Recently, I have been working more leisurely, and I have a lot of rest, and when I was flipping through my large number of travel books and maps, on this cold afternoon today, I turned out this humble earthy yellow book cover "The Two of Us" from the pile of books. I vaguely remember that I found it in the triptych bookstore of Dongsishitiao in the irritable and somewhat bitter summer of 2004.
Mr. Yang's writing is convincing enough, the words are full of light and eternal style, the binding of the book is also a school of atmosphere, simplicity and calmness, even the illustrations in the book are brown tones, and a glance will go straight to the heart. She wrote about the book with Qian Zhong, Qian Jing's 63 years of gathering and dispersing, 63 years of heavy love and affection, pain and happiness in a book as thin as more than 100 pages.
The first part is extremely short, with only a dream of the writer's old age, which opens the whole book. The misery and helplessness in the dream foreshadows the panic and uneasiness of a family of three who are about to face an unexpected place.
The second part begins with a happy scene in the family, where the three of them are laughing happily, when Mr. Qian suddenly receives a mysterious and irresistible order and hurried away from home. The scene changed suddenly, and the three of them walked onto the "Ancient Stagecoach Road". The "Ancient Post Road" is a symbol. This is the last journey of life that everyone must go through through throughout the ages. It's just that the three of them are running back and forth on the "Ancient Stagecoach Road", which is extra hard and extra long. Reading and reading, my heart tightened. The author's voice touched my heartstrings, and I witnessed the suffering of the three of them in those difficult years, and saw how Mr. Yang was full of hope in despair, and how he fell into despair again from hope. I saw how Mr. Yang, with her weak body, fought against the god of death as a husband and a beloved daughter, and when she was even hurt by the pain of losing her daughter and widowed husband, she "wanted to cry and there was no way to stop the pain".
The third part is a remembrance of the past. After the painful catharsis, the author's mind returns to peace. She looks back on the past years, one string and one pillar to remember the Chinese years: their happy marriage, the study abroad career of the long journey, the birth and growth of their beloved daughter. They are trinity, plain and sincere, honest and kind, diligent and studious, living so fully and accomplished, fully demonstrating the value and meaning of life. The joys and twists and turns of life, the songs and laughter of the three of them, Mr. Yang told them one by one. I saw this Talented Jiangnan Woman's beautiful writing, gentle style, humorous and funny conversation, and bright and charming smile.
Her pen never shows sadness and low returns, and is always full of humor and optimism. I don't feel sorry for her, I just break my heart for her.
My favorite is the third part, which is also the part that moved me the most. Many of these passages are enjoyable to read, after all, they are the handwriting of masters. The gentleman said "", so the gentleman was willing to share her experience with others, so he planned to copy the beginning and end of the third part to express his respect for him.
(i)
The Sanlihe Residence was once my home because of the two of us. When we are separated, there is no home. I am the only one left, and I am an old man, just like a tired traveler who is poor at dusk; looking forward to wandering, can I not sigh that "life is like a dream" and "like a dream bubble"?
But, having said that, I feel that my life is not empty; I have lived a full and interesting life, because of the two of us. It can also be said that neither of us has wasted this life, because it is we who are the two.
"We both" are actually the most ordinary. Who doesn't have children? At least two husband and wife, with the addition of children, it will be three or four or five of us. It's just that each family is different.
We are this home, and simple; the three of us, very simple. We have no quarrel with the world, no quarrel with others, but only to get together, to stay together, and to do what we can. When encountering difficulties, Zhong Shu always bears them with me, and the difficulties are no longer difficult; and with Ah Yan's companionship and help, no matter what bitter and difficult things, they can become sweet. When we are a little happy, we will also become very happy. So we have an unusual encounter.
Now we are separated. The past cannot be left behind, the deceased cannot be traced; the rest of me, I can no longer find them. I can only relive the years we lived together and reunite with them.
(ii)
There is no simple happiness in the world. Happiness is always accompanied by troubles and worries.
There is no eternity in the world. We had a rough life, and in the twilight years we had a place to settle down. But old and sick have urged us, and we have come to the end of the road in life.
Grandma Zhou had already returned home from illness. Chung shu was admitted to the hospital in the summer of 1994. I went to see him every day, delivered food, delivered vegetables, and delivered soups and water. Ah Yan was admitted to the hospital in the winter of 1995, at the foot of the West Mountain. I talk to her on the phone every night and go to see her every week. But the hospital wanted to see it, and could only rush to the side. The three of them live in three separate places, and I can also be a liaison and often pass on messages.
In the early spring of 1997, Ah Yan died. At the end of 1998, Chung Shu died. The three of us were lost. It was so easily lost. “”。 Now, I'm the only one left.
I soberly saw that the apartment that used to be "our home" was just an inn on the road. Where home is, I don't know. I'm still looking for a way back.
"An inch of time is an inch of gold, and an inch of gold is difficult to buy an inch of time", this is the cliché at the beginning of the essay when I was in elementary school. After reading Mr. Wang's book, I more or less understood this sentence. Sir's long dream carried me in, accompanied her to have a long dream, warm but not cold, looking forward to it and no longer wandering.
On May 25, 2016, Mr. Yang Dai passed away at the age of 105. The death of Mr. Yang Dai was the reunion of the two of them, and there was no life or death since then.