I don't sleep very well, I always dream at night, and when I am under psychological pressure, I dream more, as if as soon as I fall asleep, people enter another lively world.
When I was under pressure, I chose one of the following two kinds: first, I was about to take the college entrance examination, but because I skipped too many classes, I couldn't find even textbooks, and I was anxious; second, I dreamed of flying low over the great plains of my hometown of Eastern Henan, along the country road, and flying towards my hometown in the east of Qixian County.
In my dreams, I always flew in the late spring and March, not in a plane, but with open arms and flesh, like dragonflies flying around before the heavy rain, clinging to the ground or the grass spikes in the farmland. The hometown in the dream is still the same as in childhood memories, and has not been invaded by industrial civilization. As a child, I ran on the country roads here; in my adult dreams, I flew low along the country roads with my arms outstretched.
Late spring and March are the most beautiful seasons in my hometown. The traces of the harsh winter have just been erased by the mighty spring wind, and the willow or poplar trees on both sides of the village road have shed all the shy girlish goose yellow and turned into a fiery green, and even the branches of the tree head are covered with dense and solid. As you walk the country roads, you can see that the sky is like a cauldron made of sapphire, covering everything in sight. Beneath the blue sky, high is a canopy of willow, poplar or elm trees, and endless green clouds are wrapped around the roof near and far; low is a lush wheat field that reaches the sky, and the wheat seedlings are sprinkled with happy stems and leaves, and the sound of jointing can almost be heard. If you are passing by a rape field, the golden rape flowers bloom into a piece, and the air is filled with sweetness, which is better than the slightly bitter fragrance in the wheat field. As I flew in the air and looked down, the dark green wheat fields and the golden rape fields were intertwined, just like the brushstrokes in Van Gogh's oil painting "Starry Sky", which was dazzlingly beautiful.
When I was in high school, my family moved from the countryside to the provincial capital and became a city person. Occasionally, when you go back to your hometown to visit relatives and friends, you have to start from the provincial capital, pass through the ancient capital kaifeng to the east, return to Qixian County, and then continue to the east from the county seat for eighteen miles to return to the village where your hometown is located.
In my dreams, I always flew along this route, first out of the provincial capital to the east for more than a hundred miles, and took a short rest near the ancient Lianglong Pavilion of Zhao Kuangyin, the grandfather of the Song Dynasty; then flew east for almost one hundred and fifty miles to reach the hometown of the Qiren who was always worried about what to do when the sky fell; and then flew eighteen miles east to a small river in a north-south direction called the Cuilin River, flying over a small bridge, and there was an east-west road through the village and a village called Lütun. I flew along the main road, through the high and low farmhouses, turned north at the first intersection, and returned to my childhood home. There is a big elm tree in the middle of my yard that requires two or three people to hold hands to hug, and there are always two dogs lying under the tree, one is black and white, called Huahua, and the other is pure black, called Kuroko. They were mother and son, my playmates in elementary school.
A friend who understands psychology did a dream analysis for me, he told me that people are disappointed in real life, eager to escape, in the dream, this desire will be reflected in the flight free from all the shackles; people are insecure about the future, anxiety projected in the dream, it becomes to return to a happy childhood and warm hometown. He said I was dissatisfied with reality and lacked confidence in the future. This analysis makes sense, but is not entirely accurate. I recognize that flying in dreams is an escape from reality; but solidified dreams stem from childhood memories. You know, I really flew low as a child, flying twice in a day. Many of my morals and codes of conduct in this life were initially formed in these two low-altitude flights.
I was precocious and went to elementary school at the age of five. The new school year begins after the summer holidays. The two flights in memory took place in late spring and March. From this, it is calculated that it was the second half of the first grade of primary school, and after carrying a small bench to school every day for more than half a year, I was no longer a primary school student who had just entered the school.
The little bench was made for me by my eldest brother, and the stool had my name on it, which he had also written with a brush. The eldest brother was born in the fifties, catching up with the three-year famine, and the nutrition he owed was not replenished, and he has been thin. His hair was always messy, like he had just scratched his head for half a day.
I didn't know why my eldest brother was always scratching his head when I was growing up. My father was an old college student in the 1950s, attending the best university in Beijing, and graduated and was assigned to work in the provincial city. My eldest brother didn't like to do farm work, and wanted to finish middle school and college like my father, and then go to the provincial city to work and eat public meals. Junior high school did not finish, there was a revolution of suspension of classes, he could only go home to stay; when the school resumed, the university stopped recruiting, and the county high school also stopped enrolling. He didn't want to do farm work, and he couldn't eat idle meals at home, so he mixed into the ranks of private teachers and became a teacher in the village primary school. My eldest brother couldn't let go of his dream of entering the provincial city, and he couldn't think of a way, so worried, worried that he scratched his head every day.
My family has a good reading tradition, and my brothers are very self-taught, and they do not rely on school. Although my eldest brother did not finish junior high school, he had already published several poems in the mimeograph tabloid of the prefectural cultural center, and he was a well-known talent. With his literacy skills, there is no problem in teaching junior high school. When I was in elementary school, the Chinese teacher encountered words that could not read or write, and I could always get the correct answer by asking questions in class, which showed that I was not weak.
Believing that I was a primary school teacher, my eldest brother was obligated to give me a scientific name and write it on my small bench. When my sister and my sister were in elementary school, he also made a small bench and was impartial. The name he gave me, I used to give it up after graduating from junior high school. This is another sad story to tell slowly later.
I don't know what class the eldest brother teaches at school, only that he is bored in the house when he has nothing to do, his eyebrows are locked and his erhu is squeaky, worse than killing a chicken. If he didn't pull the erhu, he would scratch his head with a heavy heart. For a child like me who was ten years younger than him, he always ignored it. He didn't like to pay attention to me, and I didn't like to pay attention to him, and I hated the look of his sad face. From home to school, I never walked with him, always waiting for him to go out for a while before carrying the bench to school. The same goes for school, and if I see him, I'll come home later.
As mentioned earlier, at that time, the teaching force in the countryside was weak, and my Chinese teacher was not as literate as I was, and I needed to be asked when I encountered words that could not read or write. I also lacked the admiration I deserved for my teachers, and I often played around in class. As long as it didn't affect others too much, the teacher ignored me, only to come over and drink too much, and drove me to the corner of the classroom.
In the first grade of primary school, Teacher Yang, who teaches Chinese, is a kind-looking old lady who has always been very kind to me. Every time I fight with the children, she will protect me and scold the other party: people will do anything, it doesn't matter if you don't go to class, you don't understand bullshit, what do you make trouble with him? Go back and tell your mom to see if she beats you to death!
This time, I forgot how it was caused, but after the big trouble in the Heavenly Palace, Teacher Yang got angry, grabbed my ear and pulled me to the corner behind the classroom, and kicked me. I was very naughty when I was a child, and I was often taught by my mother's ear. My ears were big and thin, maybe they had been broken by my mom. Except for my mother, no other adult has ever beaten me. Teacher Yang poked me in the ear in front of the whole class, kicked me, and provoked me, blurting out a foul word. For rural children, swearing really does not need to learn, open their mouths, and can swear a lot of new tricks. What I scold is the simplest and most direct of all the swearing language.
Teacher Yang was completely enraged, grabbed my ear and walked outside the classroom, shouting as he walked: I can't teach you! Let's go find your big brother! walk! Find your big brother to reason with it!
My eldest brother was sitting behind a desk near the door in the teacher's office, scratching his head in sorrow. Teacher Yang pushed me towards him and said angrily, "You don't care about your brother anymore, he scolded me in the classroom!" ”
The eldest brother, who was scratching his head, realized that the world was related to him, and he stood up and said, "He dares to scold the teacher in the classroom?" He walked around the table and walked over to me. At this moment, I was standing at the door of the office, facing the house, with my back to the door.
Although he rarely speaks, he is his brother after all. I think the eldest brother always has to ask what happened first. I was going to tell him that It was Teacher Yang who hit me first, and I can't be blamed for this. Unexpectedly, he didn't even listen to Teacher Yang's complaint, let alone ask me, he flew up in a huff and kicked me in the stomach.
Although the eldest brother is thin, he still has a lot of strength, and I suspect that pulling erhu and scratching his head can also grow strength. I just felt a tightness in my belly, and the feeling of pain had not yet reached my brain, so I flew up out of thin air.
According to common sense, if you get a kick on the belly, the person who is kicked should bend the back of the belly and take a few steps backwards and sit on the ground. Being able to fly out on its back to the sky indicates that the kick is extremely powerful, and it is kicked from the bottom up with an angle to have this effect.
The foot came suddenly, unexpectedly, and before I could even close my eyes, I was already flying in mid-air. The moment my belly and feet touched closely, I was looking down at the ground. With a muffled sound, the ground in my eyes suddenly disappeared and was replaced by the thick beams of the roof, then the door frames, then the twilight spring and March sky, and the various green leaves reflected in the sky.
I was facing the sky on my back, stretching out on all fours, flying in the cool air of late spring, drawing a beautiful parabola about seventy centimeters above the ground, and then slamming into the ground with a thud. This parabola, starting in the office and ending in the compound of the elementary school campus, crosses a threshold and a distance of about three meters in the middle. I didn't come out, I didn't run out, I flew out. When flying in the air, I didn't feel pain or pain, on the contrary, I just felt inexplicably excited: Ah! I'll fly! I'll fly! I'll fly!
I was so excited to fly like a bird. This wonderful feeling is engraved in my mind, and I have not forgotten it to this day. Flying like a bird feels beautiful, if there is a pity, it is that the bird's flying posture is to bend over and stretch its head and flap its wings and fly forward, while I am flying upwards facing the sky, which is not beautiful, even a little embarrassed.
After that, there was chaos, my brain was blank, I couldn't remember how I got up from the ground, I couldn't remember whether the eldest brother continued to beat me, and I couldn't remember Teacher Yang's reaction. The memory that can be received is that I cried and walked home. I cried as I walked, and by the way, I thought clearly about a philosophy of life: a person wants to punish you, not necessarily to explain the truth to you first.
I cried all the way home. At this time, school has been out for a long time, and there are few students on the road; most of the adults who have finished work and come home to eat are already sitting at the dinner table, and only those who have finished work late are still walking on the way home. There were not many people on the road, and no one came to comfort me. They either didn't notice me at all, or they pointed at me and laughed, I was usually too naughty and annoying. Now they watch me rolling in the dirt, grinning and crying as I walk, and it's too late to be happy, who will come to comfort me? This thought overwhelmed the excitement of flying and detonating, and I felt more and more aggrieved and my cries became louder and louder.
The school is on the east side of my house, and the school gate is facing the road that runs through the whole village. I walked west along the road, turned north at the intersection, and as I was about to walk to the door, I saw my grandfather in front of me. He was always the one who came home from the fields at the latest.
My grandfather didn't talk much, and when I had a conflict with my grandfather's ----, that is, my grandfather's father, ----, the grandfather and son had not said a word for three years, and when there was something, they would show their lips or let others pass on the word. Few words do not mean That, when my grandfather was young, he was a well-known figure in ten miles and eight townships. He's a man with a story, destined to play a leading role in many of my stories.
When my grandfather was a child, his family had a few acres of thin fields. His father's generation, there are four brothers, although they have all become a family, have not been separated, continue to a big pot in the spoon, although not very rich, but still good. Unexpectedly, when the boss went to the city to sell grain, he became addicted to opium, owed a debt to the tobacco house, and secretly gave the family's house and land to the tobacco house, and the plot was similar to the movie "Alive". In the movie, fugui's family was defeated by gambling, and my family was defeated because of opium smoking. My great-grandfather was the youngest of the four brothers and could not support the family, so he went out to join the army, and my great-grandmother had to take my grandfather back to her mother's house to live. My grandfather could not stand the grievances of sending people under the fence, and when he was less than fourteen years old, he ran out to become a soldier, starting from the service soldier who brought tea and water to the commander, because he knew a few words, and the people were diligent and honest, and after a few years, they actually mixed into the regimental commander of hundreds of people under him.
At that time, the warlords were fighting each other, the official field was dark, he was not accustomed to it and could not change it, he could only restrain his subordinates from disturbing the people, and he was alone. The phrase "out of the sludge without staining" is an apt description of my grandfather. After years in the army, he was buried three feet deep in the mud blown up by shells on the battlefield. He drilled out of the dirt with his hands and feet, squatted by the shell crater for half a day, and suddenly thought: I am an only child, my father went out as a soldier and did not know if he could come back, the old woman only had one precious son, if I died, who would raise the old woman? Besides, this official is not interesting, and it is not interesting to fight around. His lofty ambition turned into a homecoming, and he packed up his resignation and went home.
When my grandfather came home, he had just come home. They used the money they had saved over the years to buy back all the fields and houses that the boss had sold, and to bring back their families who had made a living by their relatives and friends. The brothers split up and gave a share to the old man who smoked a lot. My grandfather and grandfather did not go out to serve as soldiers again, and they were at ease working in the farm at home. A few years later, my father was born, and on the full moon, he held a banquet to entertain the villagers. My grandfather drank a few drinks, stood up and said aloud to the villagers: I have made a rule, and everyone should bear witness: All my children and grandchildren must read books and read books to know etiquette; they must not be officials, and being an official is too hurtful. If they have to become officials, they must not harm nature and reason; if they have a bad reputation as an official, if they count the ball outside the dead, and those who commit gambling as prostitutes are also allowed to enter the ancestral graves. After he said this, he smashed the wine glass on the spot. Everyone thought he was drunk and crazy, but in fact he was very sober and not drunk at all.
After a few more years, the land reform was carried out, and my family was classified as a kulak, and my grandfather's reactionary officers' struggle meeting was held. My grandfather reasoned with the township chief and said: When I became a soldier, I poured tea and water for people's homes, and I couldn't call people's grandfathers, and I couldn't call out to my grandfather, and I wanted to call out to the old man,---- I was also an oppressed person, so why did I say that I was a reactionary officer? My family's house was lent to the People's Liberation Army as a headquarters, and it was blown up by the plane sent by the old Chiang Kai-shek, and I did not let it be compensated. The family has donated all the houses to the new China, so why not say that it is not a revolutionary family. When he spoke this way, the township chief could not refute him, and he was amused by the humor outside his words. The struggle did not take place, and the family composition was divided into lower middle peasants, which still belonged to the revolutionary camp. If I had been classified as a kulak, my father would not have been eligible to go to university, and of course, there would have been no family moving to the provincial capital; if I had not moved, I might have stayed in my hometown as a farmer, and now I may be a migrant worker in the south. It can be said that my grandfather's one-stop struggle changed the fate of the entire family.
The story about my grandfather was made up of me inquiring from the east and the west, listening to some words from the elders, and using these scattered fragments to piece together. When I walked and cried on the road, I didn't know so much, I only knew that grandpa was very powerful, and the whole family had to listen to him; and I knew that when my grandfather stared, my eldest brother was scared like a mouse pressed by a cat at his feet. My eldest brother beat me, and grandpa knew that it was strange not to break his head. At this thought, my crying became louder, my pace accelerated, and I seemed to see that the eldest brother was being beaten by grandpa and howling.
My grandfather saw me crying as I walked, took a few steps over, and asked who had been bullied.
Of course, I said that I was beaten by the eldest brother, and my grandfather immediately blushed with anger and said angrily: "Against him, he did not protect his brother at school, and he also started to beat people, is this a rebellion?" “
The plan went well, and I was stealing music when Grandpa asked, "Why did your eldest brother beat you?" ”
I was also really stupid, and I replied without even thinking about it: "I scolded Teacher Yang, and he beat me."
Listening to me scold the teacher, Grandpa's face changed from an angry red to an iron blue. Without saying a word, he flew up and I began my second low-altitude flight of the day.
This time, I was flying downwards. He kicked me in the stomach, and I was kicked forward, taking off in the air, and flying backwards in front of my head. The ground slid rapidly under my nose from my feet to the top of my head, and how far it slid was how far I flew. This time, the flight attitude is to carry the blue sky on its back, like a small bird. But the bird flew forward, and I flew backwards, still looking confused.
I knew that if I flew down like this, I would end up nibbling on a mouthful of yellow earth. Rural children, who do not know that the taste of the soil is dry and smelly, and the paste in the mouth is extremely uncomfortable. In order not to nibble on a mouthful of mud, I closed my mouth and did not dare to cry again. I can't think of how my grandfather kicked a kid face down and flew in the air. Now that I think about it, first of all, the force is strong, and secondly, the position of the kick should be lower, and the foot should bring out an upward angle. Those who have been soldiers, the tricks are different.
Fortunately, the flight was short, and in less than two seconds, I fell to the ground with a whimper. Fortunately, I shut up in time and did not nibble on a mouthful of loess. Grandpa didn't continue to beat me, he grabbed me lying on the ground from behind and carried me home. I was lifted face down in the air by him, which was equivalent to continuing the flight journey just now.
On the loess road in the countryside, where pedestrians are crushed, there are hard pavements, and on both sides of the road are all kinds of weeds that have been chewed and grown by livestock, there are puppies that spread everywhere against the ground, there are stars that have just pulled out long stems, and there are ovate and translucent purslane leaves. Grandpa wasn't tall, and he carried it, and my face slid almost against the weeds on the side of the road. The smell of grass and earth mixed together made me want to sneeze. Small insects such as grasshoppers and gray moths lurking in the grass were startled and flew wildly, and several even hit me in the face. My temper came up, gritting my teeth and not crying, my hands and feet swinging in the air to maintain my body's balance. The rubbing of grass blades, the flapping of the wings of small bugs, and the sound of Grandpa's footsteps mixed together, drumming in my ears, like the gong and drum point of the New Year's singing drama. Occasionally, neighbors came up to me and greeted my grandfather. The dialogue is wrapped in gongs and drums, like dialogue in a big play:
Alas! Which one is this singing? How did you beat up the child?
The rabbit cub does not learn well, and dares to scold the teacher in the school! Don't grow a temper, see I don't kill him!
If the child is not naughty, hit two down, put it down, don't frighten the child!
No, today let him remember sex for a long time, remember for a lifetime, people must learn from the good, can not be disrespectful, can not be lawless!
Grandpa's scolding voice was heard in my ears, soaring higher and higher into the sky, almost suppressing all other sounds between heaven and earth. I knew he wouldn't really kill me, but I was still very afraid: in the future, if I provoke my grandfather to be angry, it will not be as simple as flying.
With these two low-altitude flights, every time you encounter a crossroads in life, the feeling of flying low across the earth will quietly emerge, either in a dream, or in a trance in the moment before making a major decision. I felt my whole body floating in the air, and my grandfather's roar soared into the sky: People must learn from the good, they can't be lawless!
For so many years, my father and my three brothers finally read as my grandfather wished, all of them were college students, and after graduation, they neither became officials nor made a fortune, and they lived a plain and peaceful life. In particular, I went to one of the best universities in China, and after graduation, my life was like a turning around, drifting from north to south, never being an official, at most being a corporate executive.
I am a person who thinks that I have never done anything that harms nature and reason, but I am not making mistakes, and I do not make big mistakes and do not make small mistakes continuously. The small mistakes I make sometimes hurt others, not because I have a bad eye that hurts others, but because I am really stupid and want to do things well but can't do it. I've seen others fly from the ordinary, and I've seen people who fly from the heights. Every time I see a tall building collapse, I will think: fortunately, my grandfather often shouted in his ear, fortunately, the memory of flying low often reminded me to be content with my duty, so that I could withstand the temptation and not fall into the cage because of greed. My life is plain, but plain is peace, contentment!
Sometimes I think about it, my grandfather's life is also a kind of low-altitude flight: a few feet off the ground, flying over the threshold or low tree at most, flying higher than the chicken that has been planing in the mud, and seeing the world a little more; but not pursuing the clouds, always maintaining closeness to the soil.
When my family moved into town, Grandpa had been dead for many years. I haven't been back to my hometown in years. Sometimes I think that I can't always fly back to my hometown in my dreams, and I have to find a time to really go back and see it! Next Qingming Festival, maybe you can take the time to go back and hand a cigarette to your grandfather who stayed in the ancestral grave of his hometown and burn high incense.
