Wen 丨 Cao Xu
His figure flickered in my diary. When I was four years old, I warmed his little hands with my belly, his cold and soft little hands. That was my sin, the motorcycle was too fast, no coat, and the cold current crossed the front face of the motorcycle, contracted into a cone, and just hit his back sitting on the pedal, his petite back. He said his hand hurt, and I slowed down to warm his cold little hands with my belly.
His figure flashed in my diary. The day I turned four. On the cold morning of the thirteenth day of the waxing moon, we walked in a hurry, forgot to put on our coats, and although we carefully and slowly drove through the ice and snow ruts, we finally froze our son's hands halfway through. But I rebuked him for his impatience and for seeking care. I was his father, but I told him to be strong, despite the faint pain in his heart, despite the snow on the edge of the road in the suburbs.
His language, too, jumped in my journal. On the sixth day of the first lunar month, when I was about to turn four years old, I was writing on my desk, and he jumped over and tangled, circling around the bed. "Bring the toy." "Don't take it, the adults don't play with the toys; Mom, take it and the adults don't play, huh?" Mom, huh? Adults don't play with toys! The son spoke to his mother. Did he see me ignoring him, deliberately teasing his mother, or deliberately getting my attention?
His tears once flickered in my tiny words. On the day of the fourth birthday, we both slowed down the speed of the car, did not have time to take care of the beautiful scenery of the snow in the wilderness, and slowly slid into the unit, and the arrogant child who had not yet recovered the frostbite of his hands or even the cold body was teased by a colleague. His young eyes were shining with tears. But I still scolded him, telling him that it was useless to cry, and that in the face of the murderer, I should boldly tell him that I did not like him.
Now, I look through the diary with the mottled cover, and when I see these years, when I see those scenes, I don't feel like picking up the phone, calling home, asking my son if he is awake, it is already nine o'clock, wait to wake him up; between those words, seeing the white snow and our past years, I don't feel like leaning back on the chair, letting the cool sunshine cross the edge of the blue curtain, shining on my face, illuminating my tears.
Yes, last night fifteen, there was a very good moon, in the square of the small town station, exceptionally clear, far or near that fireworks that bloomed from time to time, reflecting the clarity and beauty of the full moon. Last night fifteen, there was a very good moon, but I was on duty in the square, and I could not accompany you, or son, tonight? Tonight we went out for dinner together, and there must be a good moon, a good moon and a gentle moonlight.
☆ About the author: Cao Xu, a cadre of the Teachers' Training School in Weidu District, Xuchang City, Henan Province, pen name Chen Caoxu, has written hundreds of essays and novels in recent years, see Essay Online, Red Sleeve Tianxiang, Under the Ancient Banyan Tree, Kaidi Community and other literary websites, co-authored the biography "Candlelight that Year".
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Editor: Yi Shusheng