Pink Memories (short story) 2018.7.26

On the third day of the Lunar New Year, it was a little cloudy, but it didn't rain. I stood in front of the house for a while, looking at the sky. The weather after the year is always like this, a little overcast and cold, but not heavy. Last night's fresh rain, the grass next to the house has sprouted a goose-yellow bright green. Looking at the pond in front of the door, the branches of the willow trees are covered with clusters of green shoots of spring. Although there was still a disastrous patch of dead leaves and artemisia grass on the opposite hillside, and the frost-white mist lazily permeated the forest, there was already a bit of spring in the wind.

I said to Liangbao, who was sitting in the hall and smoking, "Cousin, it's the New Year, and I want to send some paper money to my aunt." "I haven't been back for three years, and this time I came back to give my aunt a grave. My parents are military soldiers and have been working in Tibet for many years, so I grew up with my aunt. It wasn't until the second year of junior high school that my parents came out of Tibet and settled in Xi'an. Since then, I have left this mountain village in northern Hunan and returned to my parents. But my aunt's nurturing grace keeps me in my heart all the time. It's just that my aunt's life is really pitiful, and when I was in my thirties, my uncle had an accident and died outside. My aunt did not remarry, but lived with her son Liangbao, who was only seven or eight years old at the time, but I had a serious illness in the spring of the previous year. At that time, my parents came back, but I couldn't come back because I had to take the high school entrance examination.

Liangbao got up from the stool, handed me a plastic bag, and said, "The paper money and incense are ready for you." When I looked at the bag, I knew that it was for my parents to go to the grave, and I said, "Isn't that what you want to use?" ”

I left the house with a plastic bag and walked down the path by the pond towards the slope. The path is winding and winding, and I don't know how many footprints I have left. Liangbao and I go to school every day and walk this road, back and forth, how many past events are left on the road. I remember those past events vividly, and when I think about it, it feels like it just happened yesterday. These rural past stories are intimate and real, and each one of them is fresh and bright in my heart, often touching my heart, making me deeply nostalgic and infinitely yearning. In contrast, in the past three years in Xi'an, life has been foggy, as if nothing else has happened except studying.

Down the slope, there is a wood, and there is a cemetery on the edge of the forest. I know that my aunt's grave is here, because I used to come with my aunt to visit my uncle's grave every Qingming Festival. The graves of my aunt and husband are on the side of the road by the forest. Just after the cold winter, the forest is still full of dead branches and leaves, and the wind blows in bursts, blowing the dead leaves on the trees to make a rattle. The graveyard at the edge of the forest was overgrown with half-man-tall grass, almost covering the grave. Under the gloomy sky, there was a dead silence. I think it's been a long time since anyone has come to see my aunt, and she must have felt lonely.

I took out a machete from the plastic bag and cut down the miscellaneous trees and grass on the grave, and renovated the grave of my uncle and aunt. Then, a small plate was placed in front of the graves of his uncle and aunt, and he placed an offering and lit incense. The smoke of incense swirled in front of the grave, and my mind fell into a dream. It was as if I had seen my aunt's kind and sad face again. My aunt spoiled me very much, far more than her own son, Liangbao. My aunt often beat and scolded Liangbao, but she never scolded me. My aunt's family was very poor and lacked food, so she had to eat sweet potatoes for a long time of the year. Every morning and evening, when I eat, my aunt would cook a pot of sweet potatoes and serve a large bowl for each person, which was a meal at home, and there was not even a small dish. As soon as you eat too many sweet potatoes, your stomach will be sour, and you will vomit sour water. I really don't know how these days came by. Therefore, every time I think about this situation, I feel that my stomach is full of acid and bitter water. However, my aunt would steam a small bowl of rice for me every meal, boil an egg, chop the chili pepper and egg, smash the garlic, put it in a small bowl, pour some sesame oil, and serve it to me. When his son Liangbao saw it, he cried and made a fuss about eating rice and eggs. However, his aunt beat him with a bamboo stick and told him that I was from the city and a guest of the family, and that I had to be particular about treating guests. Over time, Liangbao stopped crying. Since then, I have secretly determined in my heart that when I grow up, I will earn a lot of money, so that my hard-working aunt and Liangbao can live a good life. However, before this day could be reached, my aunt left early.

Tears flowed from my eyes like springs, and I knelt down in front of the grave, and lit the paper money and burning paper with matches, and burned them one by one. After the paper money and burning paper burned, a bright light flashed, and then it shrank into pieces of black ashes, which were blown by the mountain wind and scattered in all directions. I knelt in front of my aunt's grave for a long time, remembering my aunt's kindness and love, and tears flowed uncontrollably.

After burning the paper money, I lit a hanging of firecrackers, which exploded on the side of the grave. After that, I wiped my tears and when I looked up, I felt that the sky was suddenly much brighter, as if the sun was about to emerge from the clouds. I left the cemetery and walked towards the path at the edge of the forest. At this moment, a clear and bright song came from the forest on the other side of the hill like a nightingale piercing the night sky of dawn:

"The sun comes out and shines on the mountains, and the golden light fills the mountains, and the heart is open and bright. The little girl gets up early, picks green tea, the song is good, and it moves my heart. When the sun comes out, the mountains are green, and the golden light is full of mountains, and the heart is open and bright. I love him, he loves me, heaven and earth for a hundred years, not separated. ”

This song is "Tea Picking Song", which is a favorite tune sung by the locals, just like Xintianyou, which people in northern Shaanxi love to sing. However, the tunes in Xintianyou are mostly sad tunes, and the tea-picking song is a cheerful tune, just like the freedom and cheerfulness of a peasant girl when she picks tea in spring. I've heard this song a lot, but I've never been able to sing it so well.

I couldn't help but stand on the side of the road and listen. This song is so pure and bright, beautiful and pleasant, as soon as you hear it, you know that it is a song sung by a young girl. In particular, her voice is so high that it seems to be able to penetrate the vast and boundless sky and evoke the long-lasting thoughts in people's hearts. This surprised me, because people without professional training can't sing such a high pitch or sing so euphemistically.

With a red light flashing from the path at the edge of the forest. A country girl wore a bright red blouse and blue trousers, carried a bamboo basket, and flung two braids, and walked lightly from the side of the forest path. This girl is about fifteen or sixteen years old, with a beautiful figure, a delicate appearance, and that fluttering posture, just like a mythical fairy entering the world.

I had never seen such a beautiful girl, and my eyes were stunned, so I looked at her with my eyes wide open. When the girl saw me, she was stunned for a moment, and immediately stopped singing, blushing, and walked towards me with her head down. When she walked up to me, as if deliberately slowing her pace, she raised her head, smiled generously at me, and hurried down the path in front of me.

Her smile was so beautiful and touching that I was so shocked that I stood on the side of the road and watched her back slowly disappear down the hillside, but my heart was still beating like a drum. I couldn't help but wonder: Whose girl is this, so beautiful as a fairy? I have been in this country for seven or eight years, and I did not leave here until the first semester, and I know almost all these beautiful girls from ten miles and eight towns, but I have never seen this girl.