My grandfather (Yunshan)

Author: Yunshan

My grandfather is wearing a shiny old sheepskin coat, a dog skin hat, a drooping hat, a dung fork in his hand and a rotten stubble on his back. ...

one

The sun is shining on the beam.

There is a white sky between gray and blue. A lock of dead clouds, like a lazy man, swings over a knot in the beam. It's past June 6, and it hasn't even rained at all.

There is no wind. Seven or eight red-billed crows, flapping their iron-black wings, passed by the cliff in the ravine. "Ah! Ga-""Hey! Ga-"crying, one after another, gentle and even, rippling in the brain. The land with fever is somewhat puzzling.

In the early 1980s, the western mountainous areas were demarcated. Time is like this. The donkey walks absently and carelessly in the loud noise of crows and sparrows without taking off his saddle and hooves.

Daughters-in-law in Yangwa go to shovel turf and dig Artemisia roots on bricks at dawn. Zhuang farmers have no crops, what people eat, what to put in the donkey trough, what to burn in the stove, and what to pound in the kang hole. From fright to collapse, Yang Po was so flushed in the sun, and her belongings were like a new moon, waiting in a broken kiln in a straw shed.

The water in the cellar has long been scraped dry. Before and after Tomb-Sweeping Day, there was some mud in the pit. In Zhuangzi, people with dirty hands and feet get up in the middle of the night to steal the water in the cellar, and there is an extra lock on the cellar mouth of every household. Gentlemen can't lock villains, villains can steal. Farmers in the village have no altar and can't catch thieves, but they are quick to be thieves. A farmer will steal from me, and I will steal from you, and pour the water from this cellar into that cellar. There is not much water, so stealing wastes a lot. At least every household has no water to eat.

There are springs in the ravine, but the erosion is salty and bitter, and the cattle and sheep do not lick. I tugged at the sheep's ears and pressed these animals to drink until their fur changed and they were fried like hedgehogs.

It's just that a fast food red sun rolled over the elm tree, the cat's eye core turned into an embroidery thread, and the people who collected firewood and carried water haven't arrived home yet.

I took a basket of dried donkey dung, chopped a few hemp potatoes, boiled half a pot of water, and mixed it with dried potato noodles and corn noodles. When these miscellaneous grains gradually solidified and hung on the fork, the dark and narrow kitchen smelled of burnt rice.

There is a green stone wheel on the edge of Zhuang outfield. Grandpa and I, with a big bowl of rice with a small blue edge, squatted on the wheel and ate it.

Stir-fried rice, a good meal for old dolls. I finished the meal in a few minutes. I hold the bowl in one hand, my thumb is close to the bottom of the bowl, the other four fingers buckle the bowl, and there is a gap as round as a stirrup between my jaws. I can move my wrist freely, and I can explain it simply. My five fingers can hook and press, send and dial, lift and stop, and turn as fast as a bowl torsion bar. Hook your head, stick out your tongue and pull your chin in one go, and the rice paste in the bowl is swept into your throat by the wind of your tongue. I swept my tongue from the edge of the bowl to the bottom of the bowl, like sweeping the floor. The bottom of the bowl was washed to leave no food, bright as new, and finally licked like a dog. I stuck out my tongue, swept my mouth up and down, left and right, scooped up half a horse's spoon of raw plasma, fell down, rubbed my hands on my mouth and beard, rubbed my calloused palms against each other, and stroked them back and forth hard, and I was completely satisfied and drunk.

The road wheel was scalded by the old woman, and the eggs of wild dogs were burnt. I took off my shoes, slowly knocked out the dry soil in the shoe bowl, stuffed my shoes under the ditch, wrapped a pheasant thigh-like cigarette stick, and lashed at the white-shaven mountain ridge.

Lick the bowl clean! Amen, you made the bowl look like a pigsty for a while. I looked at my bowl and squinted at it. The goatee shakes in the white sun, just like tassel grass on the wall. Grandma Yang's sunburn annoys me.

The rice stuck to the bowl help can't be wiped clean with chopsticks, and it is as thick as a layer of glutinous rice. I held the bowl in my hand, hooked my head and showed my tongue, licking it like me. It takes less time for dogs to learn from big dogs to pull dung, and it can't save energy. He only pulled some locks of different shades in the bowl, and his hair, eyebrows and face were covered with rice paste. With the oil sweat board on the sweat pad, Yu Yu's light shines in the diabolical sun. There is the most sticky paste on the tip of the nose and chin. People's tongues are not as long and agile as dogs' tongues, so they have to scrape them off with scabbed fingers and put them in their mouths.

-Well, you are an egg-soaked doll, and no one will give you shit. I sighed, grabbed my bowl with a sudden snatch, stuck out my tongue three times five divided by two, and then cleaned it up.

A few years later, dolls and adults will lick bowls. When eating steamed bread, young adults hold it carefully in their hands, lest the crumbs fall, and the crumbs that fall to the ground must be picked up and eaten. It is sinful not to eat, even if you eat on the dunghill, you can't break this example.

On holidays, I occasionally chew pig bones. The whole family scraped a little tendon on it, licked it and refused to give it to the dog. When cooking radish vegetables, they cooked it over and over again. Who has a relative who only eats a sweet meal when he is grateful? Every family has a porcelain altar that can only hold a bowl of clear oil, which can be placed on the kitchen plate like ancestors. The cook dipped the chopstick heads in some crude oil and rinsed them in the pot a few times, which was a delicious meal. Stick out your tongue, lick it a few times at the mouth of the altar and rub it on the head of chopsticks. Whose daughter-in-law accidentally breaks chopsticks, breaks bowls, or sprinkles some rice and noodles will be scolded by her parents-in-law for half a year.

There are few people here in Zhuangzi, and dogs bite badly. Most of the time, relatives visit. Relatives came and wanted to stay for dinner, but they didn't leave until they had finished eating. As soon as I heard the dog bite at dinner, my face twitched like a bandit. At eight o'clock in the twelfth lunar month, the family made a half-washbasin potato dish for the first time. When one end of the kang table comes up, the dog howls and bites. I shouted my nickname and told me to bolt the door quickly. I haven't found the top bar yet, and my grandfather has entered the village loudly. I was in a hurry, so I picked up the washbasin and stuffed it under the felt. The greedy old cat smelled it and meowed under the broken felt. My grandfather is a broad-minded man. He likes to play jokes on people and pretend not to see anything. As soon as he got on the kang, he plunged into a ditch and sat end to end on the broken carpet of the Tibetan washbasin. I also asked my grandfather over and over again what was under the carpet, which hurt people and made the whole family blush and beat.

Grandpa and I came back from herding sheep, and our hearts were so hungry that we stuck to our backs. When I picked up the cooked noodles on the chopping board, I was planing in my mouth. I ate so hard that my trachea choked. I coughed in the dark and the cooked noodles exploded. I opened my mouth and a large number of porcelain bowls were splashed with cold water, so I recovered my breath. Unfortunately, the cooked noodles grew into a pile of wheat clothes in front of the stove, so I couldn't sweep them up and eat them, destroying most of the bowls. I looked at the familiar noodles in the pile of wheat clothes with regret and told a broken story. It is said that in the tunnel in the winter of 1960, a chicken claw was finely beaten by snow, and a hungry fan asked for a bun and lay on the ground looking for rotten potatoes. I don't know who left a tortilla lying across the snow, so I quickly picked it up and put it in a broken bowl. I was afraid that others would find me, so I secretly hid in the root of the ridge and chewed in a panic. After chewing slowly, I feel that the taste in my mouth is very wrong. -Ow, ow, this is a frozen piece of shit! That shit saved the baker's life! I have eyebrows and eyes, as if he is the one who eats shit. I said that you have never been hungry for dolls. Shit tastes bad, but it is hard to grow. My grandmother is sunburned like this, and it's a long way to go in Xiu Yuan. It is really necessary to live in the details. My tongue is a little stiff when I speak.

Amen, do you want to eat shit? -I asked weakly.

Hey, you are so stupid, no one will give you shit! -Duan Ye is a little upset and indignant.

Green camel, old man, dead man.

two

In Grain Rain season, the weather is clear, and a large area of sunshine passes between wheat seedlings and bean seedlings.

Piles of grass melons emerge from the ground, and lilacs shyly spread five petals from slender leaves, such as faint orchids in an empty valley; Clusters of bowl flowers, lined with narrow leaves, with countless shy little heads on their heads, are inexplicably feminine; Take off camels, bitter hemp, plantain seeds, purple bitter fleabane seeds ... and those nominal weeds and wild flowers straighten their waists and open their arms and legs; The orange ladybug on the tip of the grass, the pink butterfly like tofu, the orange fire-eating crops on the cliff, the wax mouth on the pink chest, the screaming hemp seed, the woodpecker with feathers on his head ... opened the spring with wings.

The elm trees are covered with strings of elm money, and occasionally there is a faint thunder on the horizon. Mother caught a baby pig with big ears and a big belly from the collection. This kind of pig has short legs and big belly, and more fat and less lean meat. Feed potatoes and wheat bran for seven or eight months. After turning it over, cut off a thick layer of back skin, and most of the lard can be extracted. An old family has an oil ring printed on its mouth, and there is a dazzling head on Zhuangzi. That's a camel in a pigsty.-Great.

From this day on, the dolls have new hope and are waiting for the Spring Festival to feast on fat pork. Clouds fall in Yun Qi, and flowers bloom and fall. The twenty-four solar terms are like the mud-foot film that I threw away, stepping over the pink apricot ears step by step. The dolls still feel that time is too slow, hoping that the stars and the moon will survive the twelfth lunar month.

In the twelfth month. Zhuangzi, who was lazy and silent in winter, suddenly woke up, sneezed a lot and got into a ball at once. The sunshine is as warm as a woman wrapped in a red headscarf, gently exploring her charming face and body. With the smoke from the kitchen fire and the sound of pigs, the smell of scalded pigs floated out of the village.

Besides weddings and funerals, celebrating the birthday of the full moon, Killing Year Pig has become the most grand festival in Yangwa's four seasons. According to the rules of elders, it takes a meat eater in Zhuangzi to kill a pig. The pork belly on the pig's neck is not enough, and it is expensive. But the people in Yangwali were sincere, and no one came, so we had to put on a big bowl of old fried pork slices and blood buns and send them to the homes of those who didn't come. Of course, the person who returns the bowl also knows that he will never take an empty bowl in return.

Milk with scissors, sitting on the kiln door, cutting the red and green flowers and birds in spring; When the sheepfold was finished, I tidied up the earthen yard so that it could grow into noodles. A group of seven or eight-year-old hairy children waited by the stove early, and several aunts burned two cauldrons of water. I will quickly grind the pig-killing knife, hair-sweeping knife and boning knife into snowflakes, revealing dense silver light.

Several powerful men rolled up their sleeves and caught the pig. They used three hammers and two hands to press the screaming and kicking pig on the kang table. I took a butcher knife and muttered to the East. Turning around, he slammed the back of the knife on the pig's front cavity, and a deadly pig-killing knife plunged into the pig's throat, and the pig immediately screamed like a lion's roar and dragons. Crashed with a clash, the salty blood basin was plugged in, and the deep red pig blood splashed out along the handle. Less than half a pack of cigarettes, the pig just grunted intermittently. The dolls hiding in the house are getting more and more excited. -when I heard the pig barking, I knew there was meat to eat soon.

A big basket of Artemisia branches has baked the tin oil drum very hot, and filled it with half a bucket of boiling water, which is steaming. Those men grabbed the pig's trotters and burned them up and down. When the hair fell off, they put the pig on the rotten pole and pulled out too many cooks. After a while, the black fat pig became white and slippery. The dolls collect bristles quickly and carefully, and when the vendors turn to the village, they will set off several strings of firecrackers and set them off when they burn paper money for their ancestors on New Year's Eve.

Grandpa and some handkerchiefs began to gut the pigs hanging on the shelf. We stared at the pig leg, ready to go, eagerly waiting to grab the pig urine bubble.

"Hurry up and play ball! Turtle grandson. " I unscrewed the pig urine bubble with a knife and threw it to a pile of dirty babies. The babies rushed in, screaming, screaming and scrambling like wild dogs scratching at bones. Soon, Eva immediately emptied the urine in the pig urine bubble. When she didn't like it, she held a few handfuls of dry soil and asked the oldest child to put the pig urine bubble in the soil and rub it with her feet. The thick urine bubble gradually became thinner. A pile of broken dolls saved enough strength to blow up the pig urine bubble, and then blew it from the fist to the football, so they quickly found some hemp rope to tie up the urine bubble. The oldest child throws the urine bubble into the sky, and the dolls of all sizes are like donkeys in heat, screaming around the pig urine bubble, kicking or throwing, patting or hitting, flying with passion and full of wildness. The doll who can play the wool bomb is patting the pig urine bubble and reading the jingle-playing the wool bomb and tripping over the sleeve. Your mother's head is straight, she can crawl and walk, and her stomach can have ... On this day, cheers and cries are combined with the barking of dogs, the croaking of crows and magpies and the flapping of hens' wings in the farmhouse, which makes the popularity of this remote mountain village soar, okay? Kicking around, the dolls are tired of kicking, but they still kick pig urine bubbles, and the wrinkled pig urine bubbles naturally become a dish for cats and dogs. As the saying goes, pig urine bubbles stink when they hit people, and it is an empty joy for dogs to bite pig urine bubbles. This is complete nonsense. The people who make up these stories are really pigs in sacks-how can I know the happiness of children's cats and dogs if I don't know black and white men and women?

The sun is setting and the twilight is heavy. /kloc-it's a cold night in the mountain village in October/February, and it's endless loneliness.

Under the kerosene lamp, I stabbed the stove again and again with a fire stick. I said that fire is a wife, and the more you poke it, the more it burns in the stove. Women bowed their heads and raised their eyebrows, pulling embroidered sock pads on soles, while men boiled tea with pots and pans, licked wheat, beans and buckwheat stubble, and licked the rotten pockmarked millet of the five generations. In the thick smell of dry tobacco, in the faint story of the son-in-law of the wild fox and the melon, those babies who eat bulging bellies, have oil rings printed on their mouths, and have fallen asleep in the arms of their grandparents in Sichuan, gnashing their teeth, talking in their dreams and drooling, have all become pigs-they can eat and sleep.

three

At dusk, there are sporadic snowflakes. During the day, my head hangs over my head, listless like a fat woman's big ass, shining with faint light and pale light.

Wandering northwest wind, whistling sharply, rolled up clouds of chrysanthemum.

I'm wearing a smooth old sheepskin coat, a dog skin hat, and a sad hat. Holding a dung fork in both hands, carrying a rotten stubble, shrinking his head in the gap of the collar of a fur coat, like a turtle carrying a shell, walking along the ridge with his head down. -I'm looking forward to picking up the manure tray.

I studied in primary school before liberation and knew a few Chinese wolfberry characters. 1958, I made great efforts to change the Taohe River in Min County. I am a scholar, and I can pull a tape measure to the soil collector, showing a little spirit. I was sent to Lanzhou to study water conservancy technology for one year, assigned to Weiyuan drilling team, paid, and wore four sets of cadre uniforms. I am not blessed. I worry about milk and a bunch of babies at home every day. In 60 years, I was in a hurry and ran home. Seeing a pile of new graves on Liang's head, I thought it was buried by milk, and my legs were too soft to pick up. When I went to the house, I saw that the milk was still there. The dolls hung their heads with hunger. Fortunately, none of them died. I am in a state of anxiety and have never been to Weiyuan again. I became a member of the peasant association again.

I played abacus very neatly, so I became a clerk in the team. The potato seeds of the production team are put in the upper kiln in Ye Zhuang, with a lock on the door and a ventilated skylight on the top. I'm too hungry to sleep. I found a long bamboo pole with a pointed wire tied to one end, climbed up the ladder, tied out half a basket of potato seeds, put them on the kang eye and burned them for the family. The production team leader found that he would rather eat shit than leave seeds for the night. You want everyone on the team to have no children. I was immediately demoted to the head of the sheep household (dialect, shepherd) in the team.

I have been a sheep farmer for more than 20 years, and that circle of sheep accompanied my son, grandson and granddaughter. It was not until 1970 that the sheep in the team were divided into households. Since then, my shepherd work has ended. I've worked alone for 80 years, and I don't delay my own affairs at all. Dad and several uncles are young, and I can't rest assured. I'm still the shopkeeper in this room. I get up early and get greedy, and I can't stop fighting for crops.

Fertilizer is the milk of crops. Feces are precious, and there are many people who pick them up, so there is nothing to pick them up. I am an experienced man-machine skeleton. I know how easy it is to pick up human excrement on the roadside, under the ridge, in the iron wormwood bushes of the air-raid shelter, and by the Achnatherum pier. You can't find dung on the road, in the fields or on the ground. Walking in fields and paths, it is easy to find donkey dung and dog dung. Every morning and evening along these paths, I stretch my neck with my eyes wide open, wander around every corner and find a bubble of dung, just like walking in the dark and meeting a silver shovel. I am too happy to express. Picked a crop of old shit with the basket, drank the pulp and ate the sauerkraut in my heart, and immediately felt comfortable. Sometimes I'm so tired that I get up late when I can't hear the cock crow. Zhang, a cripple in the village, slept little and went to those resource-rich places early. I won't give up the same mistake, I can only see nothing and return empty-handed. Intestines will be disgusting like sheep oil for half a morning.

I unloaded the donkey and walked on the road with the plow. The old donkey with a hemp body and a white nose suddenly pursed its tail and pulled down a bubble of steaming excrement. I don't have a backpack, for fear that the lame man walking behind me will pick it up. I am at a loss and worried. I used my quick wits to reach out and hold a few handfuls of soil to cover the donkey dung. When I got home, I forgot to drink tea and eat steamed buns, so I took a dung fork and rushed over to grab it. The first lame man, Zhang, happily picked up the soaked donkey dung and staggered to his own dunghill. I am stubborn. From the very beginning, I said that you are a donkey, that Zhang's lame man is not kind, that he is not Rao's grandson, and that he recognizes shit and denies people. When Ye and Zhang died, they poured the soil into the cow handle, which was a pair of old hands with a good relationship. Because of a bubble of donkey dung, no one can get rid of each other from dinner until noon. This is really a battle in front of a dunghill-they all want to die for a whole mile. After dinner, they are going to work in the fields. They still felt that my mother didn't scold me comfortably, so they spat in the air and underground, just like two proud bearded sheep, who walked into the room with their black faces upturned, and the tendons on their backs kept jumping.

I like winter. In the tunnel in winter, dogs will not be tied. Bitches will seduce other male dogs from Zhuangzi, and no one will watch them in the wild. Sheep and donkeys will come to the wild to look for grass jumps, and pigs will open the pens and scatter everywhere, so animals pulling dung will have many opportunities to collect more dung. With a little snow, Zhang's lame leg hurts so much that he can't get off the kang. No one and my grandfather will rob shit in the wilderness in the cold wind. I was slow to pound a pot of tea at home in the morning, and when I went out at night, I seized the opportunity to pick up half a backpack and never came home angrily again.

The milk is gone, and the paper has been burned for ten years. I am bored and feel that the days are long. Old men and women my age are dying, and terrible men just won't accept me. I am getting old. Looking at the snow all over the sky, I turned it up when I was lying down, emptied the dung fork and rotten backpack, put on a polished leather jacket and walked out of the door along the roots of the ridge. However, there is not even any dung residue in the field, only the old north wind tore it into pieces of plastic film, and the glistening land swayed from side to side like a guide.

I sigh. I don't know how many years I've been carrying dung, how many roads I've traveled and how many people's dung, sheep dung and donkey dung eggs I've picked up. I can't figure it out. I feel like a bad karma and I'm a little scared. I put dung on my back and looked at the old elm tree with its neck crooked along the waterlogged dam with my mouth open. The tree was speechless and stared at my melon. I said, you son of a bitch, since I have the memory of wearing open-backed pants, you have grown here for several miles, and Amen didn't recognize me this time.

Brief introduction of the author