Literature after 00 ｜ Silent Watch (Novel)
Widowed (dialect, widowed is dumb), this is what the villagers call him. He is a poor old man, an old man who was dumb because he had a fever and took too much bezoar in his childhood, and an old man who only had three or five sheep. Widowed ancestor is what I call him, because he is two generations older than me.
I vaguely remember that I met my widowed ancestors several times during the summer vacation in primary school. I have never forgotten this scene.
When the morning sun climbs to the blue tile on the roof along the earth wall, the sheep are also waiting for their owner, the widowed bodhi old zu. Although it is hot, he always wears a Lei Feng hat that has been blackened by smoke, a black double-breasted cotton coat, a pot helmet in his arms that can never be eaten, and a kettle, leading the sheep to wander along the winding path in the field, hanging on the sheep’s neck all the way. No one knows his age, but everyone knows that his legs and feet are still vigorous, and he walks agile and steady on the almost vertical loess road mixed with gravel, just like the sheep behind him. His destination is the top of the mountain. Because the mountainside is mostly farmland, a yellow mud road is inserted horizontally, and there are still several paths lengthwise, but they are all covered by tall corn stalks. Widowed ancestors can only drive the sheep through this "forbidden land" as soon as possible-destroying crops will lose the "pass" of this land. I finally walked through the fields, and the sun really came out. At this time, the sheep can indulge in grazing, and the widowed ancestor will lean against the shade or chew the helmet with white water or take a nap.
I claim to be a "wild child", and several hills near my home are my playgrounds, so it is inevitable to meet him. When I saw those sheep grazing leisurely, I knew that my widowed bodhi old zu was nearby, but he always seemed to predict my arrival in advance. As soon as I saw it, I wanted to keep me by shouting, with my mouth wide open and my Adam’s apple wriggling sharply, and waved my arms to beckon me over. Then I used his hands as rough as an old walnut shell to hold a full "mountain products"-sweet and sour Schisandra chinensis.
The widowed ancestor is enthusiastic and diligent, and he works hard in the village, whether it’s weddings, funerals, or the anniversary of the burial. He swung his axe like the wind, and every time he fell, he split the firewood properly, and the sawdust scattered. Then, he turned to the triviality of boiling water and shochu; He added fuel to the fire, adjusted the fire, sometimes bowed his head and blew air to make the flames dance, and sometimes gently stirred the soju in the pot, making the water waves slightly overflow, and the fragrance of wine gradually diffused in this leisurely action; With the progress of the banquet, I saw the widowed bodhi old zu holding the tray firmly in his left hand and the dishes lightly in his right hand, with steady steps like flowing water, shuttling between the fire and the guests, and silently conveying his blessings and respect every time he bowed his head and smiled. The figure of the widowed ancestor, shuttling between the boiling of the villagers, is particularly diligent. In the last round of the banquet, he ate with the people who helped cook for his family, mostly the women in the village. A woman often jokes: "Seeing a widowed child is diligent, capable and able to eat. If you find a woman, you should be happy!" When he said this, he gave all the meat on the table to the widowed bodhi old zu. "Just eat, you are afraid that you can’t eat meat a few times a year!" Shame that he turned straight behind, repeatedly motioning with his hand, "ahhh ….." That’s enough.
During the three years since I finished junior high school, the life of my widowed ancestors seems to be so day after day, year after year. Or maybe I studied in the town and went back to my hometown less often and didn’t notice it. Until the spring of the second year of high school, I didn’t hear the long bell ringing on the sheep’s neck in the early morning of my hometown, only the sound of "praising and praising" with a hoe was endless. Later, I learned from my mother that the widowed ancestor had already sold all his sheep. I asked my mother why, and only then did I know that my widowed ancestor was accidentally caught in a wild boar when he was herding sheep in the mountains in the summer years ago. Fortunately, he was found by the villagers in time and was sent to the hospital at the first time without leaving his disability. Although he is not disabled, he can only walk on crutches, and he can’t herd sheep. With the money earned by selling sheep, plus the subsidies for the disabled and the five guarantees, it is said that the widowed ancestors should live a few days at leisure, at least until the injury is almost healed. But he couldn’t spare time, so he opened another piece of land to grow wheat at the vegetable field in front of his house. I walked on crutches, carried benches and hoes to hoe the ground, and when I was tired, I sat down and dug. This is what I witnessed with my own eyes.
Unconsciously, the wheat seedlings have grown to the knee height, and all the trees are full of green, swaying in the wind. Perhaps the widowed ancestor knew that they were growing sturdily, so he did not have to work hard in the fields, and the sound of "boasting and boasting" became more and more sparse, just like those weeds he had dug up; But it’s getting more and more boring, like cicadas in the hot summer.
Until the widowed ancestor did not greet his harvest in the wheat field, until the villagers learned that he had died on his couch for many days.
This wheat field without its owner is still full of vitality.
Wheat seedlings bear the brunt of the wind and rain, bearing ears of wheat, and finally spreading seeds on the land where they were born with the wind.
Source: China Youth Daily client
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