Fun Micro Pocket Weekly No. 63
A selection of novels
If the flow of years is warm, it is not afraid of time and shadow
●Zhang Rong
1、
After a long afternoon nap, the shadow of the sun on the wall changed from blazing white to light gold.
The wind blew away the haze, and the temperature dropped by another 10%, but the sun during the day was red and gave people the illusion of warmth, the blue sky cast a sapphire-like shadow on the glass window, and the wisps of daylight slowly moved on the pale pink wallpaper, no wonder Wang Anyi once doubted whether the word "time and yin" should be written as "light and shadow". At this moment, the light and shadow on her wall changed from hot white to light gold.
In the afternoon of November, the most unbearable afternoon, the shadow of the sun had just shone on the wall, and it only took a few pages of bookwork and a nap to slide under the window. The light in the room changed from bright white to beige white, and then melted into the looming blue. Just five o'clock is the appearance of dusk, looking out from the tall building, the west side is faintly red, which is the prototype of the sunset. The most disliked time of the day is always with a lonely desolation, like an old emerald that has condensed over the years, and the moldy green has white hair. If it is the beginning of the lunar calendar, the moon shadow has floated in the air at this time, and the half-curved transparent white shadow is like sneaking out.
After the light snow, the winter twilight is even more hurried, and at the end of the sunset, the blue smoke of the factory dances on the roof of the tall building, which is a lonely look; the noise of the kindergarten after school outside the window makes the pet dogs bark wildly, which is also a lonely look. The word "loneliness," when not emotional, is a state. One day, that's how it went.
The boundless loneliness is like an invisible net, and there is a kind of desolation at a loss. The dry heat in the house gradually faded a little, and I was still sweaty and helpless.
Habitually touched the mobile phone, fragmented text fluttered the face, poetry, prose, novels and messages, 18 layers of filter filter filtered middle-aged men and women's faces, self-deception... It's like it's all lonely. He regretted and wasted another day. When the hot flashes of menopause turn into droplets of sweat, the loneliness and confusion fade away little by little. Is it time to think about dinner: to eat or not to eat? What to eat? In recent years, even if dinner is lost again and again, the weight has not changed, she said, is the bones sinking with age? Friends said, how come, osteoporosis will become lighter after the right...
2、
I always think of the first popular song I came into contact with in my childhood, "In another twenty years, we will meet", which was brought back by my cousin in a certain month, when they were only seven or eight years old, without toys, they ran inexplicably in the cold wind, running losing their armor and breathless. The wilderness of the hometown winter is flooded with snow-like crystalline salinity, soft as snow, stepping on it to make a "poof" sound, the dust is white, and when you breathe again, the wind has more salty taste. The yellowish reed grass swayed its stumps, and the wild cattle and horses bowed their heads, slowly not sparing any subtle food that could be eaten. The younger brother ran tired and stopped to sing loudly, she followed suit, he sang and swallowed the dates, she stumbled in her learning, but the lyrics that seemed to understand gave her infinite expectations. 20 years, 20 years from now, where will she be? What will it look like? Is it a question that every child thinks about a thousand times?
At that time, at dusk in my hometown, there would be a village of cooking smoke, blue and blue, spewing out in clumps on the low house, and swaying and drifting away. The soot that burns the stove is fragrant, light, and soft; the wood smoke for cooking rice is also incense, and the sunflower stalks burn with a smell of fried melon seeds, strong and affinity.
That waxing moon, she ran out of several teeth in the cold wind.
Now, 40 years later, she's in a corner of town, like another song sings: there's no "money" or "pretty." She was bored reading in the study, drinking tea alone; books and tea were lonely; she slept in her bedroom, ignoring the flow of light and shadow on the wall, and sometimes even missing the sunset and sunset.
3、
That year, Park Shu had just made his debut. "Birch Forest" was once popular, a word: the sky is still hazy, there are still pigeons flying, for no reason to make her intoxicated. A meter away from the corridor, across the door office, he would suddenly sing this sentence with her one afternoon. An old colleague in the same room quipped: "So tacit understanding? What signal? At that time, she was married, and suddenly found that he was different, but she did not regret marrying someone.
Working together for many years, he always gave her a hard time. Seeing that she is really angry, he will also take a soft, say a few words of sorry or buy some good food, she is still gambling, he will sit down on the opposite side, look at her angry, she can't help but forgive him, he will have to inch in: "Hmm, turn around and let your husband take a break from you... If you follow me, see how I can wear off your squeamishness... On the first day of work after her maternity leave, he shouted in front of a room full of people, Yo yo yo, baby rushed over and hugged her. Sometimes, love has to talk about time, talk about details, and come too early or too late to have no results. And the details are a moment of sudden surprise, needless to say that you love me, I love you, it has also come.
Many years later, he said, at that time, my parents liked you so much, in fact, maybe they wanted to say, at that time, I also liked you.
4、
interview. Take a bus through the city.
When the car changed to the north-south road, the sunlight came in from the window. In early winter, the leaves have fallen to pieces, and the sunlight passes through the treetops and through the car glass, filtering into a warm white light. The roadside soap pod trees have fallen leaves, and the pods that have borne the whole summer and autumn hang on the dead branches like strings of dried fish.
When I was a teenager, I wrote articles and wrote about the word "half a hundred", which will definitely be followed by "white hair" and "pale face", and suddenly, I am close to this age. A few years ago, her friends wrote about the topic of "half a hundred calm", and she was secretly glad, but now it is her turn to play.
The talk of the office has since become this pain and itch, health care, blood pressure, blood lipids and blood sugar. Although she tried her best to avoid it and replace it with lipstick color and sweater style, she ended up being perfunctory or even scrawled. A few days ago, she took a pair of her favorite high heels to the shoe repair stall and took off a section, when she was a teenager, she once thought that she would not give up the fashion, into an excerpt on the newspaper page, the director said: "These Brand names marked in English, change to Chinese characters, everyone can't understand ..."
In the past, when I saw the old people who sat from the afternoon to dusk, I always couldn't understand it, but now I seem to understand it slightly. Once thought that distant aging is still far away, but now it is pressing forward. A relative was diagnosed with advanced cancer, but he was only in his 60s, and his life was precarious. The world is impermanent, and they also walk in the sun, but some people suddenly fall into the abyss.
The most fortunate and ostentatious thing is that parents now live in the same neighborhood, buying vegetables and cooking every day. Spring, summer, autumn and winter, every day back from work, meals have been served, and the patterns have been renovated. Occasionally looking out from the upper floor, you will see your father buying fruits and eggs and come back, and see your mother chatting with a few old ladies in the shadow of the building in the small square or in the sun, and suddenly feel warm and warm.
One evening, she went downstairs to her parents' house to deliver a few small cakes, opened the door, and her mother was dancing at the table with her bare arms and the video on her mobile phone, and she laughed: "Why are you still bare-chested?" The old woman gasped and said, "Hot." "Coming out, there were a few bright stars lit up in the deep blue night, not that people will become stars in the sky after death, she thought, the brightest one must be her grandmother.
The first time I faced death was when my grandmother died. One afternoon, my 87-year-old grandmother suddenly threw away her rice bowl while eating lunch. At that moment, she understood that no one could compete with time, and even if she didn't give up, she would leave it all behind.
Turn on the TV, and the dusk outside the window is dark again. If the midsummer dusk is full of cool expectations, then the winter dusk includes the helpless loneliness after a long day. The sun broke the only remaining temperature, and the wind drilled straight out of the dry and hard cement floor. The weather forecast said that the cold wave was coming, and the dark gray clouds were indeed in the dim dusk, which was like the wind and snow in the early winter.
I remember the winter when I was young, I always wore thick sweaters and coats for the winter, sweaters were woven with thick wool, but most of the coats were not pure wool. After eating or playing at night, the long street is filled with cold wind, and on weekdays, I don't feel that the distant road has become out of reach, and I run back to the dormitory, thinking in my heart: Such weather, don't go out again! The next day, I completely forgot the cold of that day.
Today, reading under the lamp and feasting, I think I will definitely choose the former.
Watching TV, I began to prefer documentaries. A slow and long rhythm, a place of past and present lives. "Traveling with Tang Shi" was a fortuitous discovery that day, and tonight it was Meng Haoran: a post-70s man, a dilapidated 28 bicycle, a straight beam, and a brown hard leather seat with springs. When the camera closes up, his pores and stubble are exaggeratedly magnified, but there are beautiful scenery and poetry behind him, as if a cloth-clad Meng Haoran is saying loudly with xiangyang enthusiasm: "The green tree village is close, and the green mountain Guo is oblique..." The portrait of Meng Haoran in the data, although it is just half a hundred years old, is it full of wrinkles and hanging old, is it not the appearance of time?
Open the wardrobe to find house clothes, a few sweater skirts grunted out, she said, New Year, do not buy clothes, the cabinet can not be put down, but the husband said, buy, the New Year to have a sense of ceremony. Yes, a sense of ceremony.
That day, it was the twenty-second Journalists' Day, and I had been a journalist for 24 years, and there was no sense of ceremony on that day.
5、
And my girlfriend went to see "Mei Yanfang". There were few people in the huge screening hall. It was her favorite Cantonese dialogue and song that echoed in the empty auditorium. Mei Yanfang, a teenager debuted, threw thousands of dollars, but fell in the best years.
And she likes a life of thin water and long streams, even if it is plain. It should be like Karen Mok's song: slowly like you, slowly walk with you, slowly recall, slowly grow old... Like one word: no desire is just. Thinking about it carefully, really, when there is no desire, it is the most powerful. A brash girlfriend explains the word domineeringly and vulgarly: you are free, the old lady is like this... Occasionally, she will feel that desirelessness is just not a compromise, but think again, the destination of life is one day, always reconcile with everything.
Time flows by itself, is it not talking about career, getting old, talking about life and death is still early? Then the ripples are good.
The scattered time is used to waste time, right? However, if the flow of years is warm, there is an indescribable warmth lurking in the void time.
The image comes from the Internet
About the Author
Zhang Rong
Born in 1973, a native of Baotou, Inner Mongolia, he has been engaged in newspaper editorial work since 1997, and has published essays and stories in Inner Mongolia Daily, Luming Magazine, Baotou Daily, and Baotou Evening News. Since 2001, he has been engaged in the editorial and journalist work of Baogang Daily and Life Weekly, a member of Baotou Writers Association and a member of China Metallurgical Writers Association.