What did you mainly talk about?

"Memories of Childhood" mainly wrote two things. First, I heard that this book left me a good memory. Secondly, the first person who lent me A Dream of Red Mansions had a positive influence on my future literary career.

listen to storytelling

The original residence of my hometown is said to be Yiliang, Shanxi. When I was a child, I went to a family in Shanxi and saw a photo of the former site of immigration with an old pagoda tree on it. This is the earliest residence of our ancestors.

My hometown is far away from Shanxi Province, but there are several families in our street who have been going to Shanxi for many years to do small business and maintain the life of the family, which has been passed down from generation to generation. Most of them are hawkers and don't go home during the Spring Festival, because that's the season when business is booming. They went home. I remember it was often in the busy farming season in summer and autumn. When they go home and work in the fields, they always ask their women to send gadgets or broad beans to their children from door to door. I am deeply impressed.

One of them, I call him Uncle Desheng, was about forty years old.

When I come back every year, if the farm work is a little idle between summer and autumn, people in our street will sit by the millstone to enjoy the cool after dinner. On both sides of a gate, there are two willow wooden piers. Uncle Desheng is often pushed to sit on a pier and tell stories. On another dock, as usual, an elderly man was sitting symmetrically with him. I remember him telling stories like Elvis Presley here. He told them well, just like a professional artist.

I remember clearly that he can't read. He is away all the year round, and his aunt, because of her tall figure, we all call her "big aunt". Every day, she carries a big wicker basket and knocks on a small gong to sell sesame cakes. When Uncle Desheng comes back, he sometimes keeps accounts for her. He cut sorghum stalks into pen caps, tied them with ropes and hung them horizontally on the kang wall. This is called "account code". He stood on the kang, pushing the stalk with his hand, a little knotted.

He remembers telling stories clearly and speaks them skillfully. I don't think he paid to listen to it in entertainment places. He has been doing business in Shanxi, staying in a small hotel for many years, and there are people living and doing things together. If he is free at night, maybe he will ask a storyteller to tell two jokes for free to ease the anxiety of people who have traveled for many years. After a long time, he will remember everything.

He may have said something about the customs and habits of Shanxi people, because I am young and have no interest in them, and I have forgotten them.

Uncle Desheng met the plague on his way to do small business and died in a deserted shop in the other place. He left his only son, named Hammer. I went back to my hometown a few years ago and saw a hammer. My family lives in a new house in Gao Shuang. The furniture in the house is the most exquisite in the village. He is ingenious, can do carpentry, and can draw flowers, birds and landscapes on glass, which is very popular with young farmers who are married far and near. He works as an accountant in the commune and is proficient in algorithms.

Uncle Desheng is talking about storytelling, also known as Pinghua, that is, just talking without accompaniment. In rural areas, after the wheat autumn, professional storytellers often take to the streets. In fact, most of them are amateurs or semi-professionals. They said that after singing, some managers collected some newly laid grains for them; Some of them also do small businesses, such as selling needles. In the middle of his rap, a manager, one of the women, will sell him that part of the needle. Most of these people talk about fast books, that is, they don't use black boys, just drums. Riding a bike with a drum set in the back seat. They don't say the whole book, only a few short paragraphs. After selling needles, I went to other villages.

One autumn, three brothers came to the village, pushing a cart of wool, saying that they could tell stories and have the ability to roll felt strips. The first night, I started chatting in the street. The eldest plays the string, and the second says "Hu Jia Jiang", a real Xihe drum with good rhyme. Some old fans in the village praised it. The next day I went to arrange business for them and mobilized from door to door: "Felt strips."

They lived in the village for three or four months and said "Hujiajiang" every night. It was very cold in winter, so I moved the bookstore to a big house in a teahouse. Sometimes the second child goes back to his hometown to transport wool, and so does the third generation, but people don't think highly of him. Besides, he can't say "Hu Jiajiang".

Seeing that the Chinese New Year is coming, Hu Yanqing's rolling has not been completed. Every night, it is announced that the beating will start tomorrow. The next night, there was something wrong with the book, but I still couldn't type it. People are expecting, expecting, adults and children are expecting. Almost all the owners in the village who want to roll felt strips are rolled out. A few old fans are still mobilizing everywhere:

"Roll a, how warm it is to spread on the kang in winter! Besides, if you don't roll the felt strips, Hu Yanqing can't roll them! "

It was not until the twentieth day of the twelfth lunar month that the three brothers saw that there was really no business to do in this village and ended the "Hujiajiang". If their novels are edited and published, I think they must be as thick as two big bricks.

The first person to lend me a dream of red mansions

I first read A Dream of Red Mansions when I was about ten years old, when I was still in primary school in my village. I first borrowed a book called Romance of Gods from the Liu family in the west, and then borrowed it from the Liu family in the east after reading it. The Liu family, both east and west, are butchers, and they are all named after one by one. Liu is the second largest family in our village, but there are actually only seven or eight people, because this is a very small village.

As far as I can remember, few families in our village have books. The Liu family can have some books because their business is similar to a business. Farmers read very little, and they are even less willing to spend money on these "idle books". At that time, you could only see books at temple fairs, a few wooden boards on bookstall vendors' stalls, and some lithographs, flowered paper or flowered cloth covers with small fonts and thick black paper, such as Saint Amethyst, Jade Sagger, Song Book and Novel. These books can be said to be the most popular cheap books, but it may take a day or two to buy a novel. So although the family is rich, you can't just buy it. Some of the textbooks I read at school were copied by my mother.

The Liu family in Dongtou has four brothers, three of whom were forced by life when they were teenagers and went south to Kanto. Among them, the second child has never been home, and his life and death are unknown. The third child went home once, but he still couldn't stay. He only stayed at home for a year and then left. I heard that he is engaged in very dangerous business in Kanto.

Only the boss was left at home. He married a room full of child brides and became a family. His woman is not tall, but she is handsome, likes joking and has a good popularity. She has had a small poker game at home for many years, and she has taken some oil to subsidize her family. Men are still slaughtering, but they can't afford big animals, so they can only peel a goat or something.

Old four came back from Kanto in his middle age, but he brought nothing back. This man is tall, wearing a long black cloth gown, and walks "snake and sway". The way he walks often causes parents to warn their children that this kind of walking has no roots, so he will not be able to eat.

His name is Sixi, and I call him Uncle Sixi. I have a good impression of him. He walked from east to west in the street, telling jokes, which provoked his sister-in-law to call him "thief rabbit", and he was even happier.

He is very kind to children. Sometimes, sitting in his spacious yard, pulling banhu and singing melodious bangzi, we are fascinated. Knowing that I was a good reader, he lent me a copy of his "Jin Yu Yuan".

His brother and sister-in-law certainly don't welcome him. He has nothing to do at home. Whenever he goes to the market, he takes his sharp and bright meat cleaver to help others sell meat. He stood beside the meat truck, the knife shaking skillfully and nimbly in his hand. The cooked beef, horse meat or donkey meat is cut so thin, just like the shavings in the carpenter's hand, flying and regularly falling on the edge of the round, thick and big meat case, so that he is very good and convenient when loading sesame cakes for customers. He is known as "Si Liu". Now the hero is down and out, which is useful for the time being. When he is engaged in this kind of work, you can see his tall figure, surrounded by layers of customers, looking forward to flying, talking and laughing. It is conceivable that if a person can exist in this state forever, wouldn't it be meaningful and glorious?

The market broke up, and it was getting late. The host invited him to the restaurant for a full meal and a drink. He went home again with a knife under his arm. The market is only three miles from our village. On the way, he was a little drunk and trembled even more when he walked up.

A bike crosses the street. He suddenly shouted at somebody else:

"Come down!"

"What are you doing down here?" The cyclist knows him.

"Give me the car!"

"Give you what?"

"No, I will cut you!" He raised his knife.

The cyclist turned around and reported to the market police station.

He came home as if nothing had happened. Maybe he forgot what happened on the road. I slept soundly that night. The next morning, he was caught in the county seat.

It was winter and the countryside was in turmoil. Every night, the gunfire of kidnapping is like firecrackers on New Year's Eve. The Commissioner is instructing the county magistrate to strengthen public safety. The county magistrate shot and killed him and reported his achievements to his superiors. His family didn't rescue or collect the body. This is the end of a person.

Of course, his film "Yu Jinyuan" has not disappeared. It seems that life determines his fate, not books. When I was a child, I saw the harsh life itself painfully with a small book.

1978 Spring