Back to the old house

[xingaonai]

Following my brother, I pushed open the door and saw the grass growing wildly in the yard. The mud walls, low houses, and messy grass and trees were still there. I thought everything here was the same as before, so I didn’t feel strange. So I put down my bag, picked up the shovel, and shoveled the tall and short grass on the ground. These grasses looked familiar, but except for the pig ear grass, the rest were nameless, which was rare in our generation. When we were young, most children would pull bamboo cages and go to pick pig grass in the afternoon. So many plants and trees were known to each other by legend, just like the relatives of neighbors or friends, probably everyone knows them. But I, maybe because of my father and brother’s care, or because there is a lack of help in the housework at home, I don’t recognize many plants and trees. While shoveling the grass, I felt that the shovel handle was a bit prickly, and I wanted to find a cloth to cover it, so I walked into the house. At this moment, the two candles and a stick of incense that my brother had lit had burned. I looked up suddenly and saw my father’s kind smile behind the incense and candles. At this moment, I quickly turned my head away, tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t hold back any more, and I was afraid of arousing my brother’s sadness, so I squatted down, lowered my head and sobbed while pulling weeds. At that moment, the endless loneliness and yearning left to me by losing my father this spring came all at once, overwhelming me. The familiar figure, the familiar exhortations, the rhythm of being with you on Sundays, the concern you’ve gotten used to, and the snacks you love… all these are testing and tormenting me all the time. Often in the evening, I sit alone in a large house, unable to do anything or go anywhere, only the torrent of yearning and deep concern attack me again and again, and I can only surrender and let the tears pour down. Such emotional catharsis happened again and again, inadvertently, unconsciously. I couldn’t hold back, I couldn’t restrain myself.

Hearing that we were back, the neighbors came in groups of three or two. They stood at the door, smiling and greeting us for water and food. Seeing my red and swollen eyes, I asked my father if he had passed the “seventh”? I said no, it’s all over, and it will be a hundred days in another month. Standing in this small courtyard, my thoughts come and go, the familiar scenery and familiar neighbors are still there, but my father is no longer there. Those laughter and endless jokes have become the past and past that can never be repeated. This courtyard that I am most familiar with and the most intimate, now coming back is different from the past few years when my father lived in another village. At that time, I still thought that my father would come back and visit his old courtyard and old house; now I am back, my heart is only filled with longing, for all the deceased relatives, and for the longing for relatives and my own growth. The old house at that time belonged to my father, and we were like little birds, nestling under the eaves, sheltering from the wind and rain; now the old house is our physical coordinates and iconic symbol of this village, it is the pain and pain.

Thinking of the many storms in the old house, my strong father accompanied me through, he encouraged me more than once: It’s okay, I’m here! Every time I think of this, my eyes are wet with tears. The more you live, the fewer relatives you have, and the more lonely you become. When our mother died, we were still young and ignorant children. It was our father who raised and accompanied us in the difficult years, and helped us get through the hard days and usher in the present day when we have no worries about food and clothing. He is the person who is closely related to our lives, and the person who deserves the most gratitude in this life(Xingaonai). Now that this person is gone, a part of my life is missing, a part that cannot be made up and cannot be stitched.

Standing in the yard, the sky above my head is as blue as a wash, without a trace of clouds. An elm tree that I have no impression of is tall and straight in the sky. The white elm seeds on the tree and the newly grown green leaves are like a joint, following closely. I was shocked. When did it grow? The tall tung tree in the distance is full of tung flowers as rough as the girl next door. The pomegranate tree, millstone, stone wire, grass and trees under the embankment, and the path at the door are still the same, but the people are no longer there. In a trance, I saw my father in a leather suit, holding corn stalks from under the embankment and walking up the path. Suddenly, my eyes were blurred with tears.

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