Half a month ago, my old father, whose brother was far away in Qinba Mountain, was dying of a cerebral hemorrhage. After receiving the news that the old man was hospitalized, my brother and brother-in-law rushed to Ankang overnight. The unconscious old man touched the hearts of our family, old and young, and the elderly parents were even more anxious and took the trouble to visit their in-laws thousands of miles away. The old man struggled with death in the intensive care unit for a week, and died three days later.
Although we haven't seen the old people many times in recent years, and we know that the old people are ill-fated this time, we still can't accept the bad news. I packed my bags in a hurry and drove all the way south to Qinba Mountain, the familiar and unfamiliar Ma Jin Ryu. The Qinling Mountains in July are green everywhere, but all this is lifeless because of the old man's departure. Looking at the fleeting scenery outside the window, a trace of sadness welled up in my heart. People are really not as good as the grass and trees in this world.
in the early summer of more than 2 years ago, my uncle sent a message to introduce a date to Third Sister, and said that the young man was handsome and nice, and he would like to be adopted by his wife. My mother was once sad that my elder sister and I didn't want to stay at home. After we got married, my mother was even more unhappy. All this was seen by the third sister who was still in junior high school. She took her mother's hand and said, Mom, don't be sad, isn't there me? Third sister, who seems weak at ordinary times, said that and made that decision. Even now, she is still ashamed.
a thousand miles of marriage is a thread. In this way, my brother's son-in-law came to my house and became a member of the family. That winter, at the wedding of my brother and my third sister, I met my brother's father, a simple and honest Qinba man. I learned in the gossip that my brother's mother died of illness when he was seven years old, and my two-year-old brother was still crawling in his mother's arms when he died ... That year, the mother was only thirty-three years old. Brother said that his mother's illness was actually not a serious illness, but at that time, in the remote mountains with inconvenient transportation and backward medical care, her mother left like that.
nothing is more painful than where will you go. What a miserable scene it is, it makes people feel heartache when they think about it.
I don't know how my young father got through those days. All I know is that the Qinba man, who loves his son as much as his life, made a decision not to get married again, and he was alone, being both a father and a mother. During the day, I went up the mountain to carry stones, climbed mountains and dug herbs, and at night, under the dim light, I cooked and washed clothes and sewed them. In order to fill their stomachs, all the slopes on the hillside are planted with food and vegetables. In the mountainous area where people depend on the weather to eat, a heavy rain will destroy their hopes. Qinba man, who does not admit defeat, propped up a sky for two children with his thin shoulders in the mountains where his ancestors lived for generations. Without food, he went up the mountain to dig wild vegetables and pick wild fruits. He believed that the mountains would not make them hungry. Life is bound to be a chicken flying a dog jumping, and it is bound to be bitter and bitter. When you are worried, around the earthen stove, listening to the crack of branches, cooking a pot of selenium-enriched tea, and diluting your sadness in the sound of glug; When I was depressed, I walked slowly to the grave next to my home with a cup of corn wine in my hand, stroking the tombstone eroded by wind and rain over and over again, and my endless thoughts turned into a line of clear tears, and I drank the suffering together with corn wine.
As the bitter days went by, the two children grew up day by day. I had hoped that when my son grew up, I would marry and have children in this mountain where my ancestors lived, so that I could support myself. What old man doesn't want his children and grandchildren around their knees? What old man doesn't want his children to be with him? Seeing his son determined to get out of Qinba Mountain and settle thousands of miles away, the old father wandered again and again on the mountain road leading to the mountain. All over the world, which father doesn't want his children to be happy? Birds yearn for the blue sky, and they will eventually fly far away. At the wedding, the skinny middle-aged man personally gave my eldest son, who had been raised with great pains, to my parents and to my third sister. It is conceivable that the father, who lives alone with his son, needs courage to make such a choice. When leaving, the old man's eyes are full of disappointment, which is unforgettable so far.
since my brother came into this house, he regards my parents as his own, and he gets up early every day and is greedy for the dark and diligent. Everything is prosperous at home. With the efforts of the whole family, life is icing on the cake. My younger brother treats others sincerely, lives in harmony with his neighbors, and has cultivated two excellent children with my third sister. Over the years, every time I cooked food, my brother would inform my elder sister and me. We ate and drank in married with children, and my brother never complained. Parents are the best teachers for children. From my brother, we see the shadow of my father in the distance, hardworking, kind and unpretentious.
In recent years, the old people have not come to my house many times. Every time I come, bacon and various local products in the mountains are filled with carry-on bags. Although far apart, the old man is concerned about the place where his son lives. Come from afar, stay for a few days, and hurry back. Parents always try their best to keep them, but they are always politely declined by the old man with various excuses. Every Chinese New Year, my brother will go back to his hometown. Every time I think of it, there will always be a scene in my mind-an old father with a vicissitudes of life, standing under the walnut tree at the door of his house, looking down the mountain again and again, the mountain road is curved, and every figure that appears will surprise the old man.
all the way south, all my thoughts were filled with the old man who was not good at talking.
before dark, we finally arrived at my brother's hometown. Far away, we saw our father, white-haired and hunched, standing on the side of the mountain road, and his eyes were sour again ... < P > The funeral in the mountain was grand and solemn. On the roadside, firecrackers were set off everywhere, and piles of abandoned gun barrels told the prestige of the old man before his death. Entering the door, burning incense and kowtowing, tears blurred my eyes again. The kind old man has slept in the coffin, and a red coffin covers the outside world. Outside the door, the suona sound, gongs and drums folk songs, the old man can no longer hear. The cemetery is in the opposite field, less than 5 meters away from home. On that slope, there are cucumbers, peppers and green beans planted by the old people before their death ... Now, all kinds of vegetables and fruits planted by the old people have grown up, but the old people will never see them again.
after dinner, under the guidance of my brother, we saw my brother's mother's grave, which was only a foot's lift from home. Staring at the tombstone, I seem to see the dying mother. At the last moment of my life, I still don't forget my young son. I try my best to stuff my shriveled nipples into my mouth full of snot and tears ... Staring at the grave covered with weeds, I see the figure of an old man. Before going out, I say hello to my wife who is sleeping, and then I say peace when I go home. For decades, waiting in the wind and rain, accompanied by the wind and rain.
it's late at night, and the ritual in front of the mourning hall is still going on, with the sound of firecrackers. At the foot of the mountain, the whistling sound of the train seems to be mourning for the loss of a diligent man in Dashan. Sitting on the side of the mountain, watching the fireflies among the trees, sighing that everything in this world is great and magical, living for life, but also for life. Among these mountains, countless children of Qinba, like the old people, cling to and change the mountains with hard-working hands. They did not escape because of the disaster, nor did they give up because of the lack of grain.
in the evening, we were arranged at my brother's cousin's house. The enthusiastic cousin made the bed for us and said apologetically that they had just got home from Xi 'an. The folk customs in the mountains are simple, and whenever the relatives and neighbors have something to do, they will fly home like migratory birds with a phone call. Until midnight, there were still relatives and friends coming back from other places. Looking at their travel-stained figures, I was moved by this simplicity. In today's materialistic life, this seemingly insignificant move is so precious.
The pace of the times can't keep young people in the mountains. In order to make a living, they have to bid farewell to their relatives and stay away from their hometown. In this continuous Qinba Mountain, only old people are left to look after their young grandchildren. Nowadays, generations of people fly out of Qinba Mountain with their dreams and work hard in the city to settle down. The old people are getting old, and the locked door on the roadside has been more than a year. The barren land will never wake up in the sound of birds. But no matter where the wanderers are, the misty mountain is always the place where they look back.
It's less than 5 meters from home to the cemetery, and the old man has walked countless times in his life, but in the early morning of July, on the misty mountain road, it took a full fifteen minutes for just a few tens of meters. In the sound of gongs and drums, firecrackers, and the tears of relatives and friends, we accompanied the old man to the last journey.
In the early morning of Qinba Mountain, the mountain springs are tinkling and birds are chirping. Since then, Qin Bashan has lost a waiting man and gained a tomb. On the slope surrounded by mountains, facing the direction of home, he is guarding his lover who died young, his homeland and the mountains.