30 words of the main content of the novel "Mother" written by Liang Xiaosheng

Author: Liang Xiaosheng

Yu Yu was crying outdoors, and Shou Ye was shivering in front of the window. On this lonely day, I miss my mother. Three eyes looked at me through the window, and they were all the eyes of the poplar tree. He stared at me blankly, which I thought was a kind of stare.

I imagine a man from Shandong calling his mother "Mother" in front of her face.

"Mom, why are you not eating?"

"Mom, why are you feeling uncomfortable?"

A small town near the seaside in Rongcheng area Is this how Shandong men in small villages should talk to their old mothers?

I often regret that it is just my "hometown" to me, just like a person's shadow should be there but not actually there

It's nothing. I couldn't sense my father's deep affection for that small village. Because I was born in Harbin and grew up in Harbin. When I meet people from the north, I think I’m meeting people from my hometown. I am probably the youngest descendant of those who "traveled to Guandong"

in history - among the batches of immigrants who were driven north from Jiaodong by famine, there was a 12-year-old boy

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A young man dressed in rags, he later became my father.

"You must go back to our house! That is your roots!"

My father often said to me seriously, "we" means "smash", and I I heard a sense of pride.

I don’t know if I should also feel a little proud, because as far as I know there is nothing to be proud of there

Famous mountains and monuments, and there has never been a single person. Someone who could almost be considered a celebrity. However, I still really want to go once.

Because it is close to the sea.

But where is my mother’s hometown? Close to what?

My mother never said to me that she hoped that I or she could return to her hometown.

Is her mother from Jilin? I'm not sure. It seems so. Was your mother born in a place called "Mengjiagang"

? It seems so. It seems not. Maybe the mother was born somewhere near Jabans City? Father and mother

A place where *** lived together?

When I was very young, my mother often told stories about her past while doing needlework - she had many brothers and sisters, seven, or

eight. One year there was a smallpox outbreak in the countryside, and only three people survived - my mother, uncle and uncle.

"I thought your uncle would not survive, but he survived. He opened his eyes, looked left and right, and saw me beside him

Asked: "Sister, where is Xiao Shitou?" I told him: "Where is Xiao Shitou?"

Is Sanya also dead? Then he told him: 'Sanya is dead too! Second sister is dead too! Fool is dead too!'

He burst into tears..."

While my mother was talking, tears fell to the ground, falling on the back of her hands and on the lapels of her clothes, without wiping them away or looking up. Stitch by stitch, thread by thread, mend my or my brothers and sisters’ tattered clothes.

“The next year, there was another incident of beards. Your grandfather took the mule away and hid it. The beards hung it on a tree, and the hemp rope was soaked in water and pulled...

Your grandfather died. Without telling you where the mule was, your grandma hugged my uncle and me together, covered our mouths with her hands, and hid in a dry well, listening to your grandpa scream as he was tortured. Heaven shouts. Your grandma didn’t dare to climb up the dry well and tell me where the mule was.

Beard never let go of the woman. Later, Huzi burned our house, but the mule was saved, and your grandpa died... ..."

Rather than telling the story to us children, it is better to say that the mother is talking to herself, which is a special way of recalling

the memory.

These memory fragments burned into my mind are all I know about my mother’s life experience. Add the "Mengjiagang"

The unclear place.

My mother, before she became my mother, was stuck in a life of poverty and had such a troubled fate.

Later, her fate was tied to her father and still to poverty.

Later she became my mother and chained me and my brothers and sisters to poverty.

We grew up holding on to our mother’s faded skirt. She fulfilled the greatest responsibility of a mother in poverty...

My sympathy for people was originally formed from my sympathy for my mother. I don’t complain about my childhood and adolescence when I peeled off tree bark and picked up coal cores, because I once shared the oppression of poverty on my mother. And life has also given me a heavy gift--

It taught me to respect my mother and all women who embrace a hard life with perseverance and never give up because of hardship...

In this lonely day, I miss my mother.

The eyes of poplar trees across the window stared blankly at me...

That year my home was "sieged" on an "isolated island" in the city - -It is surrounded by two-meter-deep foundation trenches, demolition debris and construction materials. Almost all the residents on the street have moved out, but my family has nowhere to move. Because my family rents a private property - the landlord wants to seize the opportunity to extort a large sum of money from the building department, but the building department thinks it is unreasonable.

As a result, my family was directly affected. As I wrote in my novel "Black Buttons," our family became the "Robinsons" of the city.

My aunt returned to the countryside. In that city with a population of more than 2 million, except for our mother, we have no relatives.

The mother’s relatives are her children. The mother worked as a temporary worker in the railway factory for a meager salary, selling the cheap physical strength of a low-class woman. Sand casting - that is a very tiring and dangerous job for men. There is no labor protection for temporary workers.

It all depends on you to be extra careful during work. If you are not careful, you may be burned by molten iron or crushed by castings.

There was hardly a day when my mother didn’t come home with minor injuries. My mother’s clothes were burned with holes from the splash of molten iron.

The place where my mother works is far away from home, and there is no nearby bus or car to take. Even if there is, the mother will not be willing to spend 5 cents and 10 cents to take the bus. . The time when my mother returns home every day is always around 7:30. After dinner, it is often around 9 o'clock. We go to bed, and my mother sits on the corner of the bed, turning on a light bulb with only 20 lights. Hanging above the head, leaning against the dim light