Text: Zeng Shubao
On the weekend, I took a moment to drive back to my hometown to see my father and also to see the old house.
The old house has been some years old, like the big lady next door, old, walking trembling, stepping into the wind and candles. The neighbors around them walked and moved, there was a lot less noise, more loneliness, and in the gap of time, the old house was more and more silent, and it was growing old alone.
Pushing open the dilapidated door, the door shaft creaked and greeted me laboriously. A familiar smell came over me, making my heart shake, as if I had returned to the past; it also made me quickly remove all my armor and masks, unload the hard work of running outside, and feel relaxed. The smell of fireworks all over the room, into the bone into the marrow, unforgettable, born with an incomparable attraction, always pulling my eyes and footsteps, even if separated by thousands of mountains and rivers, even if it is a year. At this moment, standing in the old house, I feel that I am naked, no shackles, no restraints, I was born here in a red stripe, grew up here, the old house is for me, I have no secret from the old house.
The yard was still the same, a well stood by itself, next to a laurel tree, an iron tree, growing vigorously in the sun, which my mother and I planted by hand. Because of the tree, whenever the osmanthus flowers are fragrant, I always miss and worry about my hometown and the old house.
The furnishings of the old house are still the same, and the hoes, flattens, and plow rakes behind the doors have not moved for decades, just like I just returned from the field and left them there. The stove was foggy, the pots and pans were buzzing, and my mother was busy cooking. Two eight-immortal tables, old chairs and stools, painted and peeled off, were painted over and over again by my mother and me many years ago. Seeing things and thinking about people, the heart is difficult to calm, and the past years quietly reappear in front of you. The tables and chairs that accompanied me growing up, hoeing and bearing, seemed to have life, could speak, and chattered with me; and seemed to have become my relatives, so familiar, so kind, no matter how long I left, no matter where I was lost, I could always accurately identify them at a glance. My sweat, my tears, my laughter, my youth, my incomparable love for my hometown, have long been integrated into one.
Only my father was left in the old house, and he welcomed me in with joy, sitting peacefully on the side and peeling the edamame. I sat calmly against the table, leaning back against the water board, chatting with each other one after another. Or I was stupid, or my father was speechless, and after three or two sentences there was silence, not at all as intense as the conversation I had with my mother, even if I was in a bad mood, or I had returned from too long away from home, my mother could always find some interesting topics to tease me and arouse my interest. As a response and in-depth, I also vented my difficulties and dissatisfaction in my study, work, and life to her. Such a chat is the old half a day. Every time I almost sit in this position, leaning forward on the table, leaning back against the water wall, cocking the stool with two feet, both sitting, but also half lying, very comfortable, tired to go forward can also lie on the table to squint for a while, never have to worry about falling down, that sitting posture, that look, that mood, let me feel particularly comfortable and down-to-earth. That is, in the old house, on a quiet afternoon, despite the scorching sun outside, frogs and cicadas, I was as quiet as water, I didn't want to go anywhere, I just wanted to keep this posture and sit quietly and comfortably for a while, no noise, no one disturbed, greedily accepting or reliving a childhood leisure and happiness, and even hoping that time could be turned back.
It was time to say goodbye, and my father got up and sent me away. "Dad, I'm gone, take care of yourself." I waved at my father and the old house, and at the same time silently said in my heart, "Mom, I'm gone, old house, goodbye." ”
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