The tile house listens to the rain
Song Yan
In autumn, it rains a lot. One night, listening to the raindrops falling on the empty tin canopy, although I was weak, I threw a sound, and "bang bang bang" kept knocking into my dreams. It was a big dream in the autumn, but when I woke up in a panic, I couldn't help but miss the rainy night in the tile house when I was a child.
Come to think of it, there is no one who is older and has lived in a high-rise building for a long time, and it seems that there is no one who does not miss the tile house. The tile house in memory is pure and simple. Let's not say that when Mr. Zhou Zuoren talked about drinking tea, the split head covered his face was a sentence: "Drink tea under the paper window of the tile house..." It is the burrow that Mr. Liu Yuxi praised a thousand years ago, and presumably it should also be a tile house.
Tile houses, mostly green bricks for the wall, although not said to be unbreakable, but must cover the wind and rain. They are built on the street, rise on the ground, look up to see the blue sky, look down to see the earth, open the door to see the pedestrians, close the window to hear the wind and rain. It can really be said that the wind and moon flow blue tiles, rain and snow sweep the eaves, everywhere you see is the world, and the sounds you hear are natural.
I remember the third grade of primary school, one early spring night, sleeping soundly, somehow suddenly woke up, confused to listen to the spring rain falling on the tile house. "Rustling" the ground, noisy and cut, like crying, the sound of the sound into the ears, as if the breathing sound of early spring, and as if the heavens and the earth for the first sigh of spring, instantly illuminated the atrium of the teenager's heart. The weather in early spring is cool, the mother's new quilt is gentle and solid, and the washed sheets of rice soup are like hand-woven coarse cloth, gently touching the skin, with a special sense of cleanliness. It was the age of fairy tales, close your eyes, quietly listen to the spring rain, as if you saw the warm spring flowers blooming, the blue water was born, and it was as if you saw the brilliant galaxy, the breeze and the bright moon. When the emotion was strong, he immediately got out of bed in his clothes, lit a lamp and a pen, grabbed a few pages of shredded paper, and wrote down a few lines of long and short sentences like a cloud. I still remember that the next day during the big class, the clear and bright female voice from the school's red scarf radio station said: "Below, we broadcast the manuscript of the third grade class Song students, spring rain rustling." ”
Perhaps, it is precisely because of the first poetry and rain in my life, later, I really fell in love with the fine and dense rain that fell between heaven and earth, like the entangled emotions of fireworks in the world.
The tile house has eaves and shade under the eaves. The streets and alleys of the city are in all directions, but only the eaves of this street can barely shield the wind and rain. People walk on the road, if they encounter a heavy rain, first they are unwilling to run in the rain, and then see that the rainstorm is still in full swing, and the destination is still gone, they often give up running and plunge into the eaves of the street to avoid the rain.
The woman on the east street and the man at the west street intersection met one day in the eaves of the street in this pouring rain. The woman was soaking wet from top to bottom, the hair on her forehead was sticking to her face, dripping with water, and indeed the good shirt became translucent and tightly wrapped around her body. The woman wiped the water on her face with one hand, and tried to dust her shirt with the other, and when she was busy and flustered, the man next to her quietly handed out a clean handkerchief... The bridge break in the movie is more or less like this. A downpour of rain, so that the woman lead hua washed, the man finally saw the woman's true face, and one of the handkerchiefs, carrying, casually pulled out, even clean and tidy, the man handed out is not his true face? A rain is also a natural opportunity, and men and women in the north and south of the world, in the same heavy rain, hide in the same eaves, talking about this coincidence. This came and went, two and two looking at each other, it is logical to achieve a good story of life and death. Therefore, I have always stubbornly believed that if the ancients of a thousand years ago wanted to stage a free love drama, the bottom of the roof of the tile roof in the rain must be the best wind and moon dojo in the world.
Leaving aside the eaves, the green brick and tile houses at that time, even if the door is closed, there is no hole in the sky. The house is more spacious, like a deep house compound, and the courtyard is deep. For light and ventilation, there is a patio in the house. On the patio, rain and dew, sewage discharge, the so-called flowing water of the present dynasty, he clouds and rain, in this tile house tossing and turning between the past life and this life.
I remember a certain mid-year festival, after the ancestors were paid, the family sat around the edge of the patio and chatted. In the middle of summer nights, not to mention the air conditioning, not even the electric fan, grandfather wore a white bamboo cloth short shirt, while shaking the fan for us, while holding a large white porcelain jar to drink water, and then began to speak slowly, delicately and densely. I can't remember exactly what I said. I just remember that day, the jasmine and gardenia in the patio were quietly perfumed, and the corners of the walls were occasionally shuttled with clever little mice, and I was lying on my grandfather's lap, groggy and trying to sleep. Suddenly, a large drop of cold water fell into my neck, and my grandfather patted me on the back and called me into the house.
It was night, the thunder was loud, the rain was pouring, the thunder was earth-shattering, as if it sounded at the pillow, and the lightning was a silver light, breaking through the sky. I closed the doors and windows, slept on a large wooden bed covered with golden bamboo mats, and listened to the wind and rain outside the house, and the house was safe and sound, as if there was a kind of stability and appropriateness of watching the fire from the other side. But the good times did not last long, and in the middle of the night, the tile house finally could not support it, and it actually leaked water. On the dining table, on the dressing table, on the wooden bed... Regardless of time and place, let alone rules and order, as if everything is only happy by the raindrops. In the confusion, my mother stuffed me with a large cold iron bucket, and I took the iron bucket in my arms to pick up the raindrops that leaked into the house. People in Tang poems always love to sigh, and they wish to sleep in the moon among the flowers, and I can finally sleep in the rain during the long night. The ticking rain is a leak of time, and it will drop youth into a wasteland in a blink of an eye.
Many years later, I still remember that on the Mid-Yuan Festival when I was 8 years old, a torrential rain in the middle of the night pierced the green tile roof of my house and knocked down the jasmine and gardenia that my grandfather planted on the edge of the patio. Grandfather said: "The flowers bloom for half a summer, the wind and dust are tossing and turning, and finally they can be destroyed in a rainstorm, and it is also considered to be clean and clean..." That year, my grandfather was 75 years old, and 2 years later, my grandfather was really like his jasmine and gardenia, quietly passing away in a miserable wind and cold rain.
I remember that day, my mother said, "Tonight, you will sleep alone at home, and tomorrow you will have a final exam!" I gritted my teeth and nodded vigorously. It was the first time in my life that I experienced life and death, turned off the lights at night, lay alone on a large wooden bed, remembered my grandfather's slow whispers and finally faded away, remembered the jasmine and gardenia blooming in the patio, and finally fell into the mud, when I was a teenager, I began to toss and turn, all night long. In the middle of the night, it suddenly began to rain, the raindrops were as strong as iron, cold as ice, a sound fell on the roof, knocked on the door frame, hit the window ledge, and finally knocked on my heart, so thousands of thoughts, finally took advantage of the night rain, rushing down happily.
Tears are a recipe for growth, and the tile house of youth carries too many clutch sorrows and joys.
Later, my parents took me out of the old house and moved into the family home of my parents' unit. On the seventh floor of the high, there is no longer a green tile eaves, and there is no need to worry about the old house grinning through the wind and rain in the rainstorm of the summer night. Of course, there was no longer a patio full of jasmine and gardenias, and no more little mice in the corners. The mother said, "This is good, high building, close the door, clean and dry." ”
Later, the Three Gorges migrants relocated as a whole. I remember that on the last night before the relocation of the whole city, I made a special trip back to the tile house where I used to live as a child. In the early autumn weather, the autumn breeze is slightly cool, the drizzle is like felt, and those rains are silently shrouded in green brick houses and pale yellow grass, thinking of the beautiful scenery of the past, the cooking smoke is swirling, and now it has finally become a broken well. It was as if a dream of youth had finally been consumed in an autumn rain.
The houses in the new city are full of high-rise buildings, with closed glass windows and sturdy rain shelters, and if it rains at night, the raindrops fall on the canopy, and they bluff and "clang" in vain. So I began to miss the tile house of my childhood. Think of the green brick house and the bluestone trail, snuggling up to each other, passing through the city, hand in hand with the end of the world. Late at night, closed doors and closed doors, lying near the window, there are nocturnal hurried footsteps outside, the wailing of autumn insects, if the moon is just right, sprinkling the west window, that is the real moon like practice, the moon is like frost. The tile house in the memory, just like this, stands quietly at the end of the memory, like a round of white moonlight at the head of the bed, more like a cinnabar mole at the bottom of the heart.
One day, a young friend said that he opened a homestay on the outskirts of the city, and vowed that this homestay is absolutely nostalgic and highly restored to the appearance of the tile house we were children. He also said that he knew that I loved rain, so he planted a few plantains under the west window of the tile house, even if there was no spring rain rustling, then at least there must be a night rain Xiao Xiao! He was graciously invited, but of course I was not ashamed and willing to accompany him.
That was the second time I moved into the tile house after I had left the tile house for more than twenty years. Everything is so old and fresh. The mottled wooden doors, the rusty copper locks, the grass in the corner walls of the doors with probes probing the brains, and the layers of green tiles on the roof are like fish scales, like water waves, and the top is faintly covered with damp moss. Another square patio reveals a blue sky with white jasmine and gardenia planted on the edges.
Sleep on a large wooden bed covered with golden bamboo mats, and listen to the night wind outside the window, plantains. But without air conditioning, the house was sweaty and the heat was unbearable. Shake the fan, it is even more hot, the heat wave rolls. The weather was dry and dry, the mosquito net was airtight, and it didn't take long to feel dizzy and sweaty like rain. Gritting his teeth for a while, he suddenly heard the distant sky, and there was a thunderclap, and the wind was fierce, and the rainstorm poured down, and finally he was relieved and could sleep with peace of mind. But as soon as I lay down, suddenly, a drop of water fell on my face, and I was shocked, and suddenly it was another drop... Exhausted, I finally couldn't bear it, rolled over and got out of bed, got into the car again, and fled without hesitation.
I think that the teenage tile house that has haunted my soul countless times is really goodbye this time. Over the years, we have worn the cloak of nostalgia, vainly trying to follow the clues of our hometown and find the self we were then. But we can't go back!
(Author Affilications:Chongqing Electric Power Industry Association)
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