Hometown

A melodious, graceful and affectionate ensemble of erhu and flute in "hometown of Soul" suddenly hit my soft heart and awakened my affection for my hometown in this night with intoxicated spring breeze and bright moon. My hometown places all my homesickness, and she carries a deep memory of my childhood.

Gently push open the locked door of the heart, follow the traces of time, looking for the childhood wrinkled by the wind in the depths of memory, what haunts my heart is the smoke curling up in the sunset, the broken bricks in front and behind the house, the withered straw and firewood, the green bamboo forest in the mountains, a clear stream, every inch of yellow soil, familiar faces, a passing figure, a deep attachment from the bottom of my heart.

My hometown Bujia is located in the northwest border of Jiangxi Province, at the junction of Tongshan County, Hubei Province. It is a tranquil and tranquil ancient village with verdant mountains and beautiful scenery. It is said that a long time ago, a merchant came here to do cloth business with a tent with cloth, claiming that his cloth was the best in the world, so he was named "cloth armor". My grandparents' house is located on the hillside of the junction, which is called the Xie family in Hengshan. The scene of the countryside is like Tao Yuanming's pastoral scenery, including land, thatched cottages, willows, peaches and plums, villages, cooking smoke, dogs barking, and chickens crowing.

Whenever the spring season, stepping on the bluestone path, winding up, on both sides are green trees and red flowers, dense green leaves shining in the sun, peach blossom shy, pear blossom smile, graceful white magnolia, colorful camellia swaying in the breeze, the air filled with faint fragrance, intoxicating heart. A stream around the path, clear and transparent, can clearly see white pebbles and small rocks, and the long green moss floats gently along the direction of the current, like the long sleeves of beautiful women stranded in the air in classical opera. then listen to the rhythm of the ripples of the running water, like a light string, playing nature's most beautiful and moving music, reverberating in the quiet valley.

When we were young, our favorite things were picking bayberry, picking pears, digging bamboo shoots and beating chestnuts. Often run in groups to play in the most open field after school, kicking shuttlecock, beating sandbags, hopscotch, eagles catching chickens, or sitting quietly on the stones of the stream singing songs, or chasing butterflies everywhere, or simply lying in the field, watching the spectacle of white clouds floating in the blue sky. When the golden sun in the day finally disappeared in the mountains and forests, the smoke of every household in the village curled up and intertwined, filled the sky, and merged with the sunset and twilight to form a beautiful picture of the countryside. the thick smell of cooking smoke is like a silent traction and call, summoning adults working in the mountain fields and playing children to go home. Until I recall many years later, I can still vaguely smell that fragrance, often entangled in my dreams.

The grandmother in my memory, kind, gentle and tolerant, is a typical Chinese traditional virtuous woman with kind eyes and warm smile. Every time I hear the news of our return, whether it is a clear sky or a majestic heavy rain, she will stand under the tallest and most exuberant sycamore tree in front of the mountain, waiting for our figure. As soon as she entered the old and tidy old house, she was busy eagerly in front of the stove and behind the stove. the shape of the corner of her mouth was always an upward arc with a smile. She picked vegetables from the vegetable field, took the smoked black bacon hanging over the stove, went down to the cellar to pick out the best sweet potatoes, and wrapped the cowhide whistle with dried sweet potato powder. Until now, during the holidays, we do not forget to pack the cowhide whistle of our hometown, which is unique to our hometown, full of our deep attachment to our hometown and deep nostalgia for our loved ones.

Grandpa is famous locally because of his extraordinary intelligence and unforgettable memory. Before the War of Resistance against Japan, he was an accountant in the commune and fled to live in the mountains to avoid the war. Although in the age of material poverty, he worked at sunrise and returned at sunset, but at night, under the dim kerosene lamp, he often read old and yellowed ancient books, such as the Book of songs, Romance of the three Kingdoms, Zengguang Xianwen, Water margin, Zhouyi, Compendium of Materia Medica, etc., covering literature, history, medicine and other books. The most incredible thing is that he recited many books by heart. Whenever night fell, the neighbors gathered outside his grandfather's house to listen to him tell books vividly. I first got the knowledge of these ancient books from him.

In the cloth armour of the 1980s, it was not only life that was barren and backward, but the traditional idea of feudal conservatism and inferiority of men hidden in the bones of a large number of farmers was as deep-rooted as a malignant tumor. even if he was born in a family where his grandfather could read and talk about freedom, he still could not escape the confinement and destruction of women by the residual thoughts of feudal ethics, morality and ethics in ancient China.

My aunt is my grandfather's only daughter, and my grandfather regards her as the apple of her eye. Of the seven children, she is the most like her grandfather. She is smart and eloquent, especially cheerful, and her silver bell-like laughter can be heard everywhere. She died at the age of 25, in the prime of her youth. Because she could not stand her husband's drinking and beating, and did not have the courage to break through the shackles and bear the reputation of escape or divorce, she chose to end her life. She had a daughter before she died and was pregnant at the time of her death. My uncle is a second-married man. His ex-wife gave birth to three daughters and remarried for the sake of a son. Many years later, I heard that he took several wives after he hastily fled his hometown when his aunt died, but still did not give birth to a son.

My aunt's death, which happened in the first year after we left the village, was the greatest pain in the hearts of our family. Even now, when I think of her, my heart is still wrenching. I can imagine her suffering, helplessness, sadness, struggle and helplessness when she was physically beaten and turned to dust. In despair, she can only choose to commit suicide to seek relief. Because grandma wanted to save the whole body for her aunt and could not bear to open the coffin for autopsy, she gave up the lawsuit. Many years later, I heard my grandmother say that on a cold and windy night, my aunt's best friend heard her sitting and crying on a big rock not far from the graveyard. I don't imagine if it was true. whether there is really an aggrieved soul floating in the world, but I believe she must have been so desperate, mournful and resentful before she died.

……

Now my grandparents have long passed away, and earth-shaking changes have taken place in the mountain village. the once winding path has been paved with asphalt, and every family has built a new and beautiful house and gathered together to form a small street. With the wave of reform and opening up, there are fewer and fewer people in the village, leaving only some elderly people still waiting for the old village.

Every Qingming Festival, we young people return to our hometown one after another. Although life is rich, but my heart is empty, a large area of mountain trees have been cut down, my grandmother once stood the plane tree has long been gone, the river is no longer pure, especially every time I walk into that dilapidated old house, always can not help but gush out infinite sorrow, fleeting years of those looming past, those warm faces, after years of wind and frost, has precipitated into eternity in the heart.

(Hsieh Qiongfang / tr. by Phil Newell)