Text/Snow Sakura
Published in the Literary Newspaper on July 18, 2024
After living in the community for a long time, there are always some familiar faces engraved in my heart. For example, cleaners, most of them come from remote rural areas, or suburban areas, forty or fifty years old, not much education, but they are not afraid of dirty, willing to work hard, a set of dark blue uniforms on the body, immediately have a sense of order.
The new cleaner, small flat headed, tall and thin, with a wide face. He did his work without sound, waved his broom, smacked a few times, was light, agile, and clean. Move another position, swish a few times, bend back into a prawn-like shape, sweep the garbage into a nylon bag, and clean again. He has a straight waist and bright eyes, giving people a sense of comfort, but he is quiet and not good at conversing with people. Unlike other cleaners, he doesn't pick up waste - you know, waste is a handy "baby", and the old scavengers in the community are in groups, patrolling around the garbage cans several times a day, comparable to the "gold rush" army. Cartons, waste newspapers, mineral water bottles, as well as sundries discarded by the owners, hot water pipes, range hoods, etc., are saved and sent to the scrap station, which is a lot of income. The cleaner Lao Zhangtou once said: "Weigh salt and oil, and bring two taels of spicy wine, it is enough, and it is convenient to spend it yourself." ”
It turned out that when his son was in junior high school, his wife died, and he pulled the child to adulthood alone. Sometimes, he would carry a bundle of cardboard boxes, folded squarely, or a few colorful cans, which he would flatten and ping-pong to give to the live-in caregiver upstairs in front of him. The male nurse takes care of the retired old cadre, who is burly and not in vain, and goes downstairs to take a breath in his free time, hands him a cigarette, or directly clips it to his ear, but never sees the cleaner light it. He has his own measure, sweeping the yard, mopping the corridor, wiping the handrails, posting notices, and taking mosquito repellent medicine from unit to unit building when it is hot. I've seen his kettle, it's transparent, thick and tall, and it can't be slapped with one hand. He stood in a corner, surrounded by private cars, and drank with his neck tilted, as if he had poured a nest of clouds and a birdsong into his stomach in exchange for a moment of rest.
The female cleaner who resigned at the beginning of the year, surnamed Qian, is from the Northeast, speaks loudly, works quickly, and the work in her hands is like a crop growing in her heart, and the harvest is easy to handle. She came out to work to earn future pension money, "counting on everyone for nothing, and you have to rely on yourself to provide for the elderly." She is capable, walks with the wind, wipes the corridor with a mop, carries a bucket full of water, no problem, from the first floor to the fifth floor, and drags it refreshingly, as if it has just been a drizzle.
After finishing work in the afternoon, she likes to sit in the communication room and chat with the people who collect the waste. Sometimes, I also chatted with my peers who went to the city to see their children, talking and laughing, and shaking the parents to the ground. A neighbor told me that she used to cook for people in the canteen of the unit, three times a day, going out before 7 o'clock in the morning, and having to cook when she got home at night. "This job is not easy, I lost more than ten pounds when I came here, and I can't bear it." She muttered.
The female cleaner is still a warm-hearted person. The mother's lumbar vertebra protruded and could not bear weight, and when she came back from shopping, she met it, and strode over to help from a distance. On weekdays, which old man moves a heavy object at home, grows vegetables on the balcony and serves the flower pots, she runs diligently, and some residents leave her to eat, she politely declines, and says her part. Later, the cleaner changed shifts, and only then did she learn that someone in her hometown was seriously ill, so she went back. After a long time, there was still no trace of her, and everyone was very unaccustomed to it, as if they couldn't hear her loud voice, and they felt that something was missing in the day. Or the property staff told the truth, the daughter-in-law was pregnant and worked in Tianjin, she used to take care of her, and she had to leave here.
Cleaners are migratory birds in the city, flying around, but in order to make a living, the life of the family is more comfortable. They bring cleanliness and convenience to the city, and they are reluctant to take leave, only when people from their hometown go to the city to see a doctor or get married, they occasionally take a vacation. Perhaps, in their absence, we see the value of their existence.
I often think of Master Fan. He was bald, not tall, and of short stature, but he was good at work. Unlike other cleaners, he has a pension, has worked as a warehouse keeper in the factory, and takes his work very seriously. Every morning, when the sky is bright, he sweeps the floor with a broom, sweeps the rain on rainy days, and sweeps snow on snowy days, and he is never tired. He is nosy, the construction waste thrown by the residents for decoration, the garbage truck does not pull, it is not his responsibility, he took the initiative to take it, found a hammer and other tools, smashed it into pieces little by little, and sometimes called his wife to take the handle, so that it would be pulled away the next day. Someone's sewer overflowed, and he rode his bicycle home to get tools, and lay down to dredge it, making a mess. "No thanks, as long as everyone says I'm good!" Whenever someone said thank you, he replied.
For a while, I could see photos of him working every morning in the property WeChat group, all of which were sent by the owner, he bent down and swept the floor, pedaled handmade cloth shoes, and wore a black hat. The next month, he quit, and I heard that he was overaged. I instantly understood the meaning of those photos - he loved face, had vanity, but was so vain that he was cute, and in order to keep the job, he asked the owners to praise him. He is the kind of enthusiastic person who loves labor to the bone and can't be idle.
When I think of Master Fan, I can't help but think of my father, when he was working in the factory, he was tired and tired of doing dirty work, dredged the sewers in the rain, and went home with a happy face. Until after his death, I sorted out the relics, and the stack of model worker awards at the bottom of the drawer, yellowed and curly, was a precious legacy he left me.
That afternoon, after school, I went to the east to get a haircut, and I met seven or eight cleaners, each pushing a tricycle, lined up in a "one" shape to take out the garbage at a designated place on the mountain. Because it was an uphill road, they stepped forward vigorously, reminding people of the appearance of Mount Tai's mountain pickers. At this time, a group of elementary school students wearing school uniforms walked in front of them, and a small yellow hat looked like a small mushroom. The cleaners stopped one after another, signaling the children to go first, and they chattered non-stop, looking at the past from a distance, the little mushrooms rolled down into the hearts of passers-by like uneven notes. The sunset suddenly fell down, fainting golden light, which was different and moving. The line of cleaners formed a straight line and slowly drove towards the garbage collection station, like a colorful oil painting.
Manuscript Editor: He Jing New Media Editor: Zhang Yingying
Pictured: Photo.com
id : iwenxuebao
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