Text/Zhao Yuehong
Every book is a soul printed in black on white paper, and as soon as my eyes, my intellect, come into contact with it, it comes alive. - Gorky
Every passage of time changes
It's all an unforgettable calling
The moment I looked back
Fang Jue
The boat of time cannot reach the other side of memory
I've asked about the former dust
She was holding in the yellowed scroll
Is there still a psalm from yesterday
In the story she wrote
Whether it still cherishes that untouchable emotion
At this moment I'm reading you again under the lamp
That line is full of true feelings
Narration
A dreamlike past
In her childhood memories, my mother had always had gray hair and a thin and thin body, and she seemed to have never been young. At that time, I naively thought that all the mothers in the world were like this.
Mother's health is not good all year round, rarely go out to work, but every once in a while, my mother will take a few of our sisters, walk to the townships a few miles away to buy books, so every day, is the day we are most looking forward to, my mother not only buys us books, but also buys us large bags of sugar melons, boxy small handkerchiefs, grunting mud tigers, meet beautiful flower cotton cloth, will also buy a few feet, go home Mother cut by hand, and then sew stitch by stitch, make beautiful clothes for our sisters, The rest of the scraps are made into flower bags, rag dolls, or when the next spring comes, we will sew a big rooster for each of our brothers and sisters to wear on a hat.
The most memorable is the low "thatched book house" near the market, hidden under the old locust tree, the yurt-like thatched house alone, there is infinite fun, do not wait to get closer, under the thatched eaves will "hula" fly out of the flock of sparrows, the hole above the uneven mud wall, there will always be a bat "squeak" call, occasionally stick out to reveal a pair of frightened small eyes. The two wooden doors of the bookstore have always been half-hidden, perhaps carrying the wind and rain of the four seasons, the edge of the wooden door has been extremely smooth, often see bare-ass children naughtily squeezing under the door, only by pushing open the door, you can find that the shelves of sorghum straw inside are placed on a variety of different books, some of which have become yellow because they are old.
At that time, every time I went back to the bookstore, I would tilt my feet hard, touch my chin on the slippery and cool cement slab counter, watch the big sister who sold books inside busy, thin and thin, wearing a blue background floral cotton top, two big braids with red head ropes, hanging from the chest to the counter, laughing, the big black mole next to the corner of my eyes also laughed into a crescent, and I liked her to speak with a sweet Northeast accent, greeted our voices warmly, and then stroked my face, Turning around, I habitually took the stacks of books off the shelves and put them in front of us, patiently waiting for us to finish picking them, and then sorting them out locally and placing them on the shelves.
Because when I went out, my mother and we had already agreed that each person was limited to buying three books at a time, and taking turns reading them at home, so the process of picking books was the longest, and when there were not many customers, the big sister who sold books would also squat down and read the comic strips she liked to us. To those illustrated and rich "little people books", we are always undecided, do not know which one is good, when leaving and can not help but look back, maybe she saw my mind, every time we finish buying books, next, she will let us from a pile of old books next to the bookshelf, each person pick another one to take home to see, the premise is to wait for the next time to buy a book to return, and then go more times, the mother and her gradually become familiar, sometimes, watching her talk to her mother, there are always tears in her eyes, and then my mother told me, The big sister is out of town, because of the compulsion of life, she lives in a relative's house, the road is far away from being able to get together with her family, this "hut" is the only source and pillar to support her life, when she is homesick, she reads books, and those old little people books are read by the big sister.
The last time I saw her with my mother, it was a rainy day, after buying three books, she did not let me pick another one, but turned around and took out a bag of things from a floral cloth bag, which was wrapped in paper twisters one after another, she came to me and hugged me tightly, put the book in my hand, and told me that these were her three favorite books, that she was leaving, that she was going to go to a far, far away place...
I suspected that the "far side" was a wonderful place to go, because she was always smiling when she spoke, and she lifted her head and turned around, but she also kept wiping her eyes with her sleeve. How far away is it? Later, I learned from my mother's mouth that in order to live, she married away from home, and then later, it had been reduced to flat land, the thatched bookhouse and the flock of sparrows had disappeared without a trace, and many years had passed, and whenever I mentioned it, my mother always sighed, and whenever I saw these three books that had turned yellow, there would always be the black mole that had been bent with laughter, the blue floral cloth top that had been washed white...
Many years later, when I recall that scene, the hazy sky will light up, and the "thatched bookhouse" in my memory is the first bookhouse in my life, and those three books have become the first books in my life that have activated my wisdom, and it will always break into my world in some day and night, white paper, black words, as long as my eyes, my intellect touch it, it becomes vivid.
Zhao Yuehong, screen name "Moon Falling Red Dust", preschool education, amateur literature enthusiast, member of the Chinese Poetry Society, member of the Western China Prose Literature Society, member of the Shandong Provincial Prose Literature Society, member of the Rizhao Writers Association, and a contracted writer of China Writers Online. Poetry, poetry, and prose have been published several times by national, provincial and municipal newspapers, magazines, and public platforms, and paintings, photography, and creative design have won many awards, and the concept of life "cares for children with love and writes life with words".
Submission email: [email protected]
One Point No. Scroll Wenyuan