil alone in the severe winter where the North Wind was roaring, or drove the wood a sky full of stars above his head until the hot heat of the red sun was scorching. Like a swallow, after several twists and turns, he finally built up his own nest. At that time, whenever relatives and friends came to the door, father always patted the doors and windows with joy, or pointed to the house on the House, Zhongliang, praising him for the new style of the house, with a proud face, it seemed that his old man was a hero who changed places.

Father can indeed be regarded as a hero, when people you add up those memory fragments more than ten years ago in a word. I seemed to see my father, carrying huge green slabstone, staggering on the country road. His back was covered by Slate. From the back, I could only see the slate moving, every step my father took was very difficult. The thick slate bent my father’s back. I gently stroked the slate left on the ruins, which was still warm and warm, as if my father’s body temperature was still there.

Suddenly, a leaf fell on my skirt. I suddenly shuddered and remembered a past more than 50 years ago. That morning, my father went to the attic of the old house to pick up something. He just climbed up and a piece of wood fell down. It happened to fall on the head of the third sister. He only heard a scream of “Ah Yo, blood came out of the third sister’s fingers. Father heard his daughter’s cry and knew that he had made unforgivable mistakes carelessly. He almost jumped down from the attic three or four meters high, holding his daughter, with tears in his eyes, he kept blaming himself: “I am damned! I’m going to die……” The scene, the atmosphere, the world, the crying spirit, at that moment, I felt that the energy generated by his affection was flowing through my body continuously, and his action of jumping down from the attic regardless of life and death became the most magnificent image he had left in my heart.

It was also in such an evening that the sun gradually sank to the West. Under the eaves, there was a call from my mother to urge me to go home. I, as well as chickens, ducks and cows, headed in the same direction-the old house with smoke curling up, broke the sun all the way. I couldn’t help raising my eyes and looking at it. The smoke on the roof seemed to be still there, and the fragrance of firewood Rice seemed to be still there, floating and falling on the tip of my nose, the familiar taste came to me through the vicissitudes of time. At this moment, I really want to fly into the house as I was when I was a child. I hurriedly picked up a fragrant rice crust and put it into my mouth. I hugged my mother and shouted “Mom, I’m back!”

Crescent in the sky, thin. Maybe it has been separated from me for too long. It has already been a little raw for me. I just showed half a face, turned around and hid in the thin clouds. It suddenly occurred to me that the moon in the old house seemed not like this when I was a child. At that time, it followed me wherever I went. On summer night, my mother put me to bed by the pond, and it also quietly followed up from the window to caress my face, soft and quiet, Misty and affectionate. I still remember that my mother had been sitting on the edge of the bed, singing nursery rhymes while playing a fan for me: “moon cake, dog bite, bite Hi……” I fell asleep in a daze, and my mother’s singing continued, like a gentle bright moon, falling on my pillow and in my dream.

In the south of the old house, a row of bitter trees originally grew. When the third elder brother built the house, the materials used in the new House were young because there were not much wood to split, so the workers did not dare to go to the house, and the fourth elder brother who was responsible for separating the house was at a loss. Later, he took the big knife and led the fifth brother to the old house. He said to the fifth brother, “as long as you can use it, choose the big one!” They cut down this row of bitter trees that should belong to them and built houses for the third elder brother. The fourth elder brother shed tears while cutting down. At that moment, a kind of long-lost trembling surged all over his body, let me understand that blood is thicker than water and brotherhood. More than forty years later, the rotting head of the bitter tree still could not wipe away the traces, and still waited quietly on the ruins of the old house. I took up a handful of root mud, looked up and looked away, and saw the lonely grave where the fifth brother was resting in peace. At that moment, my brother’s love and old house suddenly forced me, which seemed so powerful and moved. The two lines of tears could not stop coming out of my eyes. The constant affection made me kneel down at the grave of my fifth brother: “My fifth brother, my ninth brother, look at you!”

I don’t know how many times I can come back in the process of my life, but I know that my “home” has been buried with one of them in the collapse of the old house. My parents and the old house entered the space-time tunnel of history one after another, and they gradually drifted away from me……

Zan (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) remember the past, a little more youth without any regrets

Lao Gen said: I have a new idea. Draw the scene of Nangang reservoir more carefully. Let’s remember the past and have more youth…

Silly girl

Before last October, I worked and lived in Hongqiao town. This is an ordinary small town in southern Sichuan, the only one that can highlight local characteristics…

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Liu Ma and her son

Wang Xin, the eldest son of Liu Ma, finally became a family at the age of 32, but she always felt uneasy. The ins and outs of things are really difficult…

The Gleaners under the persimmon tree

Lao Gen was silent and a little sad. He thought of Xiaofang, who had liked him when he was young. (Xiaofang: now they are educated young people who liked the countryside…

Teacher Xia is my primary school teacher. The first time I met him was the day when my primary school became confused. I can’t remember the situation of meeting, but what impressed me was the teacher’s fingernail. The nail is about one centimeter long, and it is mellow, clean and shiny. The first time I saw my long nails, I was very surprised. Later, I got used to it and felt very natural, so that I felt that it was our teacher who had long nails.

When it comes to long nails, don’t think the teacher is a woman. Our teacher is a modest man. At the age of fifty, his chin had a very stylish beard, and his nose was covered with a pair of copper-edged glasses, wearing a gray Zhongshan suit. If you change Zhongshan suit into a long shirt, it is not the same as the teacher in the old play.

I must have a strong curiosity when I was a child. Since I saw the teacher’s long nails, I often paid attention to how the teacher did things with the hands of long nails, and soon I found something. For example, there will be many fine scratches on the chalk used by the teacher, and the teacher will turn over the textbook quickly with his long nails, but any textbook he has used, almost every page will leave many scratches at roughly the same place……

The school building of our primary school is the private house of a big family named Zhu in the pre-liberation town. The hall in the middle of the House is regarded as our activity place after class; The wing rooms on both sides are changed into classrooms; The main room behind the hall is the teacher’s accommodation and office. Except for the simple blackboard, desks and chairs in the classroom, there are almost no other facilities in the school. It was also under the tough conditions of that year that I further found that the teacher’s hands with long nails were really amazing.

Without sports equipment, he would wrap a mass of waste newspaper with coarse cloth and sew it with needle and thread, which became a small cloth ball for male students to fight for me to grab and kick by hand. I will also use Coq feather, large buttons, and small fabric to make beautiful kick shuttlecock. The female students played shuttlecock while twittering like a group of happy little chick. When the weather is fine, he will take us to the grass near the river near the school and dress up the students as all kinds of characters or animals in the Chinese text with his homemade props, let everyone perform the plots and scenes described in the lesson. The students had a great time every time.

Now I think that although the material was scarce and the conditions were crude in that era, I didn’t feel bitter at all after following the teacher. On the contrary, I felt very happy.

Unconsciously, I am in the third grade. From then on, I vaguely felt that the atmosphere of the school had changed. There were often some high school students wearing red armbands on their arms who came to our primary school for a meeting. We also seemed to understand what we said at the meeting.

One day after the meeting, the teacher took us back to the classroom. I saw that he took out a piece of red paper, cut out some long notes skillfully, and asked two classmates to help him paste the notes on the wall of the classroom into a square frame, A piece of paper with three big words “criticism column” was posted directly above the big frame.

After finishing this, the teacher told us with a dignified expression that now he assigned a homework to the students. If you have any opinions about the teacher at ordinary times, write it down. You don’t have to give it to the teacher to see, just Paste it directly into that criticism column.

The students were stunned at once and couldn’t figure out what was going on. Besides, we don’t even write diaries.

After a while, the teacher added that it doesn’t matter if you can’t remember it. You can finish it in two days, but you must write it. This is a political task. You helped the teacher by writing it.

We don’t know anything about political tasks either. We only know that this is the homework assigned by the teacher.

Two days soon arrived, and I haven’t figured out what to write yet. There are already homework posted by classmates on the wall, most of which are written by teachers who are punished, kept by teachers, or knocked by teachers with textbooks because of wrong answers. Inspired by these, I remembered one thing two weeks ago.

In the Chinese class that day, I was found by the teacher for reading the comic book. He came to grab my arm angrily and asked me to stand up. At that time, I felt that the arm exposed outside the short sleeve was pinched and broken by the teacher’s nails, but I didn’t dare to make a sound. When I came home from school, I didn’t dare to tell my family that I was afraid that I had to eat “fried meat with bamboo shoots” (teach children a lesson with bamboo shoots). Then I applied some red potion myself, and it would be better in one night……

I decided to write about it. Fei laodajin finally wrote about four lines on small letter edition. The word “arm” cannot be written, so he raised his hand and asked the teacher. The teacher wrote the two words on the blackboard, noted pinyin and tone, and took me to read them three times.

The teacher must have read the homework written by the students very carefully. The next day, the teacher called me to his office. As soon as I entered the door, the teacher pulled up my arm and looked at it, then asked me if I still hurt? I said it would be fine long ago. The teacher touched my head lovingly and said, it was all bad for the teacher. The teacher apologized to you, and the teacher promised that it would not happen in the future.

It made me uncomfortable for an elder who was several years old to talk to a child who was several years old. I remember I am blushed at that time and left the teacher’s office like running away.

Fortunately, the matter of raising opinions has finally passed. I don’t know if those high school students are embarrassed teachers.

One day after self-study, I sent our group’s homework to the teacher’s office. When the teacher reached for the exercise book, I was stunned-the teacher’s long nails were gone. Looking at the teacher’s fingers, I suddenly felt strange.

The teacher cut his long nails, and I felt very uncomfortable. I didn’t dare to look at the teacher for several days. The teacher is just like nothing.

Time is really fast. I graduated from primary school in a flash. He left the primary school and the teacher. Besides, I never saw the teacher again after leaving.

No goodbye does not mean forgetting. Looking back on the matter of cutting nails in those years, while feeling the teacher’s kindness, I always felt that the teacher didn’t have to change his habit of keeping for decades because of my childish behavior. As we can imagine, the teacher’s nails, like his beard, are a deliberate modification, which has become his unique symbol and remains deeply in our cognition of him. I often think that this self-modification habit formed over the years is like a person’s dressing, which contains his personality, his confidence and even his dignity. But when all this is going to be changed against one’s will, I can’t imagine how tangled and struggling the teacher’s heart was in those days……

Every time I think about this over the years, my heart is still very guilty. To write it out after several decades is also to show my heart to the teacher. The teacher can’t see it, but I will feel at ease.

Zan (prose editor: Yue ran) remember the past, a little more youth without any regrets

Lao Gen said: I have a new idea. Draw the scene of Nangang reservoir more carefully. Let’s remember the past and have more youth…

Silly girl

Before last October, I worked and lived in Hongqiao town. This is an ordinary small town in southern Sichuan, the only one that can highlight local characteristics…

You have to go, I will go with you

Recently, I have been listening to teacher Jiang Xun talking about a dream of Red Mansions. I really think it is quite good! He said such an interesting…

Birthday soul

I stood up and stared at the kind name on your tombstone. The warmth of the tombstone gradually dispersed. I raised my head and the sky was clean…

Liu Ma and her son

Wang Xin, the eldest son of Liu Ma, finally became a family at the age of 32, but she always felt uneasy. The ins and outs of things are really difficult…

The Gleaners under the persimmon tree

Lao Gen was silent and a little sad. He thought of Xiaofang, who had liked him when he was young. (Xiaofang: now they are educated young people who liked the countryside…