Ice skating crucian carp
◎ Shao Mingmei
Outside the window, the north wind whistles, snowflakes flutter, the roads, trees, and cars in the vicinity are covered with snow, and the tall buildings in the distance are faintly in the wind and snow, like a pipa half covered.
On the screen, the Opening of the Beijing Winter Olympics, the water of ice and snow fell from the sky, the four sides of the solid ice came out of the ground, a round ball collided around the field, the ice broke and melted, and many light figures slid on the huge ice surface of the bird's nest. Everywhere there are dazzling colors, smart figures, beautiful dance postures, warm atmosphere, bright smiles... Somehow, my thoughts flew to a long time ago.
I should still be in elementary school at that time. I remember that it was also a winter day, and it was also full of wind and snow, and the river had long been frozen. That morning, I sat on a hot kangtou and looked at the window flowers around the quilt. Counting the leaves, suddenly, a hint of buttoned flesh, if there was none, burrowed into the tip of my nose. I sucked my nose twice, yes, it was button meat! Last year, the uncle of the third grandfather's family got married, and I ate it!
This is the neighbor's daughter-in-law, and she is making a feast. In the countryside at that time, marriage was in winter. Winter waxing moon, cold weather, people and nature are dormant convergence, rest and recuperation. Busy for a year, only this time is the most idle, you can not be busy with agricultural affairs, specializing in personnel. Stewed rooster, braised pork, braised pig's trotters... The slightest wisp of fragrance, like a finger that hooks the soul, hooks me down from the kang and walks to the door of the neighbor's house. At the door, there were already a few children lying on their stomachs, staring at the chicken, duck and fish meat full of pots and pans.
In front of the pot stove, the second mother who is busy wearing an apron is invited to take charge of the spoon. Seeing me coming, she waved at me slightly. When I got to the front, she quietly picked up a small piece of pork head meat and put it in my mouth. Just as I was about to open my mouth, I remembered the words my mother often said, "People are not poor", I turned my head and ran, and the sound of my second mother stomping her feet came from behind me.
When my mother knew, her eyes lit up with tears, and her father frowned. He silently got off the kang, walked to the courtyard, picked up the pickaxe, and went to the river. Mountain dancing silver snake, thousands of miles of frozen wilderness, cold wind, sweeping the snow on the ground, straight to the face, cold and stinging. Father pressed the cotton hat on his head with the palm of his hand, gently stepped onto the frozen river, and carefully tried, his eyes wandering around—he was looking for a place where the water was so deep and the ice might be fishing. When he stepped on the winding footprints on the ice, he finally chose a place, lifted the pickaxe hard, and swung it down hard. One after another, the ice chips were snow-white and splashed everywhere... Slowly, a hole was made on the surface of the ice by the father, and there were many cracks around it, like lightning, and with the swing of the father's pickaxe, it cracked farther and deeper, and made a crisp ice cracking sound, which came out far in the cold air, in the silent wilderness, and trembled. With a loud cracking sound of ice, father did not dare to wave the pickaxe again, pulled away, and looked elsewhere.
Half a day later, my father brought back a string of a dozen or so small crucian carp with several inches of hanging ice, the sleeves and trouser legs were half wet, and the hard ice was frozen. The mother took the string of crucian carp and put it in the basin. We stood around the pot table, watching our mother melt the little fish little by little, wash them one by one, and then pour oil, cook the pot, fry the fish, add water, boil the soup... Soon, the heat came out and the fragrance came out. Again and again, we lifted our necks and took a deep breath, hating that we couldn't suck all the scents that drifted from the air into our stomachs.
Tender fish meat, white fish soup, held in the hand hot, drink to the stomach warm, eat to the mouth fragrant. To this day, I think it's the most delicious fish soup I've ever drunk.
That bowl of ice skating crucian carp not only accompanied me through that windy and snowy winter day, but also accompanied me through many cold and frozen years. In college, in the cafeteria, when my classmates from better families nibbled on chicken legs and picked up fish bones and I drank porridge on steamed buns, the white soup of porridge reminded me of the bowl of crucian carp soup. When I stand in the cold wind waiting for the bus, I see the white breath coming out of my mouth, and I think of the hot air coming out of the fish soup. On the operating table, when I see the doctor's scalpel flashing cold and cold, I think of the picture of my father chiseling ice and begging for fish, the scene of my mother holding scissors in her hand to cut open the belly of the crucian carp, and then I think of the warmth and sweetness of my hand holding white fish soup and warming my body and mind.
With that bowl of skating crucian carp, life is no longer difficult, time is no longer lonely, and the years are no longer long. At any time, I have the courage and strength to face the cold wind and rain, the wind and the frost sword.
(The picture in this article is provided by the author, if there is any infringement, please inform and delete)
About the Author
Shao Mingmei, born in March 1981, a native of Yantai, Shandong, master of arts, is a creator of Yantai Literary Creation Research Office.
One point number Yantai prose