Thank you, Mr. Yang.

I often take Lao Wang's tricycle. He pushed, I sat, and we chatted all the way.

According to Lao Wang himself, after the liberation of Beijing, people who pedal three rounds are organized; At that time, he was "unresponsive", "didn't come around" and "one step late" and couldn't get in. He lamented that he was "old and useless". Lao Wang often has the fear of being behind the times, because he is alone. He survived only by an old tricycle; One brother died, two nephews were "worthless" and had no relatives.

Lao Wang is not only old, but also has one eye. The other one is just a "snail eye" and is blind. Passengers don't want to take his car, for fear that he can't see clearly and bump into something. Some people say that this old bachelor was dishonest when he was young, and he got a serious illness and lost one eye. His good eyes are also sick, so he can't see after dark. Once, he bumped into a telephone pole and his face was swollen and black and blue. At that time, we were in the cadre school, and my daughter said that he was night blind, so she gave him a big bottle of cod liver oil, so that he could see it at night. He may have been blind from malnutrition since childhood, or he may have been seriously ill. Anyway, it's all misfortune, and the latter should be a deeper misfortune.

One evening, my wife and I walked through a remote alley and saw a dilapidated yard with several collapsed huts. Lao Wang is riding a tricycle into the compound. Later, when I was chatting with Lao Wang in his car, I asked if it was his home. He said that he had lived there for many years.

One summer, Lao Wang sent ice poison to our downstairs home and was willing to bring it to our home. Tickets are halved. We certainly don't want him to charge half the fee. Every morning Lao Wang holds the third floor on the ice and puts it in the refrigerator for us to eat. The ice he sent was twice as big as his predecessor's, and the ice price was the same. Most of us are familiar with the three-wheeled riding in hutong, and Lao Wang is the most honest one. He never found us easy customers to bully. He may not have thought of it at all.

At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, I lost a leg inexplicably. I asked for leave on his behalf and asked Lao Wang to take him to the hospital. I dare not take three rounds and squeeze the bus at the gate of the hospital. An old king helped me get Mocun off the bus, but he refused to take the money. He said, "I send Mr. Qian to see a doctor for free." I have to pay. He asked me in a hoarse voice, "Do you have any money?" I smiled and said that I had money, and he was not at ease with it.

We came back from the cadre school, and all passenger tricycles were banned. Lao Wang had to change his tricycle into a flatbed car to transport goods. He has no strength to transport any goods. Fortunately, an old gentleman is willing to demote himself as "goods" and let old Laiyun Wang. Old Wang Xinran installed a half-inch high edge around the three-wheeled flat, as if with this half-inch edge, passengers would be surrounded without falling. I asked old Wang Neng if he couldn't make a living from this customer. He said it's okay. But after a while, Lao Wang became ill. I don't know what happened. I spent money on some medicine, but it never got better. He can come to my house for a few months, but later he has to ask his colleague Lao Li to give him a message.

One day, I heard someone knocking at the door at home. When I opened the door, Lao Wang was rigidly embedded in the door frame. Usually he sits in the seat of a tricycle, or walks into my house with ice, which doesn't look so tall. Maybe he is not so thin and stiff at ordinary times. His face is pale and his eyes are clouded, and he can't tell which one is blind and which one is not. To put it ridiculously, he is like a coffin, like a zombie in my imagination. There is a layer of yellow dry skin on the skeleton, and a stick will break into a pile of bones. I was surprised and said, "Oh, Lao Wang, are you better?"

He "hmm", walked straight in and held out his hands to me. He has a bottle in one hand and a bag in the other.

I'm busy answering. There is sesame oil in the bottle and eggs in the package. I can't remember whether it is ten or twenty, because there are countless in my memory. I don't remember what he said, but the meaning was clear. He gave it to us.

I forced a smile and said, "Lao Wang, why don't you give us all these fresh big eggs?"

He just said, "I won't eat."

I thanked him for his good sesame oil and his big eggs, and then turned and went into the house. He rushed up to me and said, "I don't want money."

I quickly explained, "I know, I know-but since you're here, you don't need to ask someone to take it."

He may think I'm right and stand and wait for me.

I folded the gray and blue Fang Gezi rags wrapped in his eggs and returned them to him. He turned around stupidly with a cloth in one hand and money in the other. I quickly opened the door for him, stood at the stairs and watched him go downstairs straight, fearing that he would fall down half the stairs. I didn't feel sad until I heard no footsteps. I didn't invite him to sit down for a cup of tea. But I was confused by fear. The stiff body seems to be unable to sit down, and it will break into a pile of bones if it bends a little. I can't imagine how he got home.

After more than ten days, Lao Wang and I met Lao Li in the same hospital. I asked, "What happened to Lao Wang? Is it better? "

"Buried early."

"Ah, when will he ..."

"When did you die? It was the day after I came to you. "

He also talked about Lao Wang wrapped in a few feet of brand-new white cloth-because Lao Wang was a Muslim and was buried in a ditch. I don't understand. I didn't ask too many questions.

When I got home, I looked at the bottle of unfinished sesame oil and eggs, and recalled Lao Wang's answers to me again and again, wondering if he knew I had received his thanks. he knows, i guess. But somehow, every time I think of Lao Wang, I always feel uneasy. For eating his sesame oil and eggs? Because he came to express his gratitude, but I took money to insult him? Neither. Several years have passed, and I gradually understand that a lucky person is a pity for an unfortunate person.