Guo Kuimo's prose

My friend came from afar and asked for a special snack in Shaanxi, Guo Kui. I managed to find an authentic China hamburger. When I handed the steamed bread, my friend casually asked, "This is obviously a steamed bread with meat in it. Why do you have to call it steamed bread with meat in it?" This question has puzzled me for a long time. My ancestors have been shouting like this. Everyone eats like this all day, and no one ever cares whether it is a meat steamed stuffed bun or a meat steamed stuffed bun. Watching a friend gobble up, the past is like an old movie, from subtitles to memory.

When I first met Guo Kui, I was old enough to go to school with my schoolbag on my back. Because of burning bricks, the production team invited two craftsmen from the south to arrange for the women in the village to cook in turn. One day, when my mother came back from cooking, she quietly dragged me to my room, took out a piece of steamed bread from the closet and put it in my hand, saying it was a pot helmet, so that I could eat it quickly and put it at the door for fear that my sisters would see it. I didn't even taste it. After a few bites, I didn't eat anything. From then on, I vowed to be a craftsman who can eat pot helmets in the future, and wrote this idea into my composition. The teacher also praised me for having lofty ideals since I was a child. At that time, the production team was studying Dazhai intensively, and several sisters were carrying shovels to repair the reservoir before dawn, so they could only rely on sweet potatoes, corn cobs and other rough meals to do heavy manual work. Mother occasionally brings back some flour from relatives. I remember one day, my mother branded a pot helmet and told my sisters sternly that no one was allowed to eat it. She put a piece in my hand and hung the bamboo basket on the beam with a string where no one could reach it. At school that day, my mind was full of the shadow of a shovel, which made my mouth water. I have no choice. For the first time in my life, I skipped class and trotted home. First, I put my hand into the bamboo basket and stood up, but I couldn't touch anything. Finally, I found a wooden stick and stabbed it, and the steamed bread fell to the ground. I opened my mouth and blew it a few times, then wiped it with my skirt, and then gulped it down. After a while, I ate some Guo kui. Lying on the heatable adobe sleeping platform at night is uncomfortable and tossing and turning. My mother thought it was weird, so she took an old bowl from the kitchen, poured half a bowl of water, held three chopsticks in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other, and kept muttering. When three chopsticks stood up straight in the bowl, her mother cut them with a knife and hit some chopsticks outside the door. At that time, I didn't know why chopsticks could stand up, but now I think it's ridiculous. In a flash, I went to high school. Because the school is too far from home, I need to live on campus. I began to eat pickles with a pot helmet on my back. One day, it was Friday, but the weather was not good. It's raining hard. People have run out of ammunition and food and can't go home to make up for it. They had to sleep with their heads covered and their stomachs kept barking, which made people upset. They saw that it was getting dark and the rain didn't stop. Father suddenly broke into the dormitory, carrying a worn snakeskin bag, took out a piece of plastic paper from his pocket and put the bun on my bedside. At that moment, tears welled up in my eyes, watching my father go away in the rain, as if stepping on my chest. That day, I cried all night. Over the years, I dare not think, dare not face what happened, as if the wound would bleed if it was gently opened. Time has erased many memories, but the moment my father pushed the door, it has become an unavoidable miss for my whole life. A few years is long or short. After graduating from high school, I enlisted in the army, went to the military academy, traveled north and south, and occasionally ate a few delicacies, but my heart has always been greedy for my hometown's pot helmet. My wife came to visit relatives in the army for the first time and asked me what to bring. I casually said to bring some pot helmets. When I met her at the station, I saw her limping down from the platform with high heels in one hand and heavy luggage in the other. Whenever I mention this, my wife still laughs at me. I have been eating for nothing all my life.

Yes, I've been eating pot helmets all my life. I have lived. In order to eat a pot helmet, I have to live well now