What can come off of us,

We all let it turn to dust:

We have arranged us in this age

Like autumn trees, one by one

Put the leaves and some late flowers

All handed over to the autumn wind, so that the tree body can be stretched

Reaching into the harsh winter; We arrange us

In nature, like a degenerated cicada moth

Throw all the shells into the mud;

We assigned us to that one

The death of the future, like a song,

The singing voice falls off the body of the music,

In the end, the body of music remains

The green mountains that turned into a vein were silent.

- Feng Zhi[1]

Again, I was like a hide-and-seek child, not knowing what I was afraid of or what I wanted most: whether I would be in hiding or being found by someone else.

—George Perek

"You're back. It's been a long time since I've seen you. You've changed, but you're still the same as before. "As I passed by the old man on a wicker chair, she spoke.

"Grandma, are you talking to me?" There was no one else around, she could only speak to me.

I don't know her age. If it is a child, look at the tone of their speech, the way they walk, and the degree of hunchback, and you can probably tell whether they are elementary school students or middle school students. The old people are not good, the past time has carved their bodies into various postures without leaving an explanation to the onlookers, and the age of ninety may be spiritual, and the age of seventy may be dying. This grandmother is quiet, showing the serenity of an ancient tree.

"You're back."

I didn't want to walk away, but I didn't know what to say. The hot summer sun seemed to weaken a little in the alley, and for the old man it was warm. She looked at me and repeated the same sentence, as if I had indeed had some connection with her. I don't remember, there are too many facts that I can't remember. Maybe we've never met, and she thinks I'm someone else.

"Don't be afraid, kid." There was the sound of crutches tapping on the ground from the door behind her, and another old man came out of the black door, her movement was quite nimble, and she could see that it was still a long time before she had been lying in the wicker chair for a long time.

She motioned for me to walk over, with my back to the wicker chair. The sound was so small that only the two of us could hear it.

"Have you spoken to my mom before?"

It is a strange feeling that children can become so old, so old that they are not much different from their parents, and their faces are covered with the same wrinkles. We all want our parents to live a long and healthy life, so they don't grow old anymore one day, and we keep catching up with them and growing old together.

"I can't remember." It's as if I'm the old man.

'She probably saw you wearing a shirt. If you're not busy, talk to her. May I? Mom is almost 90 years old, and she has suffered a lot from snacks. There is no one left in the family, and I am seriously injured, and it is not easy to survive, and I have endless nightmares every night. Later, when I met my father, he stayed with her, and she gradually came out. After liberation, Dad participated in the workers' football team and played as a striker. Mom used to go to his games. My father died thirty years ago, and since then, my mother has become more and more unable to remember, and she always sits on the street with a wicker chair and takes medicine to see a doctor. She looked like she was waiting for someone. In order to make my mother feel better, we occasionally take her to watch the game. It seemed that only when she saw someone running and running did her eyes suddenly roll. She looks at everything, middle school students, college students, and careers. Can you go and have a few words with her, okay? She'll be happy. But don't mention it too long ago. Just talk about your own life. The old man is very willing to listen to the child. ”

I saw something twinkle in her wrinkled eye sockets.

"You're back."

I did walk back to her. The wind was blowing in the alleyway, and it was cool and pleasant for me. Will she be cold? In the heat of summer.

"yes, I'm back."

"You've changed. Still, it's the way it used to be, and I recognize you. ”

"I recognize you too."

"It's been so long, what have you been doing?"

"I'm playing football, playing football."

"You're still kicking."

"yes, I'm still kicking."

"How are the family?"

"Good. Mom and Dad are fine. Brother...... It's good. ”

"My mom and dad are dead. The younger brother also died. She suddenly raised her branch-like arm and made a hard downward smashing motion, like a player who was dissatisfied with the referee's decision to throw the ball to the ground to vent, which was an act of receiving a yellow card. She smashed fast, and despite having nothing in her hand, her expression was more terrifying than any player I've ever seen.

"I'm so sad."

"How long will you stay this time?"

"I don't know, what do you see?"

"The last time you came back was three years ago, and you said you wanted to come and see me often. It's been three years, and you haven't been here once. ”

What the hell is she talking about? Maybe she thinks I'm her long-dead husband. One day three years ago, she thought that she would never be able to return to the people around her, which was a common conjecture of the old man. Maybe it's a reproduction of her past memories, that grandpa was really separated from her for three years when she was young, she had been waiting for him to come back, and now her memory has faded, and she only remembers that she was waiting for someone. Forever waiting, forever three years.

Or did she mistake me for someone else, instead of thinking of me as my former young lover? Maybe one day three years ago, Xianxian passed by, walked along the stone path I am walking on now, met this old man, listened to her story as I do today, tried to talk to her as I do now, and promised to visit her often. However, it did not occur to him that he would never be able to run on his feet and breathe through his nose again, and that he might have seen the person she had been waiting for for long before the old man.

If only there was a picture that I could show to the old man and ask her if a boy who looked like this spoke to her three years ago, if she could remember it. It's unlikely she remembers, she probably still does. She said I was back, and my appearance had changed, but it was still the same as before. I've really changed, I'm not the same person I was three years ago, and the strings are still three years ago.

"You don't look like he." She spoke suddenly, and I saw her blinking shriveled eyes as if to see something, "You're a good boy, but you can't lie." You are not him, you are always yourself. ”

Who am I not? Is her husband still stringy? If she really thinks of me as Xianxian, I will be glad to see her in place of Xianxian and help him continue his promise.

"Who am I?"

"You're not him. You are yourself. ”

"Who is he?"

"He's coming back. He hasn't come back yet, you're back. It's also good that you didn't lose yourself. ”

I don't know what to say.

"I have a little granddaughter who is very similar to you and can play football......"

I asked her what her name was, and she didn't say yes and kept talking. At the end of the day, as if she had gone through the turn of the seasons, she forgot everything that had just happened, and began to stare at me again, saying that I was back.

Maybe it's time to leave. I told her that I would come to see her again in the future. Maybe Xianxian did the same thing as me three years ago, I don't know, just like I don't know if I'm going to die suddenly after a while. Probably not. It is more likely that Ye Ruiyang complained that I have been buying water for almost 30 years. He managed to find an indoor court during the summer vacation and pull everyone out of the air-conditioned room, and I was so slow to buy water.

[1] Feng Zhi, (1905-1993), formerly known as Feng Chengzhi, was a native of Zhuozhou, a modern poet and scholar. In 1923, he joined Lin Ruji's literary group, Asakusa. In 1925, together with Yang Hui, Chen Xianghe, Chen Weimo, etc., he established the Shen Zhong Society, and published the "Shen Zhong" weekly, "Semi-monthly" and "Shen Zhong Series". In 1930, he studied in Germany at the University of Berlin and the University of Heidelberg, and received a doctorate in philosophy from the University of Heidelberg in 1935. He has translated Rilke's poems. From 1936 to 1939, he taught at Tongji University. He used to be the director of the Institute of Foreign Literature of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. Lu Xun once praised him as the finest lyric poet in China. He is the author of poetry collections "Song of Yesterday", "Journey to the North and Others" and "Sonnets", as well as academic achievements such as "The Biography of Du Fu" and "On Goethe".