In my memory, my mother's pigs never weighed more than a hundred pounds. In the 1960s and 1970s, people did not have enough to eat, pig food is grain chaff mixed with some of the field picked grey cabbage, car牵牵牵, deflated beads and other wild vegetables, clear soup and fresh water meals, which can grow a fat head and ears. Therefore, my mother's pigs were slaughtered before they looked big. Whenever the day of the pig, the mother is always a mixture of sadness and joy, all flavors. Usually the pig as long as you hear the mother "nagging" call, will be eager to come out of the pig pen, eyes staring at the mother, looking forward to three meals a day. The mother always watched the pig eating, the pig also lifted his head from time to time, like a child full of gratitude.
At this moment, the master of the killers of the pig a hand to hold down the pig, the father of a few strong and strong to come forward to help. The pig then howled loudly, it seems to know their life expectancy has come to an end, crying for the mother to go to the rescue. My mother always hid far away, not daring to see the scene in front of her. Later, when I killed the pig, the mother simply went out to avoid, eye not see, not hear also less heartbreaking tears.
After the pig was slaughtered, the mother was busy killing pig dishes, a large pot of pork stewed vermicelli, a large ceramic pot of yellow rice cake, meat cake sticky flavor permeates the entire government family home, left and right neighbors are drooling. A row of five families, each family to send a bowl of pork stew and six or seven fried cakes. In those days, there was no courtyard wall, and it was common to walk into the next door with a bowl of rice. Whenever you come home from school, the neighbors send cakes do not know how to swallow.
If the Lunar New Year's pork braised with sauerkraut, pork stewed with tofu, and minced vermicelli soup are the best meals of the year, then the New Year's Eve cooking pig's head is the most joyful time. From time to time, the pot "thud" sound, full of meat aroma. My mother would uncover the pot from time to time and turn the pig's head over, and the pig's face would look like a blossoming flower, welcoming New Year's Eve with joy. We played with lanterns and firecrackers outside and went home from time to time to see how the pig was doing. In those days, when supplies were scarce, eating pig's head was the best meal. On the first day of the year, my mother's bean sprouts mixed with vermicelli, put a few slices of pig head meat, light mixed with meat flavor, still have a deep memory.
Our parents raised five of our siblings, and if you add the boys above me and below my sister, our mother gave birth to seven children. Fortunately, the two did not pass the age of death, for which my mother cried her eyes out. Thanks to them, my family would have been even poorer if they hadn't caused any more trouble. In those days, there was no family planning, and the number of children was increased every two years. The father's salary, always ate the next meal, the stomach can still survive, but the spiritual blow more people can not stand.
My father was a member of Fu Zuoyi's army, and because of his history, he was humiliated during the Cultural Revolution. At that time, the flag party and government leaders Ba (Bayin Dalai) Zhao (Zhao Shanbi) Wu (Uli Kei) with a sign "parade", my father, these historical problems followed by the back "with the kidnapping". The leadership of the charge is to implement Liu Shaoqi, Ulanhu black line of the vanguard, my father is Ba Zhao Wu's "black minions".
A moon and stars, the night of the silence, our family went to bed early, only to hear "knock knock" knocking on the door. The mother asked who was there. Outside the door came a fierce voice, unit rebels! Open the door quickly. In fact, the dilapidated wooden door can be opened with a foot, the people are also the first courtesy. They rummage through the closet and toss with great effort, except for the old clothes have nothing. These people are still not dead, saying that there is something fishy under the water tank, like the movie "Tunnel War" in the ghosts like digging three feet. At that time, our government family house was still land, the water tank collapsed underneath seems to have marks, they think there is hidden gold. However, they did not find nothing, hand-holding the ancestral children wearing the neck of the "silver horse" to "steal". Confiscation of property in black and white there is always a receipt it, but this group of robbers did not leave a word. The end of the "Cultural Revolution", I went to the flag public security bureau political commissar Zhu Zhixiong asked about this matter, no news.
In any case, my father experienced the "red dictatorship" "digging inside the party" finally came out alive. Zhu Zhixiong's father, Zamu Lai, could not withstand the severe torture of the "insider party" movement, and on the way to the red five-star auditorium to be criticized, took advantage of the guards were not on guard, and fell headlong into the well in front of the auditorium. He did not wait for the day when the clouds parted.
In the most difficult days, the mother did not forget her pig as much as she did her children. Whenever you have eaten, washed dishes, the pot of slop and wild vegetables, grain chaff cooked, with cheerful steps to the pig house side, "nag nag nag ......" affectionately shouted her pig, whenever you hear the pig "bla bla bla bla Pigs also have a headache and fever, uncomfortable appetite time. Once the pig refuses to eat, the mother's face will be sunny and cloudy, either to hire a veterinarian or to buy stomach medicine, I'm afraid that her pig just like the two sons who did not grow up like the departure.
In 1969, my mother was pregnant again, and she said she would give it to my uncle. The three children they brought up were all adopted. Uncle is the secretary of a commune in the back of the flag, relatively no lack of oat noodles yam eggs, to others as a son is also a good choice. When the mother gave birth to the third brother, I looked at the baby's fluffy little head, black beans like small eyes, begged the mother not to give away, so left the third brother.
In 1969, the Cultural Revolution was in full swing, with middle and high school students traveling all over the country, and elementary school students not attending school, so I took on the responsibility of looking after my little brother. Every evening, I went to buy milk from the cattle farm near the west entrance of Guancun, holding a canned bottle, 25 cents a bottle, and had to rush home before dark. Only because the second elementary school in front of the crop field with graves, darkness and light dare not go.
My father was often imprisoned on trumped-up charges, and my mother attended neighborhood committee classes every afternoon. I was able to warm up the milk for my little brother on time and put him to sleep before I could go out to play for a while. The first thing I did was to get the money to pay for a new car, and then I had to pay for a new car, and then I had to pay for a new car. I scolded him loudly, but he couldn't speak, looked at me in horror for a moment, and cried again, which annoyed the hell out of me! In the evening, my mother came back and put the dried-up nipple into my little brother's mouth, and he was quiet. How could that bottle of milk satisfy a growing appetite; he was crying from hunger? From now on, I would slice potatoes, bake them on the stove plate, put them in my own mouth to chew, and feed them mouth-to-mouth. If the food got stuck in the esophagus, then feed a few spoons of cool white water, and so my little brother grew up day after day.
My father was imprisoned, my mother was uneducated, and I had to undertake the task of buying food and vegetables. Whenever I was in the middle of the month, I would go to the Finance Bureau of the Chayuqian Banner and sign my name next to my father's name on the payroll, and then go to the food store and use my bicycle to bring back the rice and noodles and other food. At that time, a mooncake cost 16 cents, so I drooled at the sight of it, but I didn't even eat one secretly. If you grew up in a family like ours, it would have been difficult for you to swallow a single one.
This point is also shown in my father's body, he was fifty-three years old when he broke his arm riding a bicycle, I looked for the Secretary of Commerce approved ten pounds of eggs, so that he boiled a few every day to eat. My father would not be willing to enjoy himself, with the whole family a piece of oat noodle chowder, up to a bowl of egg soup soup.
Father ate his mother's last meal after killing pig food, never came back. At that time, he had already retired from the flag of the leadership of the Bureau of Light Industry, could have been at home in old age. But he could not stay idle all his life to help the flag cement factory to carry out technological reforms, did not leave a direct word and left us forever. If we say that the two less than a week old boy's life to heaven to ease the burden of the family, the father's death is equal to the "golden doll" lost. My father worked before the founding of the PRC, and in addition to his retirement benefits, he was also given subsidies such as "digging for firewood". So I compare my father to a "golden doll" is not an exaggeration.
Since then, the days of our family is even more stretched, I miss my father can not sleep at night. I woke up in a dream and looked out the window at the moonlight and thought, Dad, why did you go in such a hurry? You also know that my son is not a man of the world, how can my weak shoulders bear such a heavy burden? I simply cried to the heavens, my "urine" especially much, people are not grass and trees can be merciless.
It was another cold day, and a few days ago, I went to the countryside with a few friends to eat pig food. The mother of the pig and our family sitting around the kang table next to the lens is vivid in my mind. In fact, eating and drinking should also be atmosphere, if a person holding a pig's head, can never eat the sweet flavor.
Some of the photos in this article were provided by Li Fang, a photographer from the Ulaanchabu Photography Association, for which I am very grateful.
Jining old story public with smooth text, profound connotation of the narrative of the past and present of Ulanqab, part of the travelogue, novels, stories, but also with knowledge and interesting to enrich the cultural life of readers. You are welcome to forward the articles on this platform, as long as you don't change the byline it is not an infringement.
Author: Li Lin Ai, pen name: Lin Ai. Born on February 23, 1955 (Lunar Calendar), engaged in the youth, car drivers, police and other occupations, published "Bittersweet Years", "Jining old story" on the lower part of the long novels. He is now a member of the Inner Mongolia Writers' Association.