Appreciation of the united States | kite Author: Lu Xun Recitation: Wang Hui

Author: Lu Xun Recitation: Wang Hui

In the winter of Beijing, there is still snow on the ground, gray-black bald branches forked in the clear sky, and there are one or two kites floating in the distance, which is a kind of surprise and sadness for me.

The kite season in my hometown is spring and February, and if you hear the rustling of wind wheels, you can look up and see a pale ink crab kite or a tender blue centipede kite. There was also a lonely tile kite, without wind wheels, and it was placed very low, showing a gaunt and pitiful appearance. But at this time, the willows on the ground have sprouted, and the early mountain peaches have more buds, which are in line with the children's heavenly embellishments, and the mildness of spring is mixed. Where am I now? On all sides is still the slaughter of a harsh winter, but the long-lost spring of the hometown that has been a long time away is swaying in this sky.

But I have never loved flying kites, not only do I not love it, but I hate it, because I think it is a play done by children who have not yet done it. Contrary to me, my little brother, who was about ten years old at that time, sick and thin, but he liked kites the most, he couldn't afford to buy them, and I wasn't allowed to put them, so he had to open his small mouth and watch the air out of his mind, sometimes even half a day. The crab kite in the distance suddenly fell, and he exclaimed; the entanglement of the two tile kites was untangled, and he jumped with joy. All of this, in my opinion, is a laughing stock, despicable.

One day, I suddenly remembered that I didn't seem to see him for many days, but I remembered seeing him collecting dead bamboo in the back garden. As if I suddenly realized, I ran to a small hut where few people went, pushed open the door, and sure enough, I found him in the dusty pile. He sat down on the small stool toward the large square stool, and stood up in horror, losing his color and shrinking. Next to the large stool is the bamboo bone of a butterfly kite, which has not yet been pasted with paper, and on the stool is a pair of small wind wheels for eyes, which are decorated with red paper strips, and are about to be completed. In the satisfaction of breaking the secret, I was very angry that he had concealed my eyes, so painstakingly and lonely to steal the play of the child. I immediately reached out and broke one of the butterfly's wing bones, threw the wind wheel to the ground, and flattened it. In terms of age and strength, he could not defeat me, and of course I won a complete victory, so I walked out proudly, leaving him standing desperately in the hut. What happened to him later, I don't know, and I didn't pay attention.

However, my punishment finally came, and after we had been parted for a long time, I was already middle-aged. Unfortunately, I came across a foreign book on children and learned that play is the most legitimate act of children, and toys are children's angels. So the scene of the spiritual torture and killing of my childhood, which I had never recalled in the past twenty years, suddenly unfolded in front of my eyes, and my heart seemed to change into a lead block at the same time, and fell very heavy and heavy.

But the heart does not fall and is broken, it just falls very heavy, falls.

I also know the way to make up for it: send him a kite, approve of him flying, persuade him to put it, and I will fly it with him. We shouted, we ran, we laughed—and yet he was already like me, already had a beard.

I also know that there is another way to make up for it: to ask for his forgiveness, and wait for him to say, "I don't blame you." "Then my heart must be relaxed, and this is indeed a feasible method. Once, when we met, it was our faces that had been engraved with many hard streaks of "birth", and my heart was very heavy. As we began to talk about the old things of childhood, I recounted this section, saying that I was confused as a teenager. "I don't blame you." I think that when he was about to say it, I was immediately forgiven, and my heart was relaxed from then on.

"Has there ever been such a thing?" He smiled in amazement and said, like listening to someone else's story. He couldn't remember anything.

What forgiveness is there for total oblivion, no resentment? Forgiveness without complaint, just lying.

What more could I ask for? My heart had to be heavy.

Now, the spring of my hometown is in the air of this distant place again, which not only gives me the memories of my long-lost childhood, but also carries with it an unsure sadness. I might as well hide in the harsh winter of slaughter,—— but it is clearly a harsh winter on all sides, which is giving me a very cold and cold air.

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