The village bare stick married a beautiful wife, and that night she ran out of the cemetery in a shawl, and I found out that the marriage was true

Read a few stories every day App Author: Uncle Black | Reproduction is prohibited

The blacksmith had a wife, and the news soon spread throughout the village.

The whole village was filled with joy. Such joy would have only come in two situations, one is the New Year, and the other is to put on the movie.

But this time it was the blacksmith who begged for his wife.

I was 8 years old.

Do you know that in those days, the man on a heavy bicycle with a large silver-white suitcase in the back seat, when he pulled up a large white cloth with black edges on two decaying wooden poles in the Ming Hall, the position in the hearts of those of us bear children who did not have black and white television sets at home was comparable to Ultraman.

The most important thing is of course to have a movie to watch, and then you can eat a bag of fifty cent melon seeds, a triangle bag made of paper from the exercise book, and the bottom of the paper bag must be folded, for fear that the melon seeds will be missed. Finally, I can flirt with the pretty girls in those classes, but disappear as soon as I get home.

The joy of the movies in the village is perfect compared to the New Year's, except for the lack of meat and no candy.

But this time it was the blacksmith who begged for his wife, why was he so happy. I thought about it, anyway, everyone is so happy, isn't this thing contagious?

The blacksmith himself was a serious man, and we didn't even dare to play with glass marbles at the door of his blacksmith's shop, but now he was suddenly as tall as a filmmaker. It was the one who wandered from village to village to show movies.

Why the filmmakers are tall, you can explain it this way, we bear children, although the mouth says that they want to be scientists when they grow up, what kind of family. But they all want their dad to be a movie player.

Lying is our instinct to prepare ourselves from the moment we understand things, but if you want to listen to the truth, you have to listen to us when we play with glass marbles, and those that are pulled out are what jump out of our hearts.

I distinctly remember one time when that nasty relative asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up, and I said I wanted to be a blacksmith. Do you know how strong my dad's palm was on my head at that time? It's seven wounds!

I picked up glass marbles from three pits in the mud, too late to wipe the mud off them, and ran with the bear children who were a few years older.

Maybe the blacksmith would like sugar.

But the blacksmith was a serious man. The candy thing may just be our wishful thinking. It's okay to get together.

Before this, the blacksmith had the impression in my mind: in the yellow mud house on the side of the road, there was a rhythmic "ding, ding, ding" sound of iron hitting from a long distance.

He was neither tall nor short, but he was unusually strong, and the light from the fiery red iron reflected on him, and the sweat throughout his body was shining, as if essential oil was applied to his chest, abdomen and two arms. The muscles are more concave and convex.

In other words, now, a man like him has no woman, which is against the laws of nature. But he was very fierce, and when we had just dug several small pits outside his yellow mud house and were about to play with glass marbles, he picked up a large hammer, and the hammer was still buzzing with heat, rushing to the door, frightening us not lightly.

His impression in the minds of us bear children is like a South Sea crocodile god.

Don't think that a few of our bear children turned out to be so timid and bullying.

We have destroyed crops covered with membranes in the fields, we have thrown stones at the middle-aged man in the village who fell into a fool when he was a child, we have mocked the nervous old woman who walked in a hundred villages with a dozen broken bags on her back, and we have peeked at the most beautiful woman in the village who fed the children.

What scenes have we not seen? But we can't do anything about the blacksmith, he is a South Sea crocodile god.

The blacksmith begged for a wife, and naturally, the woman we peeked at became what it used to be.

The blacksmith's woman is really pretty.

Although on the day he begged her, we stood in front of his house, the dilapidated wooden house in the middle of the village, with our hands full of mud and glass marbles, from the time of the firecrackers until the smoke dissipated, and did not wait for a candy.

We still say she's pretty. I said, "She's prettier than my mom." ”

This is a highly praised one. At that age, there was no Lin Chiling in my heart, no little S, no Liu Yan, and no teacher Akai Mizuki, only mom.

In order to argue about whose mother was the most beautiful, we had a fight with the bear children who had done bad things together, and the fat man and I just wrestled into the creek. I still don't admit that his mom is prettier than my mom, and of course, the fat guy is the same way.

But today, we all invariably hold the blacksmith's woman on the most beautiful throne in the village.

We relocated the base of glass marbles from the entrance of the shop to the door of the blacksmith's house. However, the battle must be ended before the blacksmith returns from the yellow mud house.

The blacksmith's dilapidated house, full of era marks, the dry but thick double-open wooden door is very high, I must look up to faintly see the spider web on the door frame, but I can clearly see the wooden carvings where the spider webs stand, the vicious ancient gods, the eyeballs bulging larger than the glass marbles in our hands. Every time I look up, I always feel that the ancient gods are staring at me from a high place, making my ears hairy.

For a moment, I resented the carpentry who carved it.

The blacksmith's woman leaned against the door frame, stroking her freshly washed hair, watching us play. Her hair is really straight and gives off the fragrance of shampoo.

Sometimes she grabbed a handful of melon seeds in her hand and would give us some evenly. Sometimes the blacksmith's father would see it and would scream at her, so she would go back to the house, take two thick wooden doors with her hand, and make a creaking sound. As long as no one shouted at her, she would not leave, and after a long time, her hair was dry, and she was tired of standing, so she sat on the threshold of bluestone and was distracted.

That threshold, too old, has been polished smooth and shiny.

She was like a legendary city girl I had never met before.

It wasn't long before several of our bear children had committed a crime.

It was a hot afternoon, and several people soaked in the creek on the edge of the village until the sun went down. Bare-ass, shaking chicks ran up the stream, stood on the bridge, a fish jump or squatted, jumped high, and splashed a splash. The broken glass bottles in the creek, the rocks in the shadows, didn't scare us.

After the intention is not exhausted, there will always be a initiator.

After I ran to the bridge, I climbed up the cement embankment, trying to jump a little higher and provoke the admiration of some of my friends. But it was found that it was too high, and it could only be instigated. He sat at the top of the embankment, his feet hanging down, admiring the scenery, perhaps sighing about the 8 years of life, or perhaps seeing a hazy blacksmith woman on the side of the mountain in the distance.

The bear children came up one after another, sat bored, and then played with the valve on the side. Several people worked hard together, as if holding the steering wheel, turning all the way, watching the upper stream rush down, and the mood also rushed up, the most fun toy in eight years.

The next day, the village loudspeaker was calling my name early in the morning, along with several other people playing with the water. Then, inexplicably, I was locked up in the house for a whole day. When Dad returned in the afternoon, his gloomy face was more terrifying than before the most violent storm. The follow-up child abuse plot will not be said. Make up your own brain.

On the third day, the village will be playing a movie. I was beaten up by my father and forgotten in a few days. And this movie is what really haunts me all my life. I never thought that if I didn't play with the water, how it would rise to the point of being fined for playing movies in the village. And how can something like that happen after the movie is released. Almost ruined her image as a virgin in my mind.

The filmmakers arrived as scheduled. What my dad meant was that although being punished for a movie was not a glorious thing, if you shut me up at home and couldn't see the movie, I always felt that I had lost something with the money I was fined.

Then, I put on a small stool and, along with a few other penalized bear children, bumped the melon seeds and sat at the front end of the Ming Hall watching the movie. The shot of the martial arts is over, the butt leaves the small stool, and the field runs crazy. At the beginning of the martial arts shot, it returns to the front, and if you can't find a stool, you sit on the ground.

Until the end of the movie, I didn't find a blacksmith's woman. The blacksmith was there. Doesn't she love to watch movies?

The filmmakers were beaten. I didn't hear about it until lunch the next day. Holding a bowl and stuffing bibimbap with lard and soy sauce in my mouth, I couldn't believe that. He's a filmmaker I admire, how can he be beaten.

When I continued to listen, the filmmakers were miserable, the rudders of the truck were bent by the blacksmith, the chain was cut, and it was pulled out and pulled out to the ground, like the intestines of the truck lying on the ground.

Listening further, a little frightened, and even more impatient, the blacksmith also beat his own woman, and she sat on the ground, her hair scattered and covered her whole face.

The blacksmith's woman is going to elope with the filmmaker.

"How is this possible!" I exclaimed in my heart. Having just gathered his anger at the blacksmith, he suddenly turned to a woman who had been described by the villagers as a "slut". It was as if a martial arts master had sent out a thick palm and suddenly changed direction halfway through. It made me a little internally hurt.

After lunch, I fumbled with the scattered glass marbles in the drawer, feeling dad still standing in the doorway, and his gaze seemed to fall on my back. Casually grabbed a few and stuffed them into his trouser pockets, bowed his head and walked toward the door.

He stood in the doorway, smoke billowing from his mouth. I stopped, and he didn't speak. One foot poked out of the threshold, and he didn't speak. Stepping out of the doorway, pretending to circle around, looking at the clouds in the sky, looking at the mountains in the distance, he still did not speak.

I began to walk toward the road, and my steps gradually began to speed up, and when I was out of his sight, I ran as fast as I could in the direction of the blacksmith's house.

Several other bear children were already there. There were many others who trampled on the base where we played glass marbles. Pushing aside the crowd and entering, someone sat on the shiny threshold where the blacksmith's woman had once sat. He had gray hair and a painted face, leaning against a load-bearing bicycle that seemed to have been twisted by some machine.

This old man, who had eloped with someone else's woman, even ran to the door of people's homes after being caught. With my age at the time, I couldn't really figure out the logic.

But the tall wooden door of the blacksmith's house was closed tightly.

The filmmakers talk, and you close the door as if nothing had happened, right? Anyway, the money for the bike, the money for the projector, and my medical expenses, not a penny is indispensable. Don't open the door? I'll block you until the New Year.

Everyone was quiet, holding their breath for a few seconds, and the world inside the tall wooden door was still quiet. The sound of discussion gradually sounded like a resurgence.

The filmmaker turned his head to the side of the masses, his eyes swept from left to right, from right to left, like a bird flying to the surface of the sea, unable to find a branch to land, obviously everyone avoided his gaze.

He stretched out his hand and pointed back at the wooden door and said, "The mean woman in my own family can't manage it well, and it depends on my head!" I've been playing movies in this nearby township all my life, and who doesn't know me? Can I still do this kind of thing? This crazy woman, I rode to the grave ridge outside the village, she suddenly came out of the side of the road with her hair on, scared me half to death, and was beaten by her man. There are yours. Lose money fast! ”

The door was still closed, and it was so deadlocked.

Some people walked away, some of them stood with the sprayer on their backs for an afternoon, the pesticide forgot to sprinkle, and they could not see the expected climax and could only go. A new group of people came. Only a few of us bear children, without abandoning, dug several earth pits ten meters away from the blacksmith's house and established a new base. The original crisp crashing sound of glass marbles was rarely heard this afternoon. I don't know if the human voice is too noisy, or if my mind has left the glass marbles.

Dusk has arrived, the villagers can't stand such a one-man show, and after several hours, the plot has not progressed, and the tide has slowly receded. Only a few people were left who did not cook or touch the table in the small shop.

The tall wooden door opened, and the hoarse creaking of the glass marbles in our hands stopped in time. We ran over.

The blacksmith's father stepped out, crossed the threshold, and stared at the filmmaker. Followed by the shirtless blacksmith, still in the yellow mud room, his body was bright, his muscles were trembling, his long black hair was dragged in his hands, and he dragged his woman like a dead dog, and threw it in his own patio.

The filmmaker looked at this scene and did not know what to say.

The blacksmith walked back into the house, returning with a rolling pin in his hand. He glanced at the filmmaker and threw a stick at the woman who was sitting paralyzed on the ground. A terrible scream rushed into the air from the patio of his house, calling back those who had already dispersed.

Is this a transmitted signal? It's so much fun, much smarter than the game console buttons in the game room in the township, but the game console has always been a distress signal, and in this patio, what is emitted is the signal of something extinguished.

The blacksmith's father said, big brother, I really can't help it. We all blamed us for hitting you and smashing your stuff before we figured it out.

Filmmakers say, lose money!

The sound of the rolling pin hitting rang out, and the blacksmith's woman cried out in pain, and she said, "You beast." "It was the first thing I heard her say since she came to our village. As soon as the words fell out, the rolling pin in the blacksmith's hand made up several more times in a row to honor the woman's mouth.

In the village, hitting women is not new. For three days, the two ends heard which house had dropped the plate and smashed the bowl, and then the woman cried and cried, sitting on the threshold of her home, crying, crying, crying until dinner time, and preparing a rich dinner for the family.

The small shops in each village are the information exchange center of the place. After beating the woman, the man was counted down by everyone at the door of the store, and they all read that he had beaten him hard, and he, smiling and enjoying these praises, he was in the group.

And those men who did not dare to beat women generally did not come to the store, went home from the field with a dung spoon, and walked with their heads down when they passed those noisy places.

This kind of doctrine, I don't know what customs it is based on, has been prevalent since I can remember it, and it has continued until I entered society. There is a habit of hiding evil, and everyone weaves a layer of clothing for it so that it can not be so obvious in the sun. This layer of clothing has a nice name - customs.

In the past, when encountering such a thing, one or two of the onlookers would always rush in and persuade him to take away his rolling pin, but today there was none. Hindered by the blacksmith's fierce muscles? Or maybe she's a foreign woman who doesn't know where she came from, or she's too beautiful.

The blacksmith's father put away his smile when he apologized, and said to the filmmakers, they all blamed me, the son who did not show up, and it was difficult to please a wife, and he liked her too much, for fear that she would run away with others.

The filmmaker said, "You old rogue, I say pay!" money! He kicked the ten-level crippled heavy-duty bicycle. He also said, "I knew she was crying and shouting for me to take her into town, and I should have thrown away the projector and let her get in the car!" ”

The blacksmith's father said, "Leave this wave woman alone, our family will teach her a lesson." ”

The blacksmith began to beat her furiously again, and with a clatter, the half-cut rolling pin fell to the ground. The woman's cry almost overturned the entire patio to see what color of water flowed under this ancient patio, what smell of earth it contained.

The blacksmith's woman looked at the filmmaker, her eyes, and I didn't dare look into her eyes. At New Year's Day, the sheep that was being held and waiting to be slaughtered had tears in its eyes and told the people about the language of their animals. But today, she is a person.

The filmmaker couldn't stand it, so he packed up the projector on the ground, threw it on his shoulder and said, "You bitches are born." He glanced back at the bicycle and the blacksmith's father, and said, "If I come to your village to play movies in the future, I will not be able to die!" ”

I was so sad to hear that I could only carry a small bench to the neighboring village to see a movie in my life.

Everyone was gone, and the tall wooden door closed, covering up the woman's cries, and gradually turned into sobbing, and gradually there was no sound, as quiet as the bright moon in the sky.

"You camel (the swear word in the village, usually referring to disobedient children), look for you half the village!" pretty? You don't have to eat dinner, do you? His ears hurt, and he staggered back with his father.

After that, not only did the blacksmith's yellow mud house dare not go there, but the marble base in front of the blacksmith's house was completely abandoned.

The blacksmith's shiny muscles were almost vicious in my mind, and his woman's eyes were terrified of pity.

I always thought that the only thing that could no longer play a movie in the village would disappoint an 8-year-old child, but I didn't expect that there was more than disappointment.

About a week later.

The blacksmith's woman drank an entire bottle of Enemy Fear. I had only seen her lying in front of their door, or in her mind, which was not her home at all, and an empty white bottle had suddenly fallen beside her.

Then many people carried her away together, and I don't know where she went. Maybe it was the township health center. It is also said that the blacksmith washed her stomach at home. Countless cold boiling water were used.

But I could see the minibus driving out of the village a few days later. The car was driven by a funeral home in town.

Over time, Noshi sneaks out like grave grass.

An old man said that the blacksmith's woman had not taken poison, and that the pesticide bottle was an empty bottle. She just wanted to scare and frighten them.

Another old man said that the blacksmith had desperately poured water on her and had killed her.

The blacksmith continued his life in the yellow mud room "ding-dong". The early risers of the whole village went in all directions to the mountains and to the fields. Cooking smoke rises at noon and in the evening. It was as if she had never been to this village. (Original title: "The Blacksmith's Woman", by Uncle Black.) Article from: Read a little story app every day <communited number: dudiangushi >, download to see more wonderful)