"Winter Sun. Childhood. The Camel Corps"

Published in the Humanistic Version of the Primary School, Fifth Grade, Lower Book, Language, Lesson 6

The camel corps came and stopped in front of my house.

They were arranged in a long line and stood in silence, waiting for people to arrange them. The weather was dry and cold. The camel-drawn man took off his felt hat, and there was heat rising from the bald scoop, a white smoke that blended into the dry, cold atmosphere.

Dad bargained with him. On the backs of the humps of the Twin Humps, each one carried two sacks of coal. I wondered if the sacks were "Nanshan high end"? Or was it "Wujin Moyu"? I often saw these words written in big black letters on the white wall of the coal store on Shuncheng Street. But the camel puller said, they came from Mentougou, they and the camel, is step by step.

Another camel puller was greeting the camels as they ate the grass. They bent their front feet and puckered their asses, and knelt down.

Papa had bargained with them. The men were unloading the coal and the camels were grazing.

I stood in front of the camels and watched the way they ate and chewed the grass: such an ugly face, such long teeth, such a quiet attitude. As they chewed, their upper and lower teeth were interlocked and ground around, hot air was coming out of their big nostrils, and white foam was smeared all over their whiskers. I watched in awe as my own teeth moved.

My teacher taught me to learn from the camel, a calm animal. See it is never in a hurry, slowly walking, slowly chewing, will always go to, will always eat enough. Maybe it is born to be slow, occasionally to avoid the car to run two steps, posture is very difficult to see.

When the camel team over, you will know that the leader of the horse, long neck under a bell is always tied, walk up "bell, bell, bell" ringing.

"Why do you need a bell?" I would ask anything I didn't understand.

Dad told me that camels are afraid of wolves, because wolves will bite them, so human beings put them on the bell, wolves hear the sound of the bell, know that there are human beings in the protection, and do not dare to invade.

My childish mind, however, was full of ideas different from those of adults, and I said to my father:

"No, Dad! Their soft paws walk on the soft desert without the slightest sound, and didn't you say that they walk up for three days and three nights without taking a sip of water, but just chewing the food that pours out of their stomachs without a sound? It must be that the people who pull the camels can't stand that long and lonely journey, so they put bells on the camels to add some interest to the journey."

Papa thought for a moment, smiled, and said:

"Perhaps, your idea is more beautiful."

Winter is almost over, spring is coming, the sun is especially warm, so warm that people want to take off their cotton coats. But isn't it? The camel is also taking off its old camel's robe! Its fur fell off in big chunks and hung down under its belly. I wanted to get a pair of scissors and cut it for them, because it was so untidy. The camel puller is the same, they wear the big sheepskin, also took off, on the peak of the camel's back. The sacks are empty, and the "Ujimuyu" are sold, and the bells ring more crisply in the relaxed pace.

Summer came, and there was no sign of the camels again, and I asked my mom again:

"Where do they go in the summer?"

"Who?"

"The camels!"

Mom couldn't answer, she said:

"Always asking, always asking, you child!"

The summer passed, the fall passed, the winter came again, the camel caravan came again, but the childhood was gone. I will not do the silly thing of learning to chew on a camel under the winter sun anymore.

But how I miss the scenery and characters of my childhood living in the south of Beijing! I said to myself, write them down, so that the actual childhood past, the mind's childhood forever.

In this way, I wrote a book "Old Stories in the South of the City".

I thought silently and wrote slowly. I saw the camel caravan approaching under the winter sun, heard the slow and pleasant bell, and my childhood came back to my heart.

The Old Story of the City South

In the early 1920s, a six-year-old girl, Lin Yingzi, lived in a small hutong in the south of Beijing. The madwoman Xiuzhen, who often stood at the entrance of the hutong looking for her daughter, was the first friend Yingzi made. Xiuzhen was secretly in love with a college student, who was arrested by the police, and her daughter, Xiaoguizi, was thrown to the root of the city by her family, where her life and death were unknown. Yingzi sympathizes with her. When Yingzi learns that her young friend Niu'er's life resembles that of Xiao Guizi, and discovers a bruise on the back of her neck, she rushes to take her to Xiuzhen. Xiuzhen recognizes her daughter, who has been separated for six years, and immediately takes Niu'er to look for her father, but the two of them die under the wheels of a train. Afterward, Yingzi's family moved to New Curtain Hutong. Yingzi met a thick-lipped young man in a nearby deserted garden. He had to steal in order to provide for his brother's schooling. Eiko thought he was kind, but couldn't tell if he was good or bad. Soon after, the rangers arrested the young man and Eiko was very sad. When Yingzi was nine years old, Feng Daming, the husband of her nanny, Song Ma, came to the Lin family. When Yingzi learns that Mama Song's son drowned in the river two years ago and that her daughter was sold by her husband to someone else, she is very sad and wonders why Mama Song left her own children behind to serve someone else. Later, Yingzi's father died of a lung disease. Song Ma was taken away by her husband on a donkey. Yingzi and her family boarded a carriage and said goodbye to her childhood with all her doubts.

The structure of the movie is quite original. The writer-director ruled out the usual narrative structure of the movie consisting of the beginning, development, climax and ending, and took the tone of "light sadness, strong lovesickness" as the key, and adopted a bead-like structure to link up the three stories with no cause and effect relationship, forming a kind of psychological emotions as the main content, and picture and sound modeling as the expression of the "prose film". This creates a kind of "prose movie" with psychological emotion as the main content and picture and sound modeling as the form of expression, which creates a tranquil, indifferent, and simple mood almost like Chinese ink painting. Old Things in the South of the City is a typical literati movie style.

Main works

He was a reporter for the Jiepao Daily, and returned to his hometown of Taiwan in 1948. She has served as editor-in-chief of United Daily News, editor-in-chief of Pure Literature magazine, and is now publisher of Pure Literature Publishing House. She is also a famous and prolific female writer, with novels such as Old Stories in the South of the City, Xiaoyun, Spring Breeze and Rising Sun, and Lantern Wick, and essays such as Guests in the United States, Two Places, and Night Reading at the Window of Art. In addition, there are a variety of children's literature collections, such as "Dad's flowers have fallen" and so on.

"Stolen Reading" was published in the language Shanghai version of the textbook, Book XI, Lesson XXVII. It was published in the Humanistic version of the language textbook, Book IX, Lesson 1 (abridged). 原文：

Turning the corner, I saw the punchy sign of San Yangchun, smelled the aroma of stir-fried vegetables, and heard the sound of pots and spoons banging, so I breathed a sigh of relief and slowed down my pace. After rushing here from school after class, my body was already sweat-slicked, and I finally reached my destination - which was not Sanyangchun, but a bookstore right next to it.

I took advantage of the stroll to give my brain a chance to ponder, "What did I read yesterday? Who is that girl going to marry? Where is that book? The third row in the left corner, not bad ...... "When I walked to the door of Sanyangchun, I could see that the bookstore was still packed with customers as usual, and I could feel relieved. But I was worried about whether the book would be sold out, because for several days in a row I saw people buy, yesterday it seems that there are only one or two left.

I stepped through the door of the bookstore, secretly pleased that no one was looking. I stood on my tiptoes and maneuvered my small body through the cracks between the other customers and the bookcases and under the armpits of the adults. Yikes, I messed up my short hair, but it didn't matter, I made it inside. My eyes were too eager to find the book in a lineup of flowery green covers, and I couldn't see where it was instead. From the top, counting again, ah! Here it is, and it turns out not to be in the same spot it was yesterday.

I was glad that it had not been sold, and was still lying on the shelf, waiting for me. How gladly and eagerly I reached out for it, but arriving at the same time as my hand was a pair of huge palms, 10 fingers widely apart, pressing down on the whole book, "Are you buying it or not?"

The voice wasn't exactly small and startled the other customers, all of whom turned back to face me. Like a thief caught in the act, I turned red with shame and embarrassment. I looked up, embarrassed, at him - the owner of that bookstore, who looked down on me with authority. He owned the store, and he had all the reason in the world to treat me with that voice. In a voice that almost cried out, I rebelled sadly: "Can't I even look?" In fact, my voice is how weak!

In full view of everyone, I was almost in a state of disarray as I stepped out of the door of the store, followed by the boss's sneer: "Not a time!" Not once? That tone was kind of forgiving of me, as if I were a habitual thief who could no longer be forgiven. But was I stealing something? I was just a poor student who couldn't afford to buy and longed to read that book!

After this humiliation, my mind was indeed traumatized, and my sense of inferiority caused by poverty flared up again, and a hatred of adults arose.

I stopped going to the bookstore, and many times I walked past the cultural street with my teeth clenched. But once, twice, I subconsciously walked towards that familiar street, and finally one day, the desire to know forced me to stop again, and I was still willing to try, because of an advertisement for a new book, which I had known about for many days from the newspaper.

I did my usual trick and hid myself again in a corner of the bookstore. As I turned the first page, I couldn't help but softly exclaim in my mind, "Ah! Finally meet you!" It was a bestseller, such a thick volume, and how weighty it was to hold in my hand and look at! After the previous lesson, I am more careful not to be greedy, more bookstores more appropriate, so as not to encounter the embarrassment of the previous time.

Every time I came out of the bookstore, I stumbled and walked out of control as if I were drunk, my mind distracted by the characters in the books. "Come early tomorrow and you can read them all." I told myself. When I thought that I might still have a corner of the bookstore tomorrow, my oblivious body, thrilled with pleasure, nearly crashed into a tree trunk.

But the next day, after walking through several bookstores without seeing the book, as if it had been snatched away from my hands, I was secretly anxious, and cursed to think: it is all because I have no money, I can not take possession of all the pleasures of reading, and there are so many people with money in the world, and they have bought up all the books.

I went into the last bookstore with my bag in my hand, in a mood of despair. Yesterday, when I read the book here, it was the last book left, but not, and when I saw that the place of the book on the shelf had been replaced by another book, my heart sank.

At that moment, a clerk with a pencil in his ear came by, looking like he was coming to greet me (how I fear to be entertained), I panicked and sent my eyes up to the bookshelf, pretending not to see. But a book touched my arm and was gently brought to me, "Please read it, I left it unsold for an extra day."

Ah, I took the book shyly did not know how to express my gratitude to him, but he walked away as if nothing had happened. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I could not focus my eyes on the book for a long time.

When the fluorescent lights in the bookstore suddenly came on, I realized that I had been standing here reading for two hours. I closed the last page - gulping as if all the wisdom had been swallowed. Then looked up to find the man with the pencil on his ear so I could hand him back the book. At the far counter, he gave me a gentle nod to indicate that he already knew I was done reading, and I silently put the book back on the shelf.

I walked out with my head down, my black wrinkled cloth skirt blown away by the wind like a broken umbrella that couldn't be stretched, but I was all relieved.

It's a good thing that I'm not a big fan of the idea, because I'm not a big fan of the idea, but I'm a big fan of the idea that I'm not a big fan of the idea.

But today I realized that this sentence is not enough, it should be said like this:

"Remember, you grow up eating, you grow up reading, and you grow up in love!"

"Papa's Flowers Falling" is published in the language humanistic version of the second book of the sixth grade selection of the seven newly built auditorium was filled with people; our graduates sat in the first eight rows, and I was again sitting in the middle seat of the very first row. I had a pink oleander on my lapel, which my mother had picked from the yard to pin on me when I was coming. She said:

"Your dad planted the oleander, wear it like when dad saw you on stage!"

Papa is ill, he is in hospital and can't come.

Yesterday I went to see Dad, his throat was swollen and his voice was muffled. I told Dad that during the line graduation ceremony, I received the diploma on behalf of all the students and gave a speech of thanks. I asked Dad if he could get up and attend my graduation. Six years ago, when he attended our school's graduation party, he told me to work hard, and six years later, he would also receive the diploma and give a speech of thanks on behalf of my classmates. Today, six years later, I was really chosen to do this. My father, dumbfounded, took my hand and smiled, saying:

"How can I go?"

But I said:

"Dad, I'm scared if you don't go, you're at the bottom of the stage, and I won't freak out if I go on stage and talk."

Dad said:

"Yingzi, don't be afraid, no matter what the difficulty is, just tough it out and break through."

"Then can't Dad just harden his heart and get out of bed and go to our school too?" Dad looked at me, shook his head, and stopped talking. He turns his face toward the wall and raises his hand to look at the nails on it. Then he turned his face back to me and admonished me:

"Wake up early tomorrow, pack up and get to school, it's your last day of elementary school, you can't be late!"

"I know, Dad."

"Without Dad, you have to mind yourself even more, and mind your brother and sister, you're old enough, aren't you?"

"Yes." I agreed so, but felt that what my father had said made me uncomfortable, and how had I ever been late since that time six years ago?

When I was in first grade, I had the problem of staying in bed in the morning. Every morning when I woke up, see the sunlight shining on the glass window, my heart is a burst of sadness: already so late, and so up, wash your face, braid your hair, change your uniform, and then go to school, quasi-again, a classroom is punished to stand by the door. The eyes of your classmates will be thrown at you one by one. Although I was very lazy, I also knew that I was shy! So I ran to school every day with fear and worry. The worst part was that my dad didn't allow kids to take the bus to school, he didn't care if you were late or not. One day, when it was raining heavily, I woke up and knew it was late because my dad was already eating breakfast. I listened and looked at the rain, and I was so worried. Not only was I going to be late for school, but I was going to be dressed up by my mom in a fat jacket (it was in the summer!) ), and kicking and dragging my ill-fitting oiled shoes and holding up a large oiled paper umbrella, I walked to school! The thought of going to school was so uncomfortable that I had the courage to stay in bed and not get up. Wait a minute, mom came in. She was startled to see that I hadn't gotten up yet, and urged me on, but I frowned and whispered to Mom, pleading,

"Mom, it's late today, so I won't go to school, right?"

Mom just couldn't do Dad's idea, and as she turned to go out, Dad came in. He was thin and tall and stood in front of the bed, glaring at me:

"Why don't you get up, get up! Get up!"

"It's late! Dad!" I said stiffly.

"It's late, how can you skip school! Get up!"

A one-word order is the worst, but what happened to me! But what's wrong with me? I had the courage not to move.

Dad was so angry that he dragged me out of bed, and my tears came out. Dad looked left and right, the result from the table copied the duster, reversed to take, cane whip in the air a whirl, it issued a shoosh sound, I was beaten! Dad beat me from the head of the bed to the corner of the bed, from the bed to the bottom of the bed, the sound of the rain outside mixed with my cries. I cried and hollered and ducked and finally went to school in the pouring rain. I was a woeful puppy, carried by Song's mom on the foreign car for the first time to spend five large coins to ride to school.

I sat in the car with the awning down, whimpering and crying as I lifted up my pant legs to examine my scars. The bulging whip marks were red and glowing hot. I pulled the leg of my pants down to cover the bottom one of the bruises, my greatest fear being laughed at by my classmates.

Although I was late, the teacher didn't punish me for standing, which was excusable because of the rain. The teacher taught us to be silent before reading. Sit up straight, hands behind your back, close your eyes and think quietly for five minutes. The teacher said, "Think about it. Did you listen to your parents and teachers? Did you do your homework yesterday? Did you bring all your homework for today? Did you say goodbye politely to mom and dad in the morning? ...... When I heard this, my nose twitched and answered, but fortunately my eyes were closed and the tears did not flow out.

Being in the middle of the silence, my shoulder was tapped, hastily opened my eyes, it turned out to be the teacher stood by my seat. He told me with a wink, taught me to look out the classroom window, I turned my head sharply to see, it was the tall, thin shadow of my father!

I just quieted my heart and got scared again! Why did Dad chase me to school? Dad nodded and signaled to beckon me out. I looked at the teacher for permission, and the teacher smiled and nodded his head, indicating that he agreed to let me out. I walked out of the classroom and stood in front of Dad. Without saying anything, Dad opened the bag in his hand and took out my flowered jacket. He handed it to me, watched me put it on, and took out two more coins and gave them to me.

I don't remember what happened after that, because it was six years ago. I only remember that from then until today, every morning I was one of the students who waited for the janitor to open the big iron fence school gate. I stood in front of the gate on winter mornings, wearing the kind of gloves that showed my five fingers, and holding up a hot piece of baked white potato to eat. On summer mornings, I stood in front of the school gates, holding up a flower pin picked from the flower pond, and gave it to my dear teacher Han, who taught me how to dance.

Ah! This morning has gone by year after year, and today is my last day in this school! When the bell rings, the graduation ceremony is about to begin. The day outside, a little cloudy, I suddenly thought, Dad will suddenly get up from bed, give me a flower jacket? And I wondered, when will Dad get well? Why are mom's eyes red and swollen this morning? The pomegranates and oleanders in the big pots in the yard were not given on the hemp dregs this year by dad, who was so anxious for his uncle to be killed by the Japanese that he spat out blood. By May Day, the pomegranate blossoms weren't as red and big. If fall comes, will Dad still have to buy that many chrysanthemums to fill our yard, under the porch eaves, and on the trellis in the living room?

Dad loved flowers.

Every day when he came home from work, we waited for him at the door, and he pushed his straw hat behind his head and picked up his brother, passed the tap, picked up the filled squirt bottle, and walked to the backyard singing. The first thing he did when he came home was water the flowers. The sun was about to go down then, and there was a cool breeze blowing in the yard when Dad picked a jasmine and stuck it in his skinny chicken sister's hair. The uncle of the Chen family said to Dad, "Old Lin, you like flowers so much that your wife had a bunch of daughters!" I have four sisters and only two brothers. I am only twelve years old ...... Why do I always think of this? Director Han has come on stage, he said very seriously:

"All students have graduated, you are going to leave the six years of elementary school to go to secondary school to study, to be a secondary school student is not a small child, when you return to the elementary school to see the teacher, I must be happy to see you all grow taller, grow up ... ..."

So I sang five years of blackjack, and now it's the turn of the students to sing us a farewell: "outside the pavilion, the side of the ancient road, the grass is blue even the sky. I'd like to ask you how long you're going to be here, but when you come, don't linger! The end of the world, the corner of the earth, friends half scattered, life is rarely a reunion, but there are farewell more ......"

I cried, we graduates are crying. How we like to grow taller and become adults, and how we are afraid of it! When we come back to elementary school, no matter how tall and big we grow, teacher! You must always take me as a child ah!

To be an adult, often people want me to be an adult.

When Song's mom was on her way back to her hometown, she said:

"Yingzi, when you're older, you can't argue with your brother anymore! He's still young."

As Aunt Lan followed that four-eyed dog onto the carriage, she said:

"Yingzi, you're big enough not to make your mother angry!" The one squatting in the grass said:

"When you graduate from elementary school and grow up, we'll go see the sea."

Although, these people are no longer shadowed as I grow up. Was it lost along with my lost childhood?

Dad didn't treat me as a child anymore either, he said:

"Yingzi, go and send this money to Uncle Chen who is studying in Japan."

"Dad!"

"Don't be afraid, Yingzi, you have to learn to do many things so that you can help your mom in the future. You are the biggest."

So he counted the money and told me how to go to the Shojin Bank in Dongjiaominxiang Lane to send the money to the innermost counter to ask for a remittance slip, fill in the "gold seventy rounds of gold," write the address of Yokohama, Japan, and hand it over to the little Japanese at the counter! I was scared, but I had to go. This is what my father said, no matter what the difficulty, just go ahead and do it, and you'll get through it.

"Break through practice, break through practice, Yingzi." That's what my dad urged me to do when I was leaving.

I was in a nervous mood as I made my way to the bank with a roll of bills squeezed tightly in my hand. When I came out of the high steps of the bank, I looked at the dandelion beds in the streets of Dongjiaominxiang Alley, and I thought happily: I've come through, so I'll go home, tell my father, and ask him to plant dandelions in the flower beds tomorrow, too.

Go home!

They're not the only ones who can't get it right! Taking the white paper tube tied with the red ribbon of the recently issued elementary school diploma, I urged myself, as if I was afraid of not being able to catch up with something, why?

Into the home, quiet, four sisters and two brothers are sitting in the yard on a small bench, they are playing in the sand, next to the oleander somehow drooped down a number of branches, scattered very unlike, because Dad did not pack them this year pruning, bundling and fertilization. The pomegranate tree also has a few small pomegranates under the bottom of the large pot that did not grow, I was very angry and asked my sisters:

"Who took Dad's pomegranate off? I'm going to tell Daddy to go!"

My sisters' eyes widened in surprise, and they shook their heads and said, "They fell off by themselves."

I picked up the little green pomegranates. Old Gao, the cook who was missing a finger, came in from outside and said:

"Missy, don't say anything about telling your father, your mom just called from the hospital and told you to hurry up, and your father has ......" Why didn't he go on? I suddenly felt anxious and shouted, "What did you say? Old high."

"Missy, to the hospital, well persuade your mom, here counts you big! You're the oldest!"

The skinny chicken sister is still grabbing Yanyan's gadgets as her brother pours sand into a glass bottle. Yes, I'm the big one here, I'm the tiny adult. I said to Lao Gao:

"Lao Gao, I know what's going on, I'm going to the hospital." I have never been so calm, so quiet.

I put my elementary school diploma, into the desk drawer, and then came out, Lao Gao had already hired a car to the hospital for me.

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