Australian Old Elm Prose

Three years of studying abroad passed in a blink of an eye. Before leaving Melbourne, I went to Mrs. Houston's grave. She used to be the hostess of the house where I worked. I put my own small wreath of wild flowers and pine branches squarely in front of her tombstone, and quietly planted an elm tree in the open space not far from her tombstone. Goodbye, madam! I'm going home tomorrow. Let me thank you personally. Thank you for your consideration of a lonely guest in a foreign land in the past few years. Can you hear me?

This is an old Victorian building with an old elm tree standing in front of it. Compared with the graceful acacia trees, phoenix trees and acacia branches next door, it is too simple or even plain. Like most Australian houses, there is no fence in the garden in front of the house. Every spring, freesia twists and turns, green leaves are like silk, and the fragrance is intoxicating. Clusters of roses, tulips, violets, bellflower and lavender in the garden are charming in color. Every morning in an open space in the garden, flocks of starlings, Shi Juan and wild pigeons eagerly peck at their breakfast. The old man who feeds the birds is skinny and hunched deeply, talking to the birds and chatting. She is Mrs. Houston.

When I was studying in Australia, I would come to this clean garden every Saturday to do some housework. Good morning, madam! I say hello to her first. So the old man greeted me with a smile and opened the door for me. This building is divided into two floors. The old lady's son, Mr Houston, runs his holding company and real estate business upstairs. Mr. Wang is in his fifties and has never been married. After his father died, he lived with his mother.

I want to start downstairs, the living area. Dust, clean the table, and suck the carpet. Clean six rooms in turn.

I cleaned the study first and carefully wiped the portrait of his father, a commanding general and a hero of World War II. On the bookcase stood the jade photos of the old lady when she was young, beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes, and a pair of beautiful women. At this time, it really makes people sigh the ruthlessness of the years.

I was vacuuming that day. The old man is preparing lunch in the kitchen, making the cooker jingle. The living room smells of barbecue. The doors and windows in the hall are closed all the year round, the shutters are half open and half closed, and the light is dim. Mr. Wang said that sunlight will destroy the color of precious oil paintings and furniture. I like to fiddle with those exquisite things on antique shelves, such as jade carvings in China, porcelain in West Germany and Japan, wood carvings and bronzes in Thailand; Crystal wine sets and shiny French silverware are his wife's dowry. I wiped it carefully, and suddenly there was a pungent smell of anxiety. I ran to the kitchen, where there was already smoke. Madam lit the oven, forgot to turn on the timer and went to the study to read the newspaper. I was choked by tears, so I had to fumble to turn off the oven. Open the ventilator and the oven door. Four kilograms of beef was roasted into a pile of coke and the oven burned in the dark.

The old man was very sad when he heard the news. Muttered repeatedly: Mike, I am really old. Am I really old? I always comforted her: this kind of thing will happen to anyone. I put on gloves to remove the burnt meat. Spray the special detergent into the oven and sprinkle the washing powder on the baking tray for a while. After a quarter of an hour, everything was as bright as new. The old man was as happy as a child: Thank you so much, Mike! Then she mysteriously said to me: Don't let my son know! He is looking for an excuse to hire a nanny to take care of me. This bastard thinks I'm old! Well, she's a nanny now! Maybe I have to take care of her. Hiring a full-time nanny means my unemployment. What should I tell my husband? Isn't that shooting yourself in the foot?

My wife studied medicine and went to Europe with the field medical team during World War II. Before he retired, he was the director of Prince Henry Hospital. The old man worked hard all his life. Why is it so difficult? With such a large family business, Niangs earn hundreds of thousands of Australian dollars a year. Hiring a nanny is not nine Niu Yi hairs! But no matter how Mr. Wang persuaded her, she refused and insisted that she could do it. That's great. The 82-year-old man cooks three meals a day, washes clothes and irons clothes, and drives old Austin to the supermarket on Friday. Mr. Wang is also an eccentric, leaving Mercedes-Benz and Rolls-Royce to drive a Japanese Crown instead of buying it. Usually a bar of soap is reluctant to throw away. Working for me, every minute counts. I don't understand. Is it necessary to be so frugal without children and girls? Who will these tens of millions of assets be left to in the future?

At noon, my husband always goes downstairs to have lunch with the old man. Bring your own lunch and go upstairs to eat my "fast food", a box of chocolate milk and two steamed buns. At this time, there is always a dish on my dining table. Under the bright plastic wrap, there are some cheese slices or bacon, a small piece of melon, two bananas or a bunch of grapes. The old man always said that my diet was malnourished, which she specially prepared for me. There are not many things that make people feel warm. At this time, I have a sense of sadness. I don't know whether I am homesick or nostalgic.

After lunch, I go downstairs to wash dishes, and the old man always talks to me for a while. She is knowledgeable and speaks elegant English. She is a rare conversation partner. Of course, the most talked about is environmental protection and ecological balance. What she cares about most is charity in Australia. I often tell her to wash some dishes for an hour, but she seems to forget that I am hired to work and her son has to pay 10 Australian dollars per hour. I remember my husband reminded her that it was French, but the old man scolded her. They don't know that I know a little French.

There is no cold wind in Melbourne in early autumn. The garden is still green. Forget-me-not, mimosa, water chestnut, daisy, millet and wisteria are still competing for beauty. Only the old elm tree with sloping branches and leaves is full of colorful leaves in the autumn wind. At this time, my first job is to collect elm leaves on the lawn and on the road and then throw them away. What's annoying is that you just finished cleaning and then turned around and fell down. It's like I didn't even sweep it. On this day, I was impatient when sweeping the floor, so I simply raised my rake and knocked on the branches a few times, hoping that the leaves of the old elm tree would fall out at once, so that it could be done once and for all. What are you doing, Michael? What are you doing, Mike! Suddenly there was a loud noise from the building. I was so startled that I didn't know what I had done wrong. The old man stood at the window with a scowl on his face. I have never seen her lose such a big temper. I'm sorry, madam. I just want to clean the yard thoroughly. I will explain quickly. Can only sweep the leaves that fall to the ground! Her tone is still stern. I feel aggrieved. A series of rebuttals rushed to the mouth and swallowed back. She is really old, so old that kindness and malice cannot be separated. I was unhappy all day that day.

When she said goodbye to the old man at night, she said, I'm sorry, Mike, I shouldn't have yelled at you. But you can understand me. Why do you treat the old elm tree like this? Because it lost its former green? No, no, you misunderstood. I was busy explaining. She didn't seem to hear. Go on. But it has its own dignity! Have you ever suffered from insomnia? I can't sleep at night, listening to the autumn wind sweeping the leaves, so sad, isn't it? The old man's wrinkled mouth trembled and his eyes were moist. Hi, I didn't expect this mulberry twilight scene to be so "in the same boat" with the old man's mood. My nose ached and I quickly said, I'm sorry, madam! I should have thought of that. She told me not to sweep the leaves on the lawn in the future. They can keep moisture in the soil, supplement nutrients for the soil and provide shade for autumn grass.

After late autumn, the thin old elm leaves withered. The room became cold, too. After drinking morning tea, the old man put a blanket on his leg, sat in front of the fireplace and read newspapers or books, coughing violently intermittently, as if to spit out all his internal organs. The sound is worrying. The cough stopped abnormally when cleaning the kitchen. I hurried into the study. The old man fell asleep, like a child, drooling on his skirt. The newspapers in my hand are scattered on the carpet, and two near the fireplace have been burnt and will ignite in an instant. I grabbed the newspaper and threw it into the stove. This is too dangerous! She must be taken care of. I would rather lose my job than hide it for her. I told my husband about it in secret. In order to respect the wishes of the elderly, Mr. Wang didn't hire a nanny. He gave up his job and took photos himself.

Taking care of the old lady has also increased my workload, twice a week. The old man didn't even have the strength to feed the birds, so Mr. Wang took over the job. But when he is busy, he always forgets, which leads to crowds of wild birds perching on the old elm tree in front of the door, chattering and clamoring for food, which makes people upset. Boom, boom, boom. The sidewalk in front of the building is covered with bird droppings.

Winter is coming slowly. The cold wind swept across the earth, and many flowers and plants gradually lost their former greenery. Douglas, Mr. Houston's assistant, suddenly called that day and said that the old lady had passed away. Tell me not to work here today. I didn't go to work until Friday. As soon as I approached the small building, I felt a little abnormal, and the bird song disappeared. Take a look, can't help but be surprised. The front of the building is empty. The old tree in front of the door is missing. A low stump exposed dazzling white stubble, and the sawdust scattered in the soil was crimson. There are dead branches and leaves everywhere The rustling autumn wind swept away, making them hide in Tibet and have nowhere to live. The sound of rushing, like crying, lingered in front of the building for a long time. ...

I stood by the stump, sighed deeply and closed my eyes. The old lady's voice and smile were still fresh in my mind.

(This article 1997 65438+ 10 65438+was published in Haiyan Literature Monthly in May, and its English version was published in Journal of the Graduate School of Monash University in Australia in 2000 10. The author revised it on 20 15- 1-27, revisiting the past and communicating with literary friends, saying it was homesickness for picking flowers at night. All rights reserved, please do not reprint)