Weekend reading/a sunny afternoon

In the afternoon, someone knocked at the door.

At that time, I just woke up. After getting up and washing, I poured some water on the peony pot on the bal

In the afternoon, someone knocked at the door.

At that time, I just woke up. After getting up and washing, I poured some water on the peony pot on the balcony, made a cup of old uncle Maojian and put it on the big desk in the study. The sunshine outside the window splashed like waves and beat on the glass with red plum blossom buds. Tea smoke curled up in the glass, green buds spread out one by one, and some hung straight in clear water, like new buds just pulled out after a drizzle.

The blue light on the computer case brings back flicker, and the small fan inside rustles, like the newly rising wind on the grass, caressing the soft leaves. You can't feel the sound unless you listen carefully. I sat in the mahogany chair in front of my desk, hunched my back, leaned forward slightly, and tapped my fingertips on the shiny black keyboard. With the click, the world in my novel appeared on the screen.

The watchmaker's wife died and he buried her in the mountains of his hometown. It was a winter, it was snowing, and the east was covered with snow. I glanced at the newly typed words: "Sparse snowflakes are floating in the sky, quietly like Bai Mei petals shaken off in the wind. There is a thin layer of snow on the mountain, and the turbulent wind sends sword light from there. The watchmaker sat in front of Xinji's grave and smoked silently. He held one hand on the ground, trying to support his body that was about to fall apart. The wind wrinkled his cigarette and gradually covered his expressionless face. "

The knock on the door rang again, interrupting my thoughts. I stood up angrily and walked to the door.

I found that I forgot to close the door. Outside the door stood an old man wearing a khaki hat. He is in his seventies and has a smooth chin. From his clothes and facial features, he can hardly find any features, just like those common old people on the street. He stood upright, his face as calm as autumn water in an ancient well.

I frowned and asked impatiently, old man, what can I do for you?

As soon as he opened his mouth, he coughed violently, his face was flushed and his throat was hoarse. Like an injured crow stuck in a branch, he realized that something was going to happen and struggled to open his mouth and scream. Look at him like that. Maybe he hasn't recovered from his cold, or he has just come out of the hospital with an uncommon disease. These are all possible. At this age, who is not entangled by illness?

After the cough stopped, he took out a handkerchief folded square from the pocket of his gray woolen coat, wiped it gently on his mouth, put it back in his pocket and tentatively asked, May I come in? After saying this, he stared at my face, and his eyes almost overflowed with expectation.

Of course. My heart becomes soft.

As soon as the words came out, I regretted it. Why did I answer so readily? Why should I let him in? I don't know him. I don't know why he came in The most terrible thing is that my newly conceived novel finally found a feeling and started smoothly. If nothing happens, it should be finished in half a day.

Now, it is too late to regret.

Hearing my answer, the old man came in quickly and skillfully took out a pair of blue slippers from the shoe cabinet next to me and put them on. He shrugged his shoulders and stamped his feet, first with his left foot and then with his right foot. Then he tried to take two steps. After confirming that the size was suitable for him, he stood up straight and looked at everything in front of him. His eyes scanned the calligraphy and painting, wine cabinet, sofa, coffee table and TV cabinet on the wall, and he didn't stop for a moment until he moved to the balcony, where he crossed his legs.

I planted flowers and plants on the balcony, full of vitality, like a mini garden, bathed in the afternoon sunshine. He bent down, pointed with his right hand and looked at them in turn. He looked at them and whispered the names of those flowers, such as peony, begonia, Chunlan, water lily and hyacinthus orientalis. When he reached the gardenia on the far right, he reached out and touched one of the leaves and put his nose in front of a flower for a while. Then I stood up straight, turned my head, moved my lips, clicked a few times, and heard a short sentence: OK, OK.

I don't know if he said that my flowers are well raised or that gardenias are in good bloom. Of course, this is not important, nor is it my concern.

-All right. He turned slowly and smiled at me. Now, let's talk about raising flowers.

Ok, let's take a rain check. The sentence that popped up in my head came to my mouth and I swallowed it back. Look at this posture, this is basically nonsense, whether you say it or not, the result is the same.

The truth is the same as I thought. He didn't ask my advice. He sat down on the rattan chair on the balcony, put his hands on the armrests on both sides and buried deeply. Just now, he seemed to have experienced a difficult long journey, with a helpless exhaustion.

I bought a cane chair from the internet a while ago. This is a wild rattan in Indonesia. This is handmade. The color is not easy to distinguish, even I can't tell whether it is black or yellow. One * * * two, with a small Japanese rattan coffee table in the middle. The sun fell on it, like a layer of varnish, and the air was filled with the smell of dry wood. However, I still think they are still alive. From them, I can see wet stones, goose-down moss, the forest that blocks the sun, and the delicate and elegant clouds on the top of the forest. When the novel is not well written, I like smoking, drinking tea, basking in the sun, or flipping through books. At some point in this period, I will fall into self-forgetfulness, as if I had passed through a narrow door of time and entered a strange world. One day, the stars or rivers in the cold fog seemed to be the call of God. I followed this voice and walked through the cemetery with fuzzy leaves, the roses swaying in the evening breeze and the dark wilderness. At such times, inspiration is like a budding revival, which often erupts from my wasteland.

I have to admit that what the old man suggested is a very good topic. On a sunny balcony, facing the green lawn outside the floor-to-ceiling window, cherry trees with leaves in one corner of the lawn, hills covered with ancient camphor trees in the past, bells and drums in the temple below and tinkling bells on the top of the tower, two friends who have been in contact for many years sat face to face, letting go of the ropes of body and mind, slowly smoking cigarettes, drinking tea and chatting about how to plant flowers and grass. What a wonderful thing this will be.

Unfortunately, the old man came to the wrong place, especially at the wrong time.

I've been thinking about my novel in my mind. Next, I should write about the psychological activities of watchmakers. He wants to build a hut in front of his wife's grave and stay with her day and night. He took a fancy to the place where there was a Chinese tallow tree on the left side of the grave, so he put the house under the tree without cutting down the thick Chinese tallow tree. He will often talk to his wife and tell her that spring has come and the snow has stopped, so it is not so cold. Tell her that the cuckoo has begun to crow. If she is still alive and they still live in this village, she will ask him to see how the pepper seedlings in the vegetable field grow, whether the cucumbers are elongated and whether the bitter gourd seedlings are drilled out of the ground. Once grass grows on the grave, he will pull it out for her one by one, just like pulling out her white hair in the past. She loves beauty and has long hair. She is old, and no gray hair is allowed on her head.

Of course, there are some backgrounds to explain. The watchmaker and his wife were born in this village. They were childhood friends. There used to be several tile houses in the village. Later, when business was good, they moved to a small town. The town is not far from the village, and it crosses a mountain. His tile house was sold to a neighbor. After the neighbor went to work in the county, the house collapsed and became a pile of forgotten ruins. Later, the watchmaker was too old to repair the clock. After a protracted war, he and his wife lost, so they had to obey their children's wishes, sell the house and facade in the town and live in a high-rise building next to the airport in the suburbs of the provincial capital.

The old man doesn't seem to care whether I answer the phone or not. He began to talk about it alone. Peony loves dryness and sunshine. You should water it during the day, preferably at noon when the sun is shining. Orchids need more ventilation. Don't water it unless you have to. Water them thoroughly. Gardenia has big leaves, and the water evaporates quickly, so it needs more watering. Also, water lilies should change water frequently to make the water in the basin clear and bright, like a mirror-a clean mirror.

Probably because I talked too much on the road before, and I was a little tired. The old man rested for a while, then said, you have to trim this gardenia and cut off those yellow leaves-you have to cut it like this. He gestured with his hand, yes, just like a barber shaving a baby's head.

At this point, he stopped and turned his head to me, as if asking for my advice. He said, what do you think?

Not very good, it's all simple common sense, and everyone who has raised flowers knows it. I despise it, because of his sudden visit, my heart is full of fire.

But, out of courtesy, I nodded to him and said, OK, go on. As for what he will talk about next, such as what flowers should be kept warm, what should be paid attention to when flowering, how often to bask in the sun, how to treat diseases and so on. These trivial things can be anything. Because I don't care and don't want to hear it, my mind is on my novel.

I leaned back on another cane chair, wondering how to pick it up next.

Yes, it's about an argument between the watchmaker and his children. First, his son and daughter were pushed out, and then the clockmaker told them what he thought, but the brother and sister strongly disagreed. The last dream was shattered, and it was still a dream as small as dust. What followed was the watchmaker's disappointment, sadness and anger. I wonder how to express these words and how to use them. When the old man suddenly jumped out, he drove everything in my mind to flee everywhere, like a group of wild animals pointing at a gun.

He no longer talks about raising flowers. I guess what he just said probably hollowed out all the knowledge about flower cultivation in his mind. So suddenly changing the subject, the so-called talking about flowers, is purely a cover.

He asked me, do you live alone?

The fire in my heart is lit. I don't know what he means by asking this. Of course, I will never think that he has any malice. I didn't give him a bad look and answered coldly, yes, they went out.

Hearing this, he quickly moved the body attached to the backrest forward, straightened his back, relaxed his eyebrows and stretched the stiff lines on his face. Several strands of blood poured into his face, as if he had been suddenly injected with high-concentration stimulants.

Just like me. He smiled a little smugly.

To be honest, I hate his smile. In his view, we are in "We are both unhappy"-we live far apart and have the same topic with each other. I naturally don't think so. If I don't think in good faith, this smile is obviously schadenfreude. If I move some facial expressions and add a little body language.

They were all out of town and didn't come back until the Spring Festival. When the weather is fine, I go out for a walk and do nothing. I have almost nothing to do. I walked casually, sat in the park pavilion, blowing air and basking in the sun. Go to the river to watch people fishing. If you are lucky, you can catch several loaches in half a day. Many times, you are unlucky and can't catch anything. Later, when fishing was banned, I watched those bridge builders, you know, who were repairing bridges next to Nanxi Lake Park, and watched them saw steel bars, not with saws, but on rotating wheels, clanging and sparking like stars all over the sky.

He said so much in one breath. Judging from this posture, he has no intention of leaving at all. The fire in my nest has nowhere to vent, and it makes me very depressed.

I said, would you like something to drink? For example, black tea, green tea, Pu 'er tea, coffee or honey water?

I said so much for fear that he would refuse. I didn't do it to show my courtesy as a host. I just want to take the opportunity to leave so that he can shut up.

Whatever. Usually I am just plain water. I am at home alone, which saves me trouble. He replied.

Black tea then. I turned to the study, poured out the cup of cold green tea and picked up the pot to boil water. When you press the heat button, the plot of the novel jumps out of your mind again.

The son's reason for opposing the repair of the house is almost impeccable. He said there was no electricity or water, only a muddy path, which was not convenient for shopping and there was no one nearby. My daughter quickly agreed, yes, how can people live in such a place?

The watchmaker wouldn't listen. He said he had a solution to these problems. You can carry water, grow vegetables, and light oil lamps when there is no electricity. I even thought of a few words that I thought were very good. The watchmaker said, "I can't eat much." You know, I am already a dying man. " The watchmaker also said, "Building a house won't cost you a few dollars." Pointing to his daughter, he said, "Just the money you bought that dog, no, half a dog's money is enough." His daughter has an Akita dog with white limbs and a golden body. Not an ordinary pet, but a dog with tens of thousands of dollars.

The water boiled and bubbled, and the lid of the pot was washed down by white heat, making a dense noise.

I put the tea on the coffee table, and the old man took a sip of the cup and said, good tea.

However, he probably thought talking was more important than drinking tea, so he quickly put down his glass and said, I used to drink tea, too. At that time, the old woman was still here, and she left, so I stopped drinking tea. He leaned back and frowned slightly, as if lost in thought.

She walked on a rainy day, and the rain was overwhelming. From then on, I hated rainy days, sitting in the house, listening to the crash of rain, and feeling water flowing out of my bones. I suppose you hate rainy days, too? Needless to ask, it should be like this. Who likes rainy days?

It's sunny and rainy, which is extremely natural. What is there to hate? I thought to myself.

The old man didn't care about my reaction. He saw me standing all the time and waved to me. Hey, you, don't always stand. Come on, sit down and be friendly. When he greeted me, he didn't know how to address me except when he was in a hurry. It's natural to gesture. It seems that he is the owner of this house and I am a strange uninvited guest.

I was helpless, so I had to sit on the cane chair opposite him, take out a cigarette from my pocket and give him one. Of course, it has nothing to do with respect and politeness, but my addiction has come up.

He waved to me. Come on, slap me. He took out the soft hibiscus king wrapped in a blue box and smoked this one. It tastes good and doesn't choke. This 68- 1 pack of cigarettes, even if it tastes good, can't afford it for a person like me who lives on a meager manuscript fee.

He lit a cigarette, took a long breath, groaned, and the smoke came out of his nose like two soft pillars. He sighed twice and said she shouldn't have left so early, alas-too early. She's gone, and I feel like I've been hollowed out, an empty shell and nothing. What it feels like to have nothing, you know? Well, why tell you this-you won't understand.

He smoked another cigarette like just now, and then said, I am not afraid of your jokes. We used to quarrel a lot, but it's really no big deal. For example, I like noodles for breakfast and she likes porridge. We argued about it for years, and once I broke a plate. What a beautiful plate! It is as thin as a piece of paper, with blue lotus flowers painted on a white background. It has been used for decades. He knocked the ash into the ashtray and laughed.

Later, we thought of a way to cook noodles every day and porridge every two days. Now everything is fine and calm. He took off his hat and put it on the coffee table, scratching his sparse hair. I haven't quarreled in more than ten years, have I? She left, and no one quarreled.

He has been talking nonsense. I pretend to listen, but in fact, my mind is full of people and things in the novel. I'm thinking about how to start and end in the future. I was immersed in it, and the ash hung for a long time and forgot to knock it off.

Suddenly, the old man stood up and reached for the window. I followed his hand and looked out of the window. On the tower at the top of the hill stood a woman with white hair. She leaned against the railing of white marble, put her hands on it, and stretched her neck forward like a hungry goose. She is opening her mouth wide and singing hard at the camphor tree forest outside the railing. The song comes with the wind, clear and steady, and has nothing to do with sadness and joy.

Sunlight poured down from the heavy blue sky, and camphor branches with new leaves all over the mountain swayed in the wind, like children's hands held high. I guess that women of this age, even if they fall into singing, will not think of bizarre lights, such as glow sticks with stars flashing all over the sky, cheers and shouts swept by dark people like thunder. It doesn't even have much to do with love, but I feel sad not to sing.

Maybe the old man thinks it's too noisy. Let him turn it off. The window is tightly closed, so it is not easy to close it. Usually, I have to work hard.

During this gap, I plunged into my novel again.

The wind is getting stronger and stronger, and the sky is gray and falls heavily on the top of the head. On the top of the mountain in the distance, the white fog is surging, rolling up a huge whirlpool, and a heavy snow is coming. The two sides argued and the watchmaker refused to go down the mountain. Finally, I was put down by my son and daughter. In his twilight years, the watchmaker's son is as old as a dead tree and as light as cotton in the hands of a tall and mature daughter. His eyes are glassy, his feet are hanging in the air, he doesn't shout, he doesn't struggle, just like a stubborn child who has been beaten to obedience, letting his parents carry him forward.

They finally returned to the old man's house next to the airport. I bought my parents a house next to the airport for convenience. In case of three illnesses and two pains, or other emergencies, a plane ticket flew back with a whoosh.

The daughter smiled and said, Dad, look how nice it is here. It has air conditioning and floor heating. It can neither heat you nor freeze you. If you need anything, we will return it to you. If you want money, we will call your card. Why not? Many people want to live this life, but they can't live it.

My son took over soon. Yes, you see, the19th floor is high and quiet. There are banks, supermarkets, restaurants and chess rooms downstairs, which is very convenient. He stretched out his hand and pointed out of the window. There are lakes and parks there. Spring has come. You can go to the park to see peach blossoms and watch children fly kites. There is another thing he didn't say, that is, there is a hospital 500 meters to the left.

The watchmaker squatted on the sofa, with his head down, without saying a word.

Oh, before that, there must be an episode. Both sons and daughters are in the south, far away from the south, with successful careers and children, living in a big house by the sea and living a life envied by everyone. Of course, they are all filial children, and they have not forgotten their parents and taken them to live in the south. Clockmakers are not used to it. Having experienced a typhoon, he was afraid. He said that living on such a big beach, I feel my soul is gone. If they get used to it, they will buy a house for the southern watchmaker, which is not difficult for them.

The old man tossed and turned for a while and finally closed the window.

He sat down, took a few breaths and said, I'm tired of listening.

I don't know what it means to say this suddenly.

The old man said that the woman lives opposite my house. When the weather is fine, she will go to the tower at the top of the mountain to sing. If it rains, she will sing at home, stand on the small open-air balcony and sing one song after another. She looks much older than me, but she is full of anger. Of course, you may have heard her voice, as loud as the bell in a temple.

Once, I got up to drink water at night and heard a song on the other side. I thought there was something wrong with my brain and I was hallucinating. Think about it, who sings at two in the middle of the night? I turned on the light and saw her standing on the balcony, singing loudly, her hands gesticulating wildly in the air, and the wind blew her hair like a thatch covered with snow. This time, I was too scared to sleep in the middle of the night. I think she's crazy.

The old man said so many words in one breath that his mouth was thirsty. He picked up the teacup and took a few sips of tea. After putting it down, he asked me, do you have anything to say? Like your job, hobbies, family. Come on, talk to me.

He sat up straight, took off two clothes, put his head forward and assumed a listening posture.

I replied, I have nothing to say, really not. Besides-I deliberately turned my head and looked out of the window.

The setting sun has hung on the spire, and the faint corner has dyed the glazed tile at the top of the tower orange, which looks distant and hazy, as if suddenly pulling away. The railing is empty. I don't know when that woman left. Lingduo was silent, leaving only camphor trees all over the mountain, holding his hands high like a child.

Dangdang, the bell rang in the temple at the foot of the mountain, which passed away with the sadness of the sunset, and even the buzzing tail sound was clearly audible.

Now, the old man understands what I mean. He smiled and said to me, I have to go.

I gave a long sigh and thought it was time for him to get up. Unexpectedly, he took another sip of tea, slowly lit a cigarette, and even took a few sips, muttering to himself, I really have to go.

Say that finish, I stood up, smoothed the wrinkles on the sleeves of gray woolen cloth, and walked slowly to the door with the hat on the coffee table in my hand. At this time, his whole body became soft and his ruddy face was full of smiles.

Out of the door, he put on his hat, adjusted his hand, reached out and shook my hand, and then said politely, goodbye.

I reached out and shook his hand gently, saying to myself, I hope I will never see him again.

Close the door, I tidy up the cup, while continuing the novel in my mind.

My son and daughter have gone back to the south. The watchmaker decided to borrow money to repair the house, but he searched all his relatives and friends, and no one was willing to lend him money. He fell into a panic. After sighing for a while, he decided to save money by himself. He found various excuses to ask his son and daughter for money, buy clothes, shoes and health care products, go to the hospital for treatment and take care of people's feelings. There are more and more names and patterns. They seem to have guessed the watchmaker's mind. Once he said what to buy, they immediately said, I will send it to you, and the monthly fee is also given according to the calculated figures.

In this case, the watchmaker is still quietly saving money. He scrimps and saves, never spends a penny more, and sometimes he doesn't even turn on the lights at night. He thinks it won't cost much to build a small house, but he can save enough money one day. Finally, one day, the watchmaker almost saved enough money to repair the house. He was so excited that he couldn't sleep all night.

One day, the watchmaker had a dream. He built a house and put it under the Chinese tallow tree. It's autumn, and the leaves of Sapium sebiferum are red, and pieces fly away from the branches with the wind, like red dragonflies falling all over the roof. He reclaimed a wasteland in front of his house and planted bitter gourd, pepper, loofah and eggplant. The sun fell warmly on the vegetable field and shone on the pepper and bitter gourd trees.

After a while, he woke up and heard the rumble from the nearby airport, which was a familiar voice. A passenger plane is taking off, and the white airflow is spouting out, like a roaring typhoon, making the air choppy. The grass on both sides of the runway panicked and crawled on the ground, trembling desperately.

After the voice disappeared, he entered the dream again. He saw his wife, with long black hair and fair face, standing by the vegetable garden and smiling at him.

As night falls, the lights outside the window are dazzling. I sat in front of the computer again and knocked down these plots in a hurry.

Later, the old man never came again, and I gradually forgot his appearance.

Walking, I often see some old people walking alone, or leaning against the railing by the river, sitting in the pavilion in the park, with blurred eyes and decadent faces, just like the old people who came to my house that afternoon.

Author: Han Xiao Illustration: auspicious day

Submit an email to shishuo@xawb.com.