Contemporary Prose

one

There is a tall Jingui tree in my backyard, surrounded by potted plants planted by my mother. Mother likes the red flowers of goose yellow stamens very much. When I was a child, I used to think that my mother loved them far more than I did. I remember playing ball in the backyard and accidentally hitting the edge of the flowerpot, so my mother ordered me not to go into the backyard again for a week. Until now, in my mind, I always see the shadow of my mother standing in the yard basking in the sun and watering the flowers from time to time. Later, I learned that the name of this flower is Fusang. In the rainy season, mother must be fiery red first. My father is a truck driver, driving a sports car for many years, and the days at home are numbered. But to be honest, the day I look forward to most is the day when he is not at home.

My home is in a small town in a city in the south. In my memory, there is such a picture. One afternoon, my mother felt a little tired after watering the hibiscus flowers, so she stood in the shade of osmanthus trees and took a cold nap. Mottled sunlight fell on my mother's face through the cracks in the branches of the tree crown, and even the dust floating in the air was extremely gentle. At that moment, I seldom saw the smile on her lips. In fact, in my heart, my mother has always been as tall as that laurel tree. Until late autumn, she fell ill and stayed in the hospital downtown for a long time. But even so, her father didn't come back to take care of her, even when she was undergoing surgery. I was just in the sixth grade at that time. Because my mother is in hospital and my father is away, my second-grade sister and I have to live at my grandmother's house. But grandma doesn't seem to like me and my sister very much. She prefers my uncle's brother. In order to take care of my sister, I learned to cook on the stove at the age of ten.

It rained on the day of mom's operation, so I didn't go to school directly in the morning. At that time, there was no decent bus stop in the town. Every time the residents of the town want to enter the city, they will stand under the Jingui tree at the entrance of the village and wait for the bus. That day, I hid under the tree and stood for a long time. The air is full of fragrant osmanthus fragrance. Raindrops rustle on the leafy osmanthus trees. Occasionally, one or two osmanthus trees suddenly fell to the ground and made a ticking sound, but my clothes were not wet at all. It's far from the city center, and there are only two buses to the city in the morning and evening. After a while, the bus came. People waiting for the bus got on, but I kept standing still.

"Girl, aren't you getting on the bus?" The driver asked.

"I, I have no money." I am very uneasy to say.

The master driver sighed and shook his head helplessly. Before he closed the car door, he kindly said to me, "Hurry to school!" " "

I watched the car drift away and my heart was empty. At that time, this coach was the only connection between the town and the city center. Watching this car drift away every day is also the only way for me to vent my thoughts about my mother.

Three months later, my mother finally came back. This short three months, three years have passed so long. She lost a lot of weight and took my sister and me home as soon as she came back. Sure enough, the first thing she did when she came home was to go to the backyard to see those fusang.

"This flower is still blooming so well!"

When she said this, a blush appeared on her pale face, and the long-lost smile finally settled my hanging heart. I have been taking care of these hibiscus for her during her absence for three months. When it rains continuously, I move them under the Jingui tree to shelter from the rain, and when it is sunny, I move them back to the blue sky to bask in the sun.

Soon after, my father came back. During the three months when his mother was away, he went to his grandmother's house on and off several times. But every time he is in a hurry, there is not much negotiation between us. The night his father came back, he went out to drink again. Late at night, I couldn't sleep, and my heart was pounding. Sure enough, there was a noisy voice in my mother's bedroom after all. A scream woke my sister. As usual, she hid under the table and didn't dare to shed tears. The shouts are getting louder and louder. I secretly opened the door and saw my father open the bedroom door, dragging my mother's hair all the way to the backyard. Mother's expression is ferocious and her mouth is covered with blood. My tears suddenly fell down, but I didn't dare to make any noise. The sound of punching and kicking is endless, and I can't help but have a needle-like pain on my eardrum while covering my ears.

"Pa ..."

The sound of broken flowerpots came.

Then mother's cry came.

On that day, my mother's favorite hibiscus flower was broken all over the floor, and even the roots were torn off.

That day, it was also the first time I heard my mother cry. Later, I learned that even if the doctor removed her bilateral breasts, she didn't shed a tear.

two

When I was in middle school, my father quit his job as a truck driver and my grandmother opened a shop for him in town. He started the hardware business. As everyone knows, this is the beginning of my mother's real nightmare. He is a heavy drinker, and almost every night he is full of wine, and everyone is on pins and needles. He became more and more fierce, and it was useless for me and my neighbors to dissuade him. Gradually, everyone seems to be used to mother being beaten. All the noise, they just closed the window.

That night, listening to the shouting outside the door and the crying of my sister hiding under the table, I finished writing a letter with tears in my eyes: Mom, I'm Zhu Jin. Mom, please, count me in Please leave him, leave this evil man. I hate him. I really hate him. Leave this town, don't let others see your jokes and don't let others hurt you. Please, my mother. You can live happily in another place. Don't worry about your sister. Park has grown up and I will take good care of her.

In the evening, after hearing my father's snoring, I stuffed the letter through the door. Through the crack of the door, I saw my mother pick up the letter and left with confidence. The next day, after I got up, I couldn't find any trace of my mother. Father doesn't care where she went. While I was secretly happy in my heart, my mother finally got out of the misery. I went to school as usual. After the breakfast shop, Aunt Liu greeted me at the closing ceremony.

"Park, what did your mother do with her luggage early in the morning? I left alone before dawn. She shouldn't call her. She should never come back, right? "

After listening to Aunt Liu's words, my heart suddenly hitched. I suddenly panicked. Is my mother really gone? Never come back?

I didn't attend class all day. It turns out that regret is such a feeling that I can't wait to tear up the letter in my memory and tear up myself who wrote it. When I come home from school at night, my mother's bedroom is still empty. My tears finally fell, and I ran to my room and cried. My sister unknown so was startled by my sudden crying.

"Aunt."

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice calling my name. I raised my blindfolded tears and saw my mother. I rushed to hug her without saying anything, and the bag of oranges in her arms spilled all over the floor in an instant.

"I'm sorry, mom, I'm sorry, I was wrong."

"Silly boy," my mother choked up and gently comforted the back of my head. "Mom bought your favorite orange. Stop crying, go wash your face and eat oranges with your sister. "

"Mom, don't go, don't go, okay?"

"How can I go ... This is my favorite Fusang, how can I leave ..."

three

I specially went to a city in the north to study in university. I want to stay away from here and the bloody past. When I was in college, technology was developed, and I could see my mother's face and cheeks through the screen of my smartphone. I wonder when the wrinkles on her face became so obvious. Every time I watch a video, she always smiles and tells me some interesting things that happened to my sister at school. When I hung up, she warned me to take good care of myself.

Four years passed quickly, and in a blink of an eye, senior three arrived as scheduled. This is the fourth winter in the north. Seeing the heavy snow, I am as excited as I was four years ago. I called my mother after class this day and couldn't wait to tell her that it was snowing again in this city. But the phone failed to get through. When I connected again, my sister answered the phone.

"Elder sister, come back. My mother's illness has relapsed. The doctor said I'm afraid I can't do it this time. "

I'll buy a ticket and go home at once. My heart hung on this speeding train for a day and a night. When I arrived at the hospital in the city, I saw my mother sick, and my tears finally came down. But when she saw me, she smiled again. I know, I'm late. My trip was actually four years late. A few days later, the hospital issued a critically ill notice, breast cancer recurred, cancer cells metastasized to liver and kidney, and liver and kidney functions all failed. This time, she really couldn't hold on.

It rained when my mother came home from the city hospital, and she didn't forget to remind me to help her move the hibiscus in the backyard under the osmanthus tree to shelter from the rain. It rained for several days, and I stayed with her all the time. She lies in the bedroom with an infusion bottle every day, and the liquid dripping from the infusion set flows into her cold body. I can only silently long for her to leave me in the future.

"Aunt."

She seems to have been half asleep these days. Every time she opens her eyes, it means that she is awake.

"I am."

She seems to be trying her best to smile at me. She slowly raised her right hand and pointed to the fruit basket on the bedside table.

"Oranges ..." She said softly.

I quickly picked up an orange: "Mom, do you want to eat an orange?"

She nodded.

I'll peel the orange and hand it to her at once. She gently pushed away my right hand holding the orange and shook her head. Then, she pointed to the orange peel on my left hand and nodded.

"I ... I can't eat ... smell the orange peel ... you eat ... you eat oranges."

I fought back my tears, peeled off an orange petal and put it in my mouth. She put the orange peel on her nose, smelled it, and then smiled again. For a long time, her hand fell down. Then, the orange peel slipped from her cheek.

She fell into an eternal sleep and will never wake up again.

I finally burst into tears, and I crushed the remaining orange petals in my hand.

"Mom ... mom ... I beg you, will you come back ... mom ..."

That day, at dawn, my mother left me forever. I know that this time, she won't come back to me with a bag of my favorite oranges, as she did at the beginning.

On that day, the long-lost sun jumped over the horizon, illuminating the golden laurel tree in the backyard that seemed to stand forever. After all, I dried my tears and moved my mother's favorite hibiscus back to the sun one after another.

four

No matter what happens in other parts of the world, the sky in Tibet is always so blue. This is an indisputable blue. This clear blue passes through the heart and stays firmly in the corner of memory. I think my mother will be happy if she sees this blue sky.

Less than a month after my mother died, my father married another woman in the town, and she also took a boy. Somehow, the woman moved into her mother's bedroom and the boy became my brother. From beginning to end, that home, I really, really don't want to go back. After graduation, I participated in the western plan for college students and came to distant Tibet. The altitude here is high and the air is thin. I was sick for more than a month when I first came, and I have been having difficulty breathing. But in that home, it's far more suffocating than here.

Over time, I like the emptiness here. Sometimes I climb the mountain and say a word that seems to reverberate for a month. I work in a remote town in Mangkang, which is very similar to the place where I remember living with my mother. On this day, my colleagues and I came to Mangkang City, and when we visited the flower market, we came across a familiar red flower.

The flower seller is a middle-aged Tibetan woman, with a little girl of about ten years old beside her.

"Hello, how much does it cost?" I asked.

The middle-aged woman dozed off, and the little girl shook her and shouted, "On sale, on sale ..."

I know that "Amara" means "mother" in Tibetan. The girl is young and probably doesn't understand Chinese.

The middle-aged woman slowly opened her sleepy eyes. The girl quickly explained it in Tibetan, and then the middle-aged woman said to me in Chinese, "Ten dollars."

"Excuse me, is this Lotus?"

The middle-aged woman listened to my words and looked puzzled.

"I'm not sure what its Chinese scientific name is, but I heard that the Chinese name of this flower is Zhu Jin."

In an instant, my tears fell down.

Colleagues asked me what happened after seeing my strangeness. I dried my tears, bought this pot of Zhu Jin flowers and planted them on the balcony of my bedroom. The warm sunshine in Tibet can fall on it every day. The climate here is dry, and it hardly rains. But now, even if it rains, I'm not afraid to get wet.

Anguo, my dearest Anguo, please rest assured in the distance that my daughter is strong enough to withstand the wind and rain, and I will definitely become your favorite and most beautiful hibiscus.

(Image from the Internet)

The author introduces Hu Yuanyuan, a young writer, whose pen name is Bai Yuan, which is homophonic "white paper karma", hoping to forge karma with readers through the words on white paper. 1994 was born in Jinan Academy, Shandong Province. On 20/0/7, Kloc began to publish his works, and on 20/0/9, he joined Shandong Writers Association and Jinan Writers Association. He has published "Flowers bloom and stars fall that year" and so on.

Contemporary Prose is sponsored by Shandong Prose Society and published bimonthly. It mainly publishes the works of members of Shandong Prose Society. Shandong prose writers are welcome to apply to join Shandong Prose Society. Shandong Prose Society holds various prose activities all the year round to provide book publishing services for writers. Welcome to contact us. Submission email: sdswxh@ 126.com, sdca98 @163.com.

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A little good contemporary prose