Appreciation of The Past in the Alley in American Literature

Appreciation of The Past in the Alley in American Literature

When I was a child, I lived in a place called Xiliujiang Lane in the west of Sarazzi. In the early days of the founding of New China, many cooperatives were established in Sarazzi, such as Liu Ye Society, Shoe Society, Sewing Society, Hemp Rope Society and Paper Company. Many professional craftsmen were born at one time, and the names of some alleys also have obvious professional characteristics. In addition to Xiliujiang Lane, there are also unique names such as Dongliujiang Lane and Zhifang Lane.

Alleys are full of dirt roads, which are generally full of potholes. When it rains, those potholes are full of rain, which brings great inconvenience to people's travel. We had to wear rain boots when we were at school. Rubber rain boots are cold when you step on water, and your hands are not too high. If we are not careful, our pants will be splashed with mud and rain.

Most of the houses in the alley are adobe houses, some are single-family houses, and there is a big yard shared by several families. From the outside, there is a gate made of iron fence, an arched doorway made of blue bricks, two heavy wooden doors, and an oblique cornice made of gray tiles on the rectangular doorway, which is very chronological and vicissitudes. Some courtyards have no gates, only low adobe walls, forming an open courtyard where outsiders can walk in at any time.

The yard where my family lives is divided into front yard and backyard. In the front yard, it was just us and another family. Two grating doors are painted with sky blue paint and can be locked when sleeping at night. The yard is very big, and a well has been drilled near the south wall. A stove was built in front of the door. My mother also built a cool house with adobe under the Western Wall and a simple chicken shed. In those years, my mother had to raise more than a dozen chickens every year, so I witnessed that when the chickens came out of their shells, they were red and gradually covered with tender yellow fluff, and those fluff gradually faded and grew harder and harder wings, and then grew into a mature hen that could lay eggs. It takes a long time to work hard and wait. At that time, my daily pleasure was to pick up eggs. When did you hear it? Goo goo, goo goo? I will run to the henhouse happily. Every time I can see hot fresh eggs on pale yellow wheat straw, sometimes there are faint blood and a few chicken droppings on the egg skin. If there are too many eggs, my mother will cook them and add salt. When we are hungry after school, my sister and I will go to the jar in the cool room to eat eggs.

There is a cattle farmer in another alley not far from my home. My sister and I take turns to go there every day to milk my brother. The yard at home is not too big, and a simple cowshed is built close to the south wall. Two strong black-and-white cows wear an iron ring on their noses, and a thumb-thick rope is tied from the iron ring, and then the rope is fixed on a solid iron pile on the ground. The length of the rope is just enough for the cow to move in place. Cattle's gentle big eyes always show resignation and no hurry. Even so, every time I see the sharp corner on its head pointing at me, I still dare not go in directly, for fear that it will suddenly give me a corner.

The milkman has to wait and line up every day. Sometimes, before I start milking early, I will go in and sit on the edge of the kang. Through the glass window, I saw the uncle who raised the cow gently wipe the swollen breast of the cow several times with a clean hot towel, put his favorite feed in the trough, put a tin bucket under the cow's breast, and then began to milk. There are four or five nipples on the cow's breast, and the milking uncle takes turns to squeeze them down with his hands. At first, the milk was sparse, and gradually, more and more milk was squeezed out, and the milk flow became stronger and stronger. When squeezed into a half bucket, due to the constant impact of milk, there will be a steaming milky white bubble floating on the bucket, and the unique smell of milk will rush into people's nostrils. At that time, there was no processed bagged and boxed milk, and this freshly squeezed milk was snapped up every day. So although it is hard, raising cattle is a relatively stable and profitable industry, which is envied and sought after by many people.

The backyard is an open courtyard without a gate, and there are always four or five families living in it. Just moved into middle school is an elderly grandpa Li, who should be in his seventies, living with his wife and younger son. Grandpa Li used to raise camels to pull coal. Later, when he was old, his youngest son inherited his career. Every morning, he drives a camel to the back hill to pull coal and earn money to support himself and his elderly parents. Camel's brown hair is sparse and often falls off one by one, revealing dull gray skin, and the hump on its back hangs softly. Every time I see it, it always lies on the ground tired, with a pair of big eyes that don't compete with the world and a bronze bell hanging around its neck. As its upper and lower teeth bite and chew from time to time, its head gently shakes back and forth, and the bell will make a crisp and pleasant sound. Sometimes, I don't know why, this quiet creature will suddenly make a loud noise and spit out bubbles. After a long pause, I ran back to the front yard and closed the gate, but I was reluctant to go home. So I stood in the fence and watched Grandpa Li cajole and scare, muttering a few words to him, patting his neck and head with my hands, and the camel slowly calmed down.

Grandpa Li also has a car and a donkey. When the weather is fine, he will let us children get on the donkey cart and go out with him to cut camels. In the early summer evening, the weather is cool. My sister, two children in the front yard and I sat in the car and set off for the city. We laughed and laughed happily all the way. When we arrived outside the city, Grandpa Li was busy mowing the grass and we were busy playing around. Sometimes, we help to pull up some weeds and occasionally pick some unknown flowers to wear on our heads. On the way home, the sun is setting slowly from the west. The fiery sunset and the gorgeous sunset on the horizon are intoxicating natural beauty. I still remember a photo of an old man driving slowly along an old donkey cart with four stubborn children sitting on it. The afterglow of the sunset shines on the wrinkled old face of the old man and looks at the innocent smiling faces of the children. An expression of relief and satisfaction emerged on the old man's face, which was a rare moment of joy and relaxation after his vicissitudes of life. On the way home, Grandpa Li will buy some tomatoes and cucumbers for us to eat after we go home and wash them.

My mother sometimes asks me to send some flowers and steamed bread just out of the pot to grandpa Li. The old man always accepted those things with a surprised and moved expression, secretly stuffed me with some candy, touched my head with his rough big hand, tried to say something but didn't say it, and then I went home.

There are many children my age living in the alley. Every day, we will jump rubber bands, kick shuttlecock and play hide and seek. On Sunday, we will meet and do our homework together, help and take care of each other, and form a deep friendship and affection. Spring has come, and the elms under the western wall of the backyard have a lot of green finger-sized elm money. After school in the afternoon, some of our friends will run under the elm tree, and some gay men will learn to climb the tree to pick up elm money. After taking it off, we won't wash it. We just eat it with a little dust on our hands. The sweet and tender taste of elm money is unforgettable now.

The residents in the alley are all ordinary people. Everyone's living standards are similar, clothes are similar, and even children's academic performance is similar. Every day, adults work hard for their livelihood, and children go to school and leave school as usual, laughing and laughing, and spend happy time day after day, unaware of human suffering. The life scene full of fireworks is the ordinary world of ordinary people and the simplest and most vivid part of our society.

The alley where I lived as a child has long been demolished, and my childhood playmates have gone their separate ways. It's rare to see you again. Sometimes I dream that I am back in the alley in my memory. The alley in the dream is still the same, and the home in the dream is still cordial, but after waking up, there is a sense of emptiness that lingers in my heart for a long time.