– (Short Story Series II)

Three

　　Yunxiu's father died early, there is an older brother called Diamond Leopard, the diamond leopard is dark and tall, the voice is like a flood, walking with the wind, he has a son named Huzi, he lives with his wife and Huzi in a new thatched house and earthen courtyard behind his mother's old house.

　　That day he returned from hunting, and when he entered the village entrance, he heard that his sister Yun Xiu had been born, and he rode to the front of the yard, and hung several pheasants in a string of straight rows, the reins of a black horse, and the long gunpowder earthen gun into Huzi's hand, and when Huzi took his own earthen gun, he hit a kick under his feet.

　　When the women saw Yunxiu's brother Diamond Leopard come back with a black face, they all dispersed in amusement.

　　"Where is the child? Where's it? The leopard walked into the house and picked up the child and carefully identified it under the pine lamp.

　　He searched his brain for suspicious men in the village, and he couldn't recognize that the child looked too much like his mother.

　　He had used various methods more than once to try to ask questions from his sister Yunxiu's mouth, or rode around the village with his sister, trying to get her to point out who the man was, but to no avail.

　　The younger sister Yunxiu just giggled, facing everyone, men, women, children, cows, horses, chickens, sheep and dogs, and then parked the horse under a poplar tree at the entrance of the village and did not leave, letting the sunlight shining through the green leaves shine on her face and giggling, and also used her hands to catch and play with the sunlight in the cracks of the leaves.

　　It was a bright night, a full moon, stars in the night sky, and the river flowing quietly through the village in this valley, surrounded by mountains and inhabited by fifty families with three surnames.

　　Yunxiu's family lives at the foot of the mountain at the edge of the village, on a high ground, with a view of the entire village, and the diamond leopard holding the child shouts at the gate of the yard.

　　"It's a man, you stand up for me, you give me out, look at you evil species!"

　　The village was silent, only the barking of dogs and the sound of running water, and the previously sleeping baby, awakened by his uncle's voice, began to cry at the top of his voice.

　　"After three days, when no one came to recognize the child, I threw him in the river or into the mountains to feed the wolves, do you hear, do you hear, you bitch!"

　　The roar of the leopard and the cry of children wafted over the hills of the village, echoed in the valley, a pine lamp was blown out, a family of men and women was silenced, and finally the village fell silent like death.

　　The knew every detail about that day, because until she died, her grandmother would talk over and over again about the day when he was born in the autumn harvest.

　　Three days later, no man came forward, his uncle really held him, wanted to take to the hunting place in the mountains to feed the wolves, Niang and Yunxiu stopped each other to death, saving his little life, but brought him the shame of carrying his father's fault for the rest of his life, the roar of that dark night made him subconsciously frightened, and on every day he left his mother, he pulled open the mouth of missing the silly girl, the cowardly hatred of the mysterious man, and the disgust for himself.

　　Today, the stone sitting on the under the big tree is twenty-five years old.

　　I saw half of his scattered cattle and sheep on the hillside, half of his crops, sweet potatoes, potatoes, and at most buds.

　　The person who gave him a message had already rode down the dirt road on horseback, and the dust raised behind him had settled, but a few short messages stirred in his heart.

　　At this time, he did not want to go home, today he just wanted to sit here, under this warm autumn sun, the maple leaves full of mountains were as red as blood. The year after my mother's death, two bitter holly trees grew in this place, and twenty-five years later, the holly trees grew luxuriantly and branched, and there was a nest of larks, and under the gentle sun, the leaves swayed gently and shimmered with a layer of gold.

　　The closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling all the mixed breath on the hillside deep into his body, the smell of fresh plants that the crops wantonly plucked, the smell of cattle and sheep, and even the smell of their dung, soaked into the earth, turned into fertilizer to nourish the damp smell of grass roots, the smell of all kinds of weeds, so familiar, so safe, let this taste like a mother's embrace wrap him, bringing his mind and soul back to his childhood memories.

　　Four

　　Grandma said that on the third day after he was born, no man in the village came out to recognize him, and since that day, he has become a baby without a father.

　　When he was a child, the adults and children of the village deliberately teased him, ", who is your father?" ”

　　The raised their heads around their necks and said, My father is a god!

　　So people laughed, and some children roared:, your mother is a fool, there is no father baby; It's a wild species, and the son of a fool is really stupid.

　　"You talk nonsense, my father is a god, you talk nonsense! You are not allowed to say my mother! ”

　　Whenever this happens, the will pounce without hesitation with red eyes.

　　The also don't remember when they often fought with village children, and their clothes were torn and mended.

　　He came home crying and asked my grandmother if my father was a god!

　　Grandma hugged him and said, my good grandson big eyes, high nose, thick legs and thick arms, a big bowl of bud rice, a bowl of sauerkraut soup, smart and cute and painful, bold and careful and brave, of course you are not an ordinary child, you are a child of the gods, your father is the gods!

　　, my good grandson, grow up quickly, grow up before grandma dies, take care of your mother.

　　Grandma told him this story over and over again while smoking a dry cigarette in the flickering light and shadow of the pine lamp, by the warm fire pond where the flames were not yet embedd, when the snuggled into his mother's arms, and her mother stroked his bruises and head again and again with her hands, her eyes full of distress, watching him fall asleep.

　　Five

　　In the seven years since the were born, he loved to follow his mother and grandmother to the bud valley, year after year, from carrying it as a baby, to being able to stagger with his little hands, to bouncing like a lamb. Come to this hillside to sow and fertilize in spring, weed in summer, harvest ears in autumn, and collect stones and flat soil in winter.

　　The stones that Niang and Grandma picked up from this loess slope were piled up on the edge of the ridge, making the ridge stronger and stronger, like a low stone wall, opening up the land little by year and growing the valley little by little, but how big can it be, every inch of land and every stone condenses the sweat and temperature of Niang and Grandma, and the hard soil blocks are turned out deep by hoes, knocked apart again and again, little by little pickaxe flattened, and even crushed small clods by hand, making the soil more delicate.

　　Such a thick land, of course, cannot be freely extended.

　　My uncle occasionally came to help, and he also had his own land to cultivate and support his family.

　　But he was more enthusiastic about hunting all over the mountains, bringing a few earth dogs to rush forward, as if he was the king of the crowd. Uncle better not come, thought, the north slope is not a place where he is often seen, it is the's own paradise.

　　Every time his uncle glanced at the from the corner of his eye, it made his heart tighten, his hands and feet were at a loss, he did not dare to face his uncle squarely, the kind of fear from the depths of his soul, he himself did not understand why, every time he saw his uncle, he would hide behind his mother or grandmother.

　　He had an extraordinary memory, he knew and could distinguish the smell of flowers and plants on the mountains on the northern slope, knew that there were a few more holes of moles and hares, knew where there were fungi in the pine forest behind the slope, and he could be the first to find the long fungus season.

　　At what age he would follow his cousin Huzi to count a whole flock of sheep, not one less, not one more.

　　At a few years old, he knew to coax and hold his mother's hand, all the way up the mountain and all the way down the mountain.

　　He would follow his grandmother and mother to pick up the cut bud poles and place them in piles.

　　The only thing that frustrated him was how to carry the bud with a long hemp rope, which was so difficult.

　　He tried again and again, wanting to knot and buckle the rope on the ground like a tic-tac-toe, and then put a hug of the bud rod horizontally, tighten the rope at both ends, carry it on his back, and very successfully wanted to take two steps, but the rope was loose and the bud pole was scattered.

　　Every time at this time, the mother smiled and stroked his head, patiently teaching him to tie a knot or tie a small bundle of buckwheat for him to hang on his shoulder to satisfy the little him, not thinking that he was too small, too few bud poles, and playing such games with him again and again.

　　He loves to eat the new bud valley after autumn, full of the taste of fresh sunshine.

　　The mother grinds it out with a huge millstone, wipes the sweat on her forehead while grinding the face, and smiles at the, the upper body pulls a circle with the millstone, and the clothes also swing with it, and then carefully sift the noodles, steamed with the spring water from the back, and made freshly, each process is full of the natural fragrance of heaven and earth, and the residual warmth of the smile at the corner of the mother's mouth, containing the power of life, nourishes him from the baby.

　　After eating and drinking enough, he would fall asleep peacefully in his mother's warm arms, and this beauty would be played back in his memory over and over again.

　　In the days that followed, he desperately wanted to remember rather than be easily forgotten, and if there were signs of forgetting, the ran up the north slope alone, searching for traces of the memories left by his mother, collecting them little by little, and then pouring them into his heart, turning into tears and falling into the rocks of the ridge.