The past, or old friends.

Chapter 1 Hometown

Chapter II Blooming Flowers

Chapter III Burning Flame

Chapter Four Memories of Summer

The fifth chapter rain beat banana

End of movement

preface

1997 Early summer.

Beijing.

The taxi is driving on the wide three-ring viaduct, and the traffic is like water, making a rustling sound. Tall buildings and tall poplars flashed by, and colorful advertisements, slogans and posters were displayed. Beijing has its own taste, sound and atmosphere, which is clear and unique and can be easily felt.

On the surface, the bustling city of Beijing is wide and calm. The buildings, the traffic, and the people don't seem to be aware of her day-to-day changes, but I understand that all changes are carried out in this calm. This city and people's lives are changing in a way and speed that I can understand but I can't understand. ...

Sometimes I think about the past. Memory is a strange thing. I looked at myself. When I was sixteen, eighteen or thirty, my memory was different. I looked through my diary and found that there were still many discrepancies between different memories and records. What is the truth? In my memory, there are many things that I have never experienced, but they are perfectly and harmoniously mixed together, which makes my memory more chaotic. It is almost impossible to truly and clearly recall one's own experience. ...

I decided that I wasn't like this at first, or even the opposite-when did it all start?

Sitting at my desk, sinking into the past, trying to find the truth in the ever-changing history, the truth will be broken, decomposed, melted and reorganized in front of me with my pursuit ... like smoke and dust, like a dream.

Every night that spring, I walked alone in the forest. A street lamp is far from a street lamp, and a piece of light is a piece of darkness and darkness. My shadow sometimes appears in the light and sometimes disappears in the darkness. The wind coming out of thin air, swinging gorgeous leaves, seems to shake the impression of life. I feel like this empty wind. Only when colorful leaves fall off and roll up can I capture my existence.

The past, or an old friend, is like a fallen leaf. In the autumn wind of my life, it drifted from darkness to light, and from light to darkness. I saw them in the light. In the darkness, I can only imagine them, relying on those who float into the light to imagine those who escape into the darkness. I can't see their truth in the dark, I can only see their appearance in my imagination, and they drift into another light with my imagination. Is this another kind of unreal brightness? When darkness hides some fallen leaves, you can still imagine them, because your imagination can illuminate the darkness and illuminate them, but it is not darkness that hides them, but this is the only truth I can get. Even those people in the light, I look at them, what is their reason? Just the truth in my impression, or just my real impression. It used to be the same with old friends. Whether drifting to the light or fleeing to the darkness, it can only become true in my impression.

Truth is not outside my mind. There is nothing called truth outside my mind. The truth is sometimes a legend or even a rumor, sometimes a guess, sometimes a dream. -Shi Tiesheng (7- 10)

One of my hometown: fields and rivers.

Memories of hometown and childhood are like kaleidoscopes. Colorful patterns, such as crosses, diamonds and squares, are full of endless changes. It is a small town in the north, at a crossroads. There are factories, hospitals and paper mills along the street. One intersection leads to the county seat, and other intersections connect villages. I live in the agricultural machinery factory in the town. The wall of the factory is only one person high. Beyond the fence are endless fields, villages, rivers and roads submerged in dense crops.

The fragrance of fields, rivers, villages, courtyards, jujube trees, Chinese rose flowers and cucumbers ... The memories of hometown and childhood are so beautiful, but the reality after many years is completely different, which makes people doubt the authenticity of the memories.

Corn is intertwined, and the green leaves are long and wide, as sharp as blades. Big drops of water rolled down from the leaves, and the corn had already headed. Ears are green, straight and short, lighter in color than leaves, longer when they mature, turn reddish or brown, and droop. A section of corn stalk is like a sugarcane, which gets shorter as it goes down, but only the following sections are sweet. The field is full of corn stalks that have been pushed aside by tree roots, and the lower ones have been bitten by children. The ground is covered with weeds and purple sour fruits. Tribulus has needle-like thorns, including toads, rabbits and giant grasshoppers. My trouser legs were quickly soaked with dew. I was running in the field, corn leaves were rustling, water droplets were splashing, and the sun was shining in the water like a rainbow, changing with the light. The sound is intermittent and endless.

Corn, sorghum and hemp are all connected. Hemp is a handsome crop, unlike corn, which is airtight, sparse and open, slender and tall, with beautiful leaves like flowers. There are scattered soybeans and sesame seeds, with white and lavender flowers. High-voltage wires extend into the distance on huge iron shelves.

The walls of the orchard are surrounded by Robinia pseudoacacia, with hard and sharp wooden thorns, and rows of apple trees and peach trees. The ground has just turned over and smells of earth and grass. The park ranger walked up and down in the distance. We are motionless on the ground, sparrows are jumping on the locust tree, and there is the sound of the wind blowing the leaves. When the park keeper noticed something coming this way, we jumped up in panic and climbed out of the orchard. Apples are still green, peaches are round and big, so that the branches are bent and furry.

Outside the orchard is a deep ditch with wild flowers and weeds. The tall mulberry trees are covered with red and purple mulberries, and silkworms are devouring mulberry leaves. Iris flapped its wings in the wind, and wild lily, green bristlegrass, dandelion and morning glory wound around the branches like horns. They are colorful, golden, bright red, pink, purple and variegated. They are bright and delicate with dew in the morning, listless in the sun at noon, and wither and fade at dusk. Sometimes a gray rabbit passes by in a silent deep ditch, and it has disappeared into the depths of weeds. Only the touched weeds are shaking. Sometimes it walks past a fat quail, stopping and staring at alert eyes, and sometimes it twists and turns on a small green snake.

Mushrooms are gray, short and thick, as big as bowls, some are bright and long, like flowers, and some are covered with bloody flower umbrellas, giving off a fishy smell. I picked a gray one and went home. After my dad cooked it, he said he would try it first, and then he took a bite. After a few bites, he finished eating. As if nothing had happened. He got up and vomited in the middle of the night and was taken to the hospital.

The river winds through the vast plain from south to north.

The big river originated in the southern mountainous area, with rolling mountains and white clouds. In summer, there is plenty of rain, and gravel is scattered on both sides of the upstream. The river is open and the water is fast, which washes away the rocks and becomes a cross talk. At noon, the sun is shining and the water is warm. In the morning and evening, the water is very cold with the chill of rocks. This river is clear and pure. The water in the upper reaches is only waist deep, and the sun shines directly on the bottom. The rocks, quicksand and fish at the bottom of the water are clearly distinguishable. The texture of water is as clear as jade, as if it can be touched by hand.

After the river overflows the stone beach for several kilometers, it is a highland with loose soil and dense shrubs and trees. The river washed out a deep ditch, and the nearly 100-meter river suddenly shrank by more than ten meters. The depth of the water is bottomless, and the water is turbid and swift. The rumbling sound echoed in the deep valley, and the water kept beating on both sides and splashing on the thick roots protruding from the earth cliff, which was wet all day. Along the narrow path by the river, branches are climbing and the river bank is steep. The fallen clods fell into the water and disappeared without a trace. The river flows north in the direction of the current, and the river flows to the vast plain.

On the plain, the water is slow and the grass spreads all the way to the river. In shallow places, you can cross the river barefoot and roll up your trouser legs. Over time, the slate was washed smooth and round, and the water fell together, making a sound between the slate seams on the shore. There are wide and high banks on both sides of the river. Grandpa said that the river will only overflow the levee when there is a flood. There hasn't been such a big water for more than ten years. The wide channel between the riverbank and the river is covered with tall grass and locust trees, which is endless.

Grandpa lives in a village by the river.

I often start from home before dawn. The earth was silent and everyone was still asleep. The moonlight is white, and the shadows of the trees are motionless. Occasionally, dogs bark, which is completely different from daytime, like in a dream, gently and intermittently-I hear the voice of the earth. ...

As the night deepens, light and color appear in the gray sky, the rooster crows, and the sound is sudden and loud. The silent earth wakes up instantly and makes a low and continuous sound, which is almost inaudible, but you can feel its vibration, almost like a heartbeat. What's that noise? I tried to recall it for many years, and finally understood that it was a sound that could only be felt but could not be described. At first, I didn't realize this mysterious sound. I thought it was a tractor crossing the river. It suddenly braked and smoked, dragging a heavy and steady plow to turn the soil. The sound came to my ears from the air and soil, and later I found that the sound was still so bright when there was no tractor.

Indeed, clear and unpredictable, I think it is the voice from the earth.

I know this kind of voice has always existed, but I seldom hear it when I grow up. This sound is so weak that any noise can drown it out. The sun rose, dyed the eastern sky red, the sun shone on the earth, the chaotic cicadas sang, and the voice of the earth disappeared …

There is a jujube tree on the river bank at the entrance to the village. She left an indelible impression on my whole childhood memory, so that every time I recall my hometown, she will appear in front of my eyes. She is so different. She is tall, stout, leafy, rough gray-black bark, thick roots exposed on the ground, surrounded by elm, phoenix tree, Toona sinensis and Ailanthus altissima. She stood alone on the bank of the village, above the surrounding trees. You can see the shadow in the distance and know that the village is coming.

Climbing the jujube tree in the morning, my stomach was bloodshot and my bark was rough. In summer, jujube trees have just grown up, green and hard, just like leaves. The wind rustled the leaves, the colorful octagonal hairs on the leaves appeared and disappeared, and the river flowed quietly with white light. The sun shines through the cracks in the dense leaves, which is dazzling. I closed my eyes and the bright white light disappeared. At first, it was bright and light, gradually turned into dark red and dim, and gradually turned into blue, from blue in the daytime to deep in the night sky, and finally it was dark.

The sunshine in the morning is different from that in the evening. The morning light is pink, cool and easy-going, the noon is transparent white, the naked dark back and sweat, and the evening is golden yellow, warm and quiet.

The river flows quietly, changing different colors in the sun.

The village is on the side of the main road, and the old house is decades and generations old. The house and yard are roughly the same, crowded together. The streets of the whole village are relatively open, and the streets separated by courtyards are narrow, irregular and interconnected. There are few table bricks in the courtyard walls, and most of them are adobe. Only one person is tall. You can see everything in the yard on tiptoe. The corn stalks are thick around the wall, and the big black dog hides in the hole surrounded by the corn stalks and the wall, sticking out his long tongue. Ceramic tiles are hung on the high wall, and grass grows in the corrugated room. Those without tiles have been washed away by rain, and the color of the walls is exactly the same as that of the land, as if they had grown from the ground.

There is a well on the cross street in the village. There is a tall pagoda tree by the well, with dense branches and leaves. There is a stone mill in the shade, which has been useless for a long time and is full of leaves. The well is surrounded by bluestone slabs, which are polished very smoothly. The wellhead is very narrow, covered with wooden boards, deep and cold, and the surface is blue. When a bucket with a long rope is thrown down, you will hear the sound of water splashing in the bucket, which is particularly crisp in a quiet village at noon. Even in summer, the well water is cold, and the freshly picked silver melon dries and sinks into the well, which is crisp and cold after a while; Sprinkle a thick layer of wheat bran on the water for the horse to drink and let the horse drink slowly. The long horse's mouth reached into the bucket and was caught by the well water.

All the courtyards are similar, and so are the criss-crossing streets. At noon, the sun shines directly in every corner of the village, and there is not a figure, not even a chicken or a dog. The air seems to have solidified, and only the sound of sunlight can be heard. There is no wind, and the grass on the wall does not move. The same yard, the same street, the same door ... Walking through the streets of the village and turning in the direction of the street, it seems that there is no end in sight, and the whole village is as fascinating as a maze.

In the evening, the sun has just disappeared, and it is still lit. There is no one on the road to the village. People have gone home. It's quiet. On both sides of the road, poplar trees are thin and tall, the road is narrow, branches are connected, there is wind in the sky, and leaves are rustling constantly. The road was dry and pitted, and one side of the straw pile was pulled apart, revealing dry yellow transparent straw and emitting a faint smell of hay. The road near the village is a small earth slope. From a distance, you can see the smoke rising in each yard. At first, it was straight, then it spread and covered the whole village. In the evening, light blue blends with the sky, quiet and warm. The smoke in the kitchen is mellow and soft, mixed with the smell of pancakes. The bellows are twitching, the water and heat in the big iron pot are steaming, and the oil on the claws is sizzling.

The smoke dissipated like fog, and the moon hung in the sky, big and round, spotless. It looks so big that you can reach out and touch it. It rises on the road at the entrance to the village and presses the treetops. The cold moonlight shines on you with a hint of coolness. The moon rose high and the village was shrouded in blue moonlight.

The gate is tall and wide, with thick black lacquered wood, round copper locks, smooth stone benches on both sides of the gate, green tiles and weeds on the eaves of the gate, the door opening is dark, and there are big inverted characters and patterns of pine, bamboo and plum on the screen wall.

Half a meter long towel gourd and its yellow flowers are hung on the melon rack. There are red and white Chinese rose flowers, flowers and melons. If they are different, they can be clearly distinguished, and sometimes they can't tell what kind of fragrance they are mixed together. That smell is memorable. There are two big trees in the yard, one is a phoenix tree and the other is a catalpa tree. Their trunks are straight and tall, and their leaves are completely different. There are two pomegranate trees in front of the hall, with one left and one right at the door. The kitchen is full of corn stalks, wheat stalks, smoke houses, pigsty, rabbit's nest, chicken coop and stone mill, which are arranged in turn along the four walls of the yard.

A swallow flew back and landed in the nest on the wall at the entrance of the hall. There is a square table and two chairs in the front of the hall. Colorful New Year pictures and couplets of different lengths are hung on the wall, followed by certificates and photo frames. Photos are simple faces in black and white. Almost everyone's photos and every family have Tiananmen Gate and Chairman Mao's portrait. The hearth is connected to the pit and the kitchen god. There are newspapers and red bricks on the ceiling.

As night falls, there is not a cloud in the sky, and the whole sky is as deep as a jewel. The fruit hides behind the sweet potato leaves, and the cricket hides in the gravel pile in the grass. The chirping of all nocturnal insects is subtle and pleasant, and the sky is endless. Thousands of stars are all over the night sky, the Milky Way is full of light, and meteors drag their long tails across the sky and dusk ... Lying on the dry river bank and looking up at the starry sky, you can feel a distant sound in the depths of the universe, mysterious, solemn and beautiful. Everything is slowly merging, pure and selfless. The earth is spinning, the starry sky is spinning, and the stars are flashing and shining. I know that starlight came from a hundred or a thousand years ago. I want to know what she looks like now, but it is impossible to know. The tracery on the wooden lattice window has been bleached and scattered all over the floor. At that time, there was no electric light, and the floating flame of kerosene lamps was mixed with black smoke, which attracted many flying insects. The lights are dim. After the last lamp went out, the pale yellow halo disappeared without a trace. Without the moon, it is really opaque, and the whole village disappears into the boundless darkness. The villagers went to bed early, and occasionally grandpa's cough and a few barks came. The shadows of tall trees were motionless, the stars were crystal clear, and there was silence all around. The night seemed long and endless.

The fragrance of fields, rivers, villages, courtyards, jujube trees, Chinese rose flowers and cucumbers … I am like a homeless child, wandering around all day …