Xi Zhang Jiang Ma Zi

My second uncle had smallpox when he was a child, and his face was pitted, so he was called Zhang Mazi. At that time, the seats on the upper bunk of villagers' heatable adobe sleeping platform were woven by craftsmen with reed poles.

There are several mat-makers in a township, and there is a long row of shiny reed mats standing against the wall on East Street at every party. Pockmarked Zhang has been selling seats for several years, and he is the only one in Fiona Fang for dozens of miles.

Colleagues say that Zhang Mazi is too poisonous, and customers say that Zhang Mazi is good: the summer sleeping mat is beautiful and durable, and the price is not high. I never understood. I don't see anyone. Ask Uncle, are you a good hand at making summer sleeping mats?

My second uncle said with a smile that my peers said I was poisonous and my customers praised me for being good, which didn't make me a good mat maker. I like knitting seats since I was a child, and I like to smell the fragrance of feathers (reeds) when they are just broken.

In my second uncle's mind, nothing but reeds is millet. In spring, others cultivate, and Uncle goes to the bottom of the ditch every day to see if the reeds have sprouted. During the Dragon Boat Festival, someone chopped reed leaves and wrapped them in palm seed. My second uncle would feel bad that reed is not magnetic.

Others can do three seats in three days, and the second master can only do ten seats a month. It takes two days to scrape a small thorn after breaking ten feathers.

The second uncle's broken feather was sunburned for half a yard. The sun went down, the children danced and played hide-and-seek between millet mats, and Uncle shaved off the burrs with a knife, but he didn't see it.

In the moonlight, my second uncle was humming a tune while weaving a reed mat. Slender millet dances in the hands of my uncle. We watched the excitement around. The corner of the woven mat gleamed with silver.

Mr. Moore's seat never goes to the market. They are all reserved in advance, and each customer takes one. The second uncle doesn't know a few words, and his name is crooked in the notebook.

When I was a child, I heard that someone died of tetanus when his foot was punctured by millet. There are several patterns on the mat made by my uncle. The mat has a smooth surface and no small thorns and feet.

The mat broken by my second uncle is thin and narrow, so it takes a lot of time to weave it. The villagers laughed at his stupidity. But juwan has his own explanation: do you think that honest people's seats are all for nothing?

I don't know when the beautiful tarpaulin replaced the kang mat. In the south ditch of Luoshui Village, reeds quickly spread to Yuan Shang. My second uncle made a vegetable basket out of reeds to play with.

Pockmarked Zhang, the second uncle with a bumpy face, knitted a laundry list with a face like a wheat field. People in Yuanshang went to town to make a living together, and Bai Yueguang was covered on the kang covered with tarpaulin.

The villagers are about to forget their uncle. I occasionally go home, stand by and watch the ditch, look at the rippling reeds in the pond, and suddenly think of the pockmark on that silly uncle's face.

How do you feel that Pockmarked Zhang is a philosopher?