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Hometown, where is the kiss?
When I received the news of my cousin's death last winter, I hurried to the funeral and returned to my hometown, which had been absent for nearly fifty years.
Get off the subway, transfer to the bus, pass the second ring road, and the car will get on the suburban road. Because the road construction car drove very slowly, looking out through the window, the wheels turned and brought up a lot of dust, and the same style of residential buildings outside the window felt gray and abrupt. At this time, the terrible mood with the bumps in the road was even darker than the dust outside. The trees, buildings, and billboards in front of you are quickly pouring out of sight, and the crops on the side of the road have become stone markets, and small restaurants, small processing factories, etc. stand on the side of the road with brushes.
Through the gray sky, the bus followed the truck in front, stopping and sometimes squirming forward. Suddenly my heart tightened, I quickly rolled down the window, ignored the confusion of the other passengers, no longer paid attention to the storm of dust, stared at the left side of the direction of the car, and looked at it no longer freely. Is everything that was familiar to you still there?
That basement is still there. It is said that this is an underground command post built when the Japanese invaded toroku. From a distance, you can see a large raised earthen bag, covering an area of about 4,000 square meters, more than two dozen thin chimney-like iron pillars with hats standing on it, and the east and west doors of the basement are through, opening the door that is more than one person high and the artemisia grass is visible. Because this place has been abandoned for many years, unattended, most of the boys who dare to enter the exploration inside are boys, who grope into the deep basement in groups, listening to the friends who have returned from the secret saying that the basement is like an underground water cell, waist-deep water, cool and bone-chilling. The interior structure is complex, there are many rooms of different sizes, the roof is covered with wires, and the paintings on the walls are blurred and unclear. Spider webs are scattered everywhere, snakes and rats are running around, owls and bats are screaming miserably, and suddenly a sound will have a great echo cycle in the basement, which is very eerie and terrifying. I don't know why no one has examined it here, but if it is really a command post or fortification built by the Japanese, it is another evil witness to the Japanese invasion of China.
The bus slowly moved forward, and I nervously looked to the south side of the basement, where there should have been a small red brick pump room, how come it was missing? How could I forget that place? That was where I used to hide, my refuge, the landmark building that I had carried in my heart for many years. Looking around again, even the willow trees next to it did not know where they were going. If it were still there today, I would definitely get out of the car to take a look, and I would touch the bricks and tiles of the small pump room with my hands, and re-experience the painful state of mind of a girl hiding here.
At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, the movement of smashing and looting, breaking the four olds, and establishing the four new ones set off a climax. My family composition ranked first in the field of wealth and bad right, and because of the collection of books and antique calligraphy and paintings in my home, I was the first to be copied.
Back to the ancestors, when the Eight-Nation Alliance entered Beijing, it is said that some of the porcelain jewelry and antique calligraphy and paintings in the imperial palace fell to the people, and my grandfather collected some calligraphy and paintings and cultural relics at that time. The wall clock on the east wall of my house is regarded as an "heirloom". That year, I was touring the Forbidden City in Beijing, and I saw that there were various clocks on display in the Palace Museum, and suddenly I felt that these clocks were acquainted, and if I looked closely, there was indeed one that was exactly the same as the one in my house. The wall clock may seem strange today, but when you notice its gilded frame, the painted picture, and the two long hanging gold chains outside the frame, you will know why we all regard it as arched. I don't know the true value of this clock, but it was indeed a rarity of its time. Above the hands of this wall clock is a fierce tiger lying in the middle of the mountain, with its mouth wide open, the tiger's eyes are angry, ready to rush down the mountain at any time. As the frequency of the clock swings, the tiger's eyes turn back and forth, and the whole picture comes to life. In the upper center of the bell, there is a small door with a mechanism, and on each side of the bell hangs a one-meter-long hanging chain, and two gilded corn-shaped bells hang down. When the clock was in the right place, the small door above the clock opened on the ground, and a small bird flew out of the door, yellow feathers, red eyes, just like the real thing, the vivid appearance of the call to tell the time, it was good to see. At the same time, the corn-like golden bells on both sides of the bell fell with the sliding of the two hanging chains, hanging a meter below the clock. Whenever the clock is to be wound, as long as one hand holds the golden corn bell and the other hand drags the chain back to its original position, it is to wind the clock.
At that time, there were always father's students who ran home after class and waited to see the clock beat. This wall clock is exquisite and peculiar in craftsmanship, and can be called the emperor's home. Unfortunately, during that extraordinary period, I personally saw someone smash the wall clock with a hammer. The size of the plum bottle, gall bottle and other porcelain placed at home are still good porcelain, because I was still young at that time, although I did not know from the official kiln, but I could always find in the lyrics of Fang Wenshan's "Blue and White Porcelain": "The embryo outlines the blue and white pen sharp makeup, and the peony depicted in the bottle is like your first makeup... The glaze color renders the feeling of the lady figure charm being collected. Naturally, the antiques were smashed along with the clock. The calligraphy and paintings in the family include the "Luoshen Futu" Ding Guanpeng picture book, the "Qingming River Map" Zhao Mengfu Linyi facsimile, Qi Baishi's "Shrimp", Xu Beihong's "Horse", and an unknown painter's ink painting "Zhang Guo Lao Riding a Donkey", along with thousands of line-bound books, all of which were burned to the ground. I often think that if there was no farce of the Cultural Revolution, perhaps these precious cultural relics and classics would have been passed on forever.
Raiding the house again and again, the kang was planed, the ground was dug, the paper paste shed was torn off, the roof was also guarded at night, the big character posters could not see where the windows were, where was the door, gold and silver jewelry, satin quilts, pillows were regarded as four old. When the People's Liberation Army attacked Jinzhou, the family's carriages and horses were requisitioned by the People's Liberation Army to support the front line, and the chief was compensated with a military coat, which was also confiscated. The four bronze plaques donated by my grandfather, namely "High Moral Respect", "Charity and Charity", "Eagerness for Justice and Good Righteousness", and "Seeing Righteousness and Courage", were confiscated as evidence of false good people showing off the personal merits of the bourgeoisie (I heard that copper kettles and copper hot pots were remodeled). Three classrooms were covered with these so-called sinful things and exhibited for two full months. After raiding the house again that day, when the mother cleaned up the room, she found a gold ring in the corner of the wall, which was accidentally dropped by the copyist family after taking away the gold and silver. That night, when we were all asleep, my mother sewed this only gold ring that showed the prosperity of the family into the hem of my pants. The next morning, my mother looked at me heavily, picked up my pants, pinched the hem of the pants without squeaking, I seemed to realize something, and when I put on the pants, I also pinched the hem of the pants, and understood everything. When the gongs and drums that raided the house sounded again during the day, I ran desperately to the small pump room. Because I knew I had no choice, and that little pump room was where I was going. When I was only ten years old, I was lonely and afraid, hiding there all day and did not dare to come out, occasionally wanted to hear the movement outside, so I found a few bricks to stack up, stood on it and looked in the direction of home with a small window, drunk and hungry, no one knew, the spider in the corner of the wall, the sparrow outside the window became my companion. Looking at the spiders that are slowly crawling and weaving webs, I thought to myself that they must have eaten enough to come out to weave the webs, otherwise where is the strength? Maybe it's because I'm lonely and bored to pass the time...
This pump room is a testimony to the day and night I spent alone in the wild as a girl as a teenager, and it has also become a deep scar in my heart. There have been a few trips over the years, and the car has passed by that area, and each time I will stretch my neck and look there from a distance or a distance. There were years of adolescence that I couldn't look back on.
The east of the village is "East Dakeng" and the west of the village is "West Dakeng", just like the two bright eyes of the village, which favor the land of the hometown. I still don't know where its water comes from or where it flows, but I know that where the water is abundant, it will be the spirit of the earth. The names of Dong Da Hang and Xi Da Hang are too cheesy, not as poetic as lakes, berths, rivers and ponds, but they are also our childhood paradise. In summer, lotus flowers cover the river, the river is clear, mugwort, calamus, reeds grow all over the pit bank, yellow dandelions, purple marigolds, cat ears, pink unknown wildflowers float from time to time. Frogs lay their eggs deep in the wild grasses along the riverbank, and within a few days, the little tadpoles are holding their long tails and swimming happily. Sometimes you can see toads crawling slowly along the river. The mischievous child would take a small tree stick, knock on the head of the toad, and shout, saying that this way he could kill it, but no one could see how the toad was killed by anger. Dog tail flowers grinned, butterflies kissed the flowers, big eyes dragonflies chased each other, bare stomach wild bath children pick lotus roots, catch loach, enjoy it, and in the evening there will be a cry for children to go home and eat. At night, the small village falls asleep to the sound of frogs. In autumn, piles of reeds are scattered irregularly, sprinkled with reeds, and the fields are ripe with rice and yellow, and the tile blue sky occasionally flies over a flock of geese. Flying reeds attract snowflakes to fall, in winter children will definitely carry their own ice car early to draw the line as the boundary, clearly distinguish the boundaries of their own skating, the younger ones, will sit on the double slide belt ice car to glide, the older ones on the Xiaoice car that can only accommodate two feet, the gliding technology depends on not only arm strength but also to master the balance. The girls, on the other hand, are not so skilled, and can only play a slippery part on the ice.
When I was a child, there were four girlfriends, several of whom were close to each other, and almost all of them lived by the river. The shore of Dongdakeng is a place where several of us often talk and laugh here, singing and dancing, interpreting the wonderful bridge sections in the movie, and fantasizing about following the red guards in series to Beijing to meet Chairman Mao, but finally because of their young age, they could not open a letter of introduction. Under the moon, we recited Chairman Mao's quotations and Poems aloud, imagining the future life we each envisioned. Now, several girlfriends still often party, recalling the false seriousness of their childhood, the shameless troubles of performing shows everywhere, and the pleasure of playing the "tongue Ding" falling from the edge of the kang and falling... Dongdakeng is a place where we all remember.
The original site of the two four-story buildings in the east of the village is my family temple during the Qing Dynasty. Before liberation, my family was a well-known family in the local area. In the heyday, my grandfather traded in Shanghai, Beijing and Tianjin, and opened gold and silver shops, pawn shops, oil mills and other shops, and land in Panjin, Liaozhong, Xinmin and other places. Because his grandfather had no children under his knees, he passed on his father. The uncle and his father's actual one-milk cousins became titular cousins when their father was three years old.
At the beginning of the Liberation War, my father opened the first primary school in the village at the family temple, and my father became the only gentleman in that primary school. When the school was opened, there were few students, the age was uneven, the eldest teenager, the younger was only a few years old, a class of four grades taught at the same time, the students who have been taught today are the oldest in their 80s, and generations of students have gone from here to all parts of the motherland and become the pillars of the country.
During the period of the War to Resist US Aggression and Aid Korea, my father painted the scenery himself, wrote and directed his own one-act drama, and led the students and local youth to comfort the pilots and soldiers who entered the KOREAN war, which won praise and praise from the troops, and also achieved several good marriages in the military areas.
His father was a scholar who loved to collect books all his life, and the line-bound books that were burned in the family Chinese leather were all bought and collected by his father. Even in the middle of the family road, he would rather buy books without eating. In his lifetime, he did nothing but study and teaching, and did not do any other work. During the Cultural Revolution, my father was seriously ill and no one dared to come forward. One of my father's students, who was still the vice president of a hospital at the time, rushed to my house several times late at night to secretly diagnose my father's illness and brought penicillin injections that were out of stock at that time. As a student who dared to risk being implicated in an extraordinary period to treat teachers, my family still cherishes them fondly. When I was in middle school, my math teacher was a student of my father, and in her mouth I still remember the scene when she and another classmate ate and lived in my house in order to enter the key middle school, and my father made up lessons for them.
Just after the Spring Festival in 1970, my father was unjustly removed from the teaching team and deprived of his status as a teacher in the Cultural Revolution's campaign to clean up the class ranks, under the pretext that he was not born well and could not work on the education front. His father's self-cultivation is self-disciplined, gentle and elegant, and he is well-known in the local area and is praised by people.
Hometown, where the grass and trees are so familiar to me. It turned out to be a yellow dirt road in the east of the village, which was the only passage to the outside world. When I was a kid, I used bicycles to walk or walk. Ten years ago, when the highway was just repaired, the suburban transportation connection relied on small buses, small models, poor conditions in the car, and the riding time could not be guaranteed. Now it has been built into a four-lane asphalt road, the new bus runs every fifteen minutes, the station and the subway are seamlessly connected, each village has a station, the bus card can be swiped by car, and most of the passengers are people from neighboring villages, or go shopping, or visit relatives and friends, and the traffic is very convenient.
I got off the train at the Muraguchi station, and the relatives who were waiting to pick me up at the station led me to the village. There is no longer a village feeling here, the courtyard of the former village house is gone, the trees and vegetable fields behind the houses in front of the house are gone, and even the East Pit where I used to play as a child is filled with garbage, full of rubble and mounds of colored enclosures, a gust of wind blows, dust. Follow the people who came forward along the path I vaguely remember in the village, listening to his introduction in my ear, I looked around, thinking... Do you want to bring back my childhood memories as soon as possible? But where is the original image in front of you.
The old house, I have lived there for sixteen years, I thought I could still walk to its door, I really want to see the old house is now, the style of the windows has not changed, the door bolt is not good, but the place is still there, the old house is gone. The small courtyard that I miss the most, the mulberry tree in front of the door, the fat silkworm baby, the green brick flower wall, the fragrance of the courtyard when the lilac flowers bloom in spring, the flowers and grass planted on the wall are neatly trimmed, a cluster of peony, thorn plum, dahlia is fiery red, and the night orchid incense spits out a charming aroma at night. Clusters of undefeated morning glory flowers, stubble climbing tigers entangled with vines climbing all over the flower wall, and the summer courtyard is rendered by colorful flowers and plants. I still remember that Xiaoping and I used to listen to the commentary book "The Sound of Gunshots in the Plains" with Xiao Ping in the East Courtyard, and I often flipped through the novel "Red Rock" without a book cover at her house. I also mashed the collected flowers and alum when the mustard grass was in bloom, and then put the flower mud on the nails, and wrapped a few leaves on each finger and wrapped them with thread, and when I woke up, the nails were dyed red, and the natural dye was both environmentally friendly and economical compared to today's nail polish. Cherry trees and jujube trees always hang fruit from their branches according to the season.
Because my home is close to the airport, standing in the courtyard can clearly see the rise and fall of the plane on the runway, hear the roar of the plane rising and falling, the plane in the sky of the tile blue pulls up a white smoke, we will excitedly shout "the plane pulls the line"! I have a lot of little thoughts that will also fly away with the plane.
Every year during the Spring Festival, several of my father's cousins and sisters would come to the house to get together, and that was when I was most happy. This is not only to eat meals that you can't eat on weekdays, but more importantly, you can also hear a lot of stories that you haven't heard. The elders are all addicted to books, and my aunt can still read Jin Yong's martial arts novels when she is eighty-nine years old. They all came together as storytellers. At the time of the palm lamp, refreshments are put on the table, and the book begins to talk about the ancients. You have a paragraph of "Seven Heroes and Five Righteousness of the Five Rats Haunting Tokyo", and she has a paragraph of "Tang Taizong vs. Goguryeo Xue Li Zhengdong", we hold our breath and quietly listen to them talk about history, ancient and modern, then my home became a small novel library. Once, when I was fascinated by reading books, I was so thirsty that I went to the kitchen to drink water, and I drank swill water into my stomach.
Nowadays, the old house has been transformed into a pile of rubble and ash under the order of the relocation in the process of urban-rural integration. The bare ground has not yet moved to start. The old mansion, the old mansion I can no longer see, is like a sculpture engraved in my heart forever, where there is my happiness and also my sadness.
The cousin's funeral was arranged at the nephew's house. The nephew's house was built on his own land. It was the side of the third ring road from the North Liguan Upper Road to the middle section of the Hongqitai, and the simple house was close to the third ring road for more than 20 meters, and there were more than two miles away from the village. The dust rolled up with the huge roar of vehicles passing rapidly through the Third Ring Road, as if to drag people in. Standing alone on this empty land in the cold winter, the lonely house in the cold winter moon is helpless, giving people a feeling of loneliness and depression. My cousin's spiritual hall was set up by the gate, the mournful music echoed low, I knelt down to worship my cousin into the house, and there were relatives who came early on the hot kang, and I was immediately let on the hot kang head and passively accepted everyone's warm reception. A greeting warmed my cold body as I ran all the way. At this time, all the greetings revolved around the past of the older generation.
My cousin is the only son of my uncle, I am twelve years old, I am born wooden, I am not good at talking, and when I am old, I have nothing to say, even my cousin can't hear him say a word for a few days, but my uncle's personality is very different from my cousin. Daibo, who worked as a foreman in a Japanese factory before liberation, was sent to the Beidahuang Mishan Prison in 1950 to serve 18 years in prison during the suppression of counter-revolution. When he left, he left a son and two daughters, and the younger daughter was not yet one year old, until she returned to her hometown before the Spring Festival in 1970, and when she returned, she was full of children and grandchildren.
I often listen to the older generation talk about the heroic spirit of the uncle when he was young, and I am often stunned. Despite this, Uncle Dabo is a generation of tyrants in my heart. When the uncle married at the age of thirteen, he could take up the burden of the family, and he could help his grandfather run the business affairs at that time, because the village was named after his family name, and he was the patriarch, so he responded to everything. Anyone who has anything to do is ask him to wait for him to be there to deal with it. The uncle is bold, responsible, and even at the end of his life, he still does not lose his wind and bones. Listening to the old man, he once drove a carriage alone to take the money in the bag to gamble, and when he came back, he didn't care about the light of the loss of the horse and the carriage. He also risked being caught, as the manager of the Peace Hostel, covered the secret joints of our party's underground workers to transmit intelligence, and also rescued the wounded of the Eighth Route Army wounded on the side of the road. Life rises and falls, and the reputation is half lost. Perhaps eighteen years of prison life had worn down too much of Uncle Da's heroism, coolness, courage, and heroism, but compared with his indomitable personality in his bones and his father's weak bookish anger, Uncle Da's was obviously stronger and more domineering. The kind of tarzan that does not bend over is really eye-catching.
I still remember the eve of the Spring Festival in 1970, the uncle came home from the Heilongjiang prison farm with a big dog skin hat, that was the first time I saw the uncle who I had only heard of, he walked in with great power, we all hid timidly to the side, my father and the uncle hugged and cried, twenty years have not seen each other, the miss between relatives is like a gushing river, deep and distant, the brothers and sisters Chinese New Year's Eve night without sleep, tears with tears, endless words, endless bumps. In the following ten years, the uncle sent away five close relatives of his father, grandmother, grandmother, grandmother, sister lobby, and little cousin until he died at the age of seventy-six.
In the evening, the neighbors of the village came one after another, and the house and the outside of the house helped to live, and the house was full of dry smoke, and the only nostalgia was filled.
That night, I stayed in my hometown and restored my young self. There was no moonlight that night, and occasionally fine snowflakes drifted down, stepping on the darkness of the night, following the traces of memory, and walking towards the village, where the original village was pitch black. Passively relocated villagers scattered in their own land to build a simple house to live, before the village and no shop, no longer sitting in their own yard in the summer to eat, you can hear the laughter of the neighbor's children, there is no autumn evening, the sunset under the old elm trees under the countryside neighbors sit together to nag the warmth, there is no longer the red and white happy event The whole village of old and young people to help the rich nostalgia. My memory of the neighbor of the Middle East Courtyard, Aunt Shi, strong and decisive character makes me admire. The silly second uncle of the West Courtyard, the second uncle of Zheng Zhengwu, was happy all day and had no worries. Mrs. He on the front street is warm and amiable, and she can always quietly stuff a few candies into her pocket when I give her a New Year's greeting, and by the way, she does not forget to praise me a few words, so that my heart is beautiful for a long time. There will always be some idle people at the well in the back street. There are also Gu Baoshan and Yao Deyi, who took advantage of the darkness of the night to diagnose their father's illness during the Cultural Revolution, and every year they have to return to Du Yongjiang, who paid homage to their mentor, but I don't know if they are good now. And those who have been denigrated, despised, despised, and still make me think of them... In short, memories, good or bad, became part of my life. Today, most of my closest relatives here have become ancient, and I am still living alone in the world, facing the complicated reality and the unknown later, and suddenly the unspeakable sadness in my heart, a clear tear overflows my eyes, I am afraid, lonely, lost and confused, and my heart always feels like something is missing. Hometown, where is the kiss? Is this the simple emotion rooted in my heart, the nostalgia that is constantly pulled, the nostalgia that cannot be forgotten?
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