Six monographs

"I asked Duke Zhou what this dream meant, and Duke Zhou replied: It can only be solved on a full moon night."

20 17 August 26th? It's windy on Saturday

I am a butcher, with a knife in my hand, stained with blood, and a sheep's head fell to the ground.

"Cook a sheep, kill a cow, sharpen your appetite, and let me have 300 bowls and a long drink!" . I am an alcoholic. Every night, I always go to the pub on the street and get drunk, and then go home and fall asleep without thinking about anything.

Go to the slaughterhouse the next day. I have a habit of always taking a sip of wine before slaughtering sheep, while the spicy taste has not dissipated, raising the knife, dropping the knife and killing myself.

I am famous for killing sheep. Under my command, no sheep escaped a knife. Everyone gave me a nickname: the knife.

I am a butcher, but I only kill sheep. Sheep are gentle and quiet, and I can kill them easily. Sheep don't whine like pigs when they die, nor are they as strong as cows.

This year is the first 15 year that I became a butcher. Countless sheep were killed under my command. The pile of sheep's heads alone is as high as a mountain, as high as Huangtu Mountain in my hometown.

I have been slaughtering sheep since I was 20 years old. I inherited my skills from my father. He is also a butcher, but he kills pigs.

That day, it was the full moon night on August 15, and I took the shiny black pig-killing knife from him and killed the meat with a fat pig in the case, which was officially in the business.

It was the first time I killed someone. The pig was very uncooperative and my hands were shaking slightly. Next to me, my father is still teaching me the secret of being a butcher: fast, accurate and ruthless.

The pig kept struggling and screaming, and my uncles could hardly catch it, and the rope was about to break. I don't mind listening to my father at all. As soon as I closed my eyes, I pointed a knife at my neck and plunged in. The heat wave rolled on my face and blood splashed all over my face.

I opened my eyes, and through the pig's blood all over my face, I saw my father and uncles smiling slightly with appreciative expressions on their faces.

"Good boy, you have to remember, don't think too much when killing pigs. Knife is a good butcher. "

"It doesn't matter, once born, twice cooked, this knife will get handy slowly."

I didn't speak, and the knife crashed to the ground. I ran back to the house and stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. My face is dripping with pig blood.

I couldn't sleep for a long time that night, lying in bed tossing and turning. The full moon outside the window, as cool as water, sprinkled on my face, cool, and smoothed the scalding of pig blood.

I can't get rid of the pig's staring eyes, kicking around on all fours and biting its fangs angrily. As soon as I fell asleep, I dreamed of the cry of pigs, which resounded through the whole village.

After that night, I knew I could never look back. I not only killed a pig, but also killed me at the age of 20. Once your hands are stained with blood, you will never be able to wash them clean.

The next day, I went to the Li family at the village entrance to brew a big pot of wine, and then I slept in the cave for a day and a night. I didn't have nightmares that night.

From then on, I fell in love with drinking, one bottle, two bottles and three bottles.

The next morning, a wild boar woke me up. It moans on my lips. The oldest one with a soft mouth stared at me like blood, just like the one I killed the night before.

Just then, I lifted a stone from my foot and hit it hard on my head. Suddenly, blood splashed and the monster fell.

I tried my best to push it out. It is sunny outside. Everything yesterday and today is like a dream. I am a passer-by outside my dream.

After that, I began to make a living as a butcher and never looked back. It's just that I never dare to kill pigs, only sheep. From now on, I will be the chief surgeon during the sheep sacrifice on August 15 every year.

I like winter best. When winter comes, the fat pigs and sheep that rural people have hoarded for a year will become a snack. I am often told to kill sheep. Yes, I only dare to kill sheep.

I was a little green at first, but I became familiar with it after killing more. I know how to ease the pain of sheep with a knife. I know where the blood is coming from. I know how to avoid blood spattering on my face. I know that the blood of an adult sheep can be drained in a few minutes. I know how many ribs and spines a sheep has. I know where the seams are hidden under the bloody lean meat. So I always peel off the bones with a knife, three times five divided by two, which is good for me.

Although the money given by each family to kill sheep is not much, it is enough for me to eat. Besides, they also want to give me sheep's head, sheep's hoof, chop suey and so on. I am fatter than before.

Although this kind of life is dull, it is also very comfortable. It's 10 years in a flash, and I'm not young anymore.

It just didn't last long. Later, there were fewer and fewer people in the village, no one raised sheep, and I almost lost my job.

Later, I also thought about changing careers. After all, this bloody thing is so heartless. Especially in the Mid-Autumn Festival the year before last, when my second uncle killed a pig, he was hit by a pig, stabbed in the chest and died. This eventful autumn!

After that, I went to work in the city for half a year, half dead every day, getting up earlier than the chicken and sleeping later than the dog. Being looked down upon and reviled everywhere on the construction site. I remember that when I came home at the end of that year, I hardly had enough money to travel. I walked eight miles in the snow before I got home. When I got home, my feet were numb with cold.

It's not that I don't want to do anything else, but I only learned the skill of killing sheep when I was young, and I can only make a living from it in the future.

Grandma, in this world, I think it's better to kill sheep neatly, make quick money and eat and drink when I'm awake. After that, I want to go back to my old job and kill sheep.

Later, in the spring, I heard Erhei say that the slaughterhouse in the city was short of butchers, and suggested that I try it, so I went with the mentality of trying it.

There are many slaughterhouses in the city, but I didn't expect to gain a foothold in a large slaughterhouse in the north of the city with the sheep killing technology I have practiced in the countryside over the years.

I am good at killing sheep, and those sheep dealers have a good friendship with me. They call me "knife elder brother" all their lives, so they always deliver my sheep at the first time, because I am loyal and the price is negotiable.

I am too lazy to bargain with them. After all, the money I earn here in one month is worth working on the construction site for half a year. People, content is always happy.

I kill countless sheep every day. If each sheep pulls out a hair, the wool of the sheep I killed will be enough for several newly-married quilts.

In the past fifteen years, I have seen countless sheep, rams, goats, sheep, pregnant ewes, dying sick sheep and rich lambs. ......

I just look at those sheep and feel their backs, and I know that they weigh several pounds and two ounces. There is no need to skin them.

In the past fifteen years, I have learned more and more about sheep's heart, which is a little red beating and can be broken with a gentle blow. Not as secret as the human heart.

In the past fifteen years, I have been covered with oil, and the blood on my clothes has dried up, layer after layer, but there is a heavy sense of history. I sneer.

Every day after killing the sheep, I bleed and skin, remove the meat and bones, dig out the heart and cut the fat, dig out the intestines, shed the sheep's head and burn the wool. Finally, I push the car to the garbage dump and dump these excrement residues. A series of actions in one go.

Green-headed flies are crawling around in my car. The smell of sheep dung and mutton makes them unconscious, madly mating in estrus, buzzing and barking, and they can't get rid of it.

Sometimes sheep dung is sprayed all over my face, sometimes sheep urine is sprayed all over me, and sometimes sheep blood is sprayed all over me, but I don't care, my pockets are full.

My hands are covered with blood year after year. So that now I have a smell of sheep, which can be smelled far away and can't be washed away. As time went on, the smell became fascinating.

I was injured once. Once, a ram tried to protect a ewe. Its corner touched my face and knocked me to the ground. My face was bleeding.

But it doesn't matter. I'll kill it as soon as I get here, with one knife. Sheep, can you fight anyone? Jokes. I'm a little embarrassed, too. It turns out that sheep can be so affectionate, but what about people?

The sheep died, but after that, my face left a scar, which was very conspicuous. Later someone called me "Uncle Scar".

In my career of killing sheep, some sheep I met screamed like terrible screams and then died; Some sheep die unsatisfied, and a pair of eyes like two bells stare at me; There are also some tears in the eyes of sheep that fall straight down and drop on my hands, which are still hot.

Do I love them? Of course not. Because it's my job, and I live by it. If I love them dearly, who will love me dearly?

Besides, shepherds and animals serve people. It is their honor to contribute their own flesh and blood to others. This is their innate mission.

Fifteen years. I'm drunk. Every night, I get drunk in the street bar. I'm afraid of the dark. A person's night is like a smoked corpse. I can't live without alcohol paralysis.

Sometimes I dream, too In my dream, I couldn't breathe because of the ghost of the sheep. I sat up in bed in a cold sweat, smoking a cigarette, and couldn't sleep anymore.

But I know that it's dawn and I will continue this life tomorrow. I can't be kind. Butcher is my profession. If I am kind, I can't live.

In order to survive, I have to close my humanity. Like a vampire, I am almost a vampire. So much sheep blood adds up to a river.

Heaven is heartless, life is heartless, and my heart is heartless.

In the past fifteen years, I have also been criticized. People say I am heartless, cruel and bloody. They always look at me and spit at me when they pass by. I'm as ashamed as a mouse crossing the street.

Oh, no, it is not accurate to say that no one likes me. Those wild dogs in the garbage spot are all my loyal fans. They crouch for me every day, never absent in the wind and rain.

I was a little touched. I thought we were friends, wandering in this city and homeless.

Suddenly thought of a lyric in "Carrot Beard": The stage of youth comes and goes, and many people put on airs.

Well, although I am no longer young, my heart is still young, and I still love popular songs that young people like. This is not surprising.

I know the world hates me. They think I'm dirty, they call me inhuman, and they call me a vampire. I know, and I admit it. But what about them? Are they much more noble than me?

Have you noticed that people in restaurants and banquets are wolfing down sheep, steaming, braising, grabbing meat, stewing or barbecuing in various ways ..... one by one, their mouths are full of oil, their eyes are shining, they are sweating and their legs are high.

If we butchers are despised, what about those who eat meat for a living? Are they gentlemen? Are they respectable?

We are butchers who take our lives, and they are executioners who pay for their lives.

If it weren't for their appetite, how could they be so heartless like us? One second, they said the butcher was cruel, and the next, they put the mutton on the table. That's ridiculous.

From this point of view, they are just hypocritical hypocrites, not much nobler than us.

In this way, my conscience will be less guilty, killing sheep will be more comfortable, and I will love this profession more.

It is worth mentioning that last September, I met my wife Ponzi, who was widowed for five years and had no children.

Within a month after marrying me, she was pregnant with joy, and my parents took her to the countryside to raise a baby.

After she left, I still have to drink a lot. I get drunk every day, more and more, and even have a drink in the morning.

Recently, my work efficiency has improved a lot, and the way of slaughtering sheep is more unique, killing sheep like hemp. Because the boss said that August 15 would give me a day off. At that time, I can go back to my hometown and sacrifice sheep to my ancestors on a full moon night.

Although the Silk City is beautiful, I'd rather go home soon.

With this thought, I feel much better and have expectations in my daily life. When I go back, I must show my dad the sheep killing skills I learned in the slaughterhouse over the years.

I had a dream that night. In my dream, I went back to my childhood. I was walking with sheep grazing on the grass, and laughter came from time to time. These scenes have been lingering in my mind.

I asked Duke Zhou what this dream meant, and Duke Zhou replied: It can only be solved on a full moon night.

So I finally looked forward to August 15, packed my bags and returned to my hometown. I think, after killing this sheep, I will wash my hands of it and live with my wife and children. The money I have saved over the years is enough for our family to live for a lifetime.

There is no wind at night, and the full moon is beautiful. Several boxes have been prepared for me.

I once again picked up the treasure knife my father gave me, took a sip of wine, raised my hand, and the knife fell, killing me with one knife. There is no blood on the knife, as fast, as accurate and as cruel as me.

I think this neat knife method will definitely make my father stunned and surprised, sighing that there are successors.

Suddenly, his wife's scream came from the room and resounded through the sky.

I ran to the house and found her lying on the ground, bleeding, with a knife in her chest.

Karma! Mother only said this, then drew her sword and cut herself, and went with her wife.

I still have a few warm tears on my hands, which were shed by that sheep. This feeling is just like the pig blood splashed on my face when I was 20 years old.

Later, I dissected the sheep and found a molded lamb in its belly. This lamb actually has the image of a person.

On August 16, I buried my wife and mother in the loess mountains with sheep bones everywhere, and never killed sheep again.

Ps: I wrote an article "Sorry I was born a man" at this time last year. This is from the perspective of a bystander, and the two may echo each other.