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

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