Little Orange Lamp Author: Bing Xin
Bing Xin (1900-1999) was originally named Xie Wanying. A native of Changle, Fujian. He is the author of a collection of essays "For Young Readers", a collection of poems "Stars", "Spring Water", etc.; and has translated "Selected Indian Fairy Tales" and so on.
This was more than ten years ago.
On the afternoon before the Spring Festival, I went to the outskirts of Chongqing to visit a friend. She lived upstairs in the township office in that village. I walked up a dark, dark staircase and entered a room with a square table, a few bamboo stools, and a telephone on the wall. Then I entered my friend's room, separated from the outside by a curtain. She was not at home, but there was a note on the table in front of the window, saying that she had to go out temporarily for something and asked me to wait for her.
I sat down at her desk, picked up a newspaper and read it, and suddenly heard the door of the outer room creaking open. After a while, I heard someone moving the bamboo stool again. I opened the curtain and saw a little girl, only eight or nine years old, with a thin pale face, purple lips from the cold, very short hair, wearing very shabby clothes and a pair of barefoot straw sandals, who was boarding the mountain. He got up on the bamboo stool and wanted to pick up the receiver on the wall. He seemed to be surprised when he saw me and retracted his hand. I asked her: "Do you want to make a call?" She climbed down from the bamboo stool and nodded and said: "I want to go to XX hospital and see Dr. Hu. My mother just vomited a lot of blood!" I asked: "Do you know XX hospital? ×Hospital's phone number?" She shook her head and said, "I was just about to ask the telephone company..." I quickly found the hospital's number from the phone book next to the machine, and asked her again: "I found the doctor, please. "Whose house is he going to?" She said, "As long as you say Wang Chunlin's family is sick, she will come."
I made the call, and she thanked me gratefully and left. . I pulled her and asked, "Is your home far away?" She pointed out the window and said, "It's just under the big yellow fruit tree in the mountain nest. It can be reached in a short time." Then she climbed, climbed, and went downstairs. .
I went back to the house again, read the newspaper front and back, and picked up a book called "Three Hundred Tang Poems". Halfway through, the sky became darker and gloomier, and my friend also Not coming back. I stood up bored and looked out the window at the confused mountain scenery in the thick fog. When I saw the hut under the yellow fruit tree, I suddenly wanted to visit the little girl and her sick mother. I went downstairs and bought a few big red oranges at the door, stuffed them in my handbag, and walked along the uneven stone road to the door of the small house.
I gently locked the door. The little girl just came out and opened the door. She looked up at me and was stunned for a moment. Then she smiled and waved me in. The room was small and dark. On the wooden floor against the wall, her mother was lying flat with her eyes closed. She was probably asleep. There were blood stains on her head under the quilt. Her face was turned inward, and only her face was visible. His messy hair and a big bun on the back of his head. There was a small charcoal stove next to the door, with a small casserole on it, steaming slightly. The little girl let me sit on the small stool in front of the stove, and she squatted next to me, looking at me constantly. I asked gently: "Has the doctor been here?" She said: "He has been and gave mom an injection... She is fine now." She then said as if to comfort me: "Don't worry, doctor. It’s coming tomorrow morning.” I asked, “Has she eaten anything?” She smiled and said, “Sweet potato porridge—our New Year’s Eve dinner.” I thought of the oranges I brought. Come out and put it on the small table next to the bed. She didn't say anything. She just reached for the largest orange, peeled off a section of the top skin with a knife, and gently kneaded the bottom half with both hands.
I asked in a low voice: "Who else is there in your family?" She said: "There is no one now, my father has gone outside..." She did not say any more, but slowly turned from orange to orange. She took out a bunch of orange segments from the skin and placed them next to her mother's pillow.
The dim light from the fire gradually dimmed, and it became darker outside. I stood up to leave, but she held me back, and with great agility took the big needle with the hemp thread, threaded the small orange bowl around it like a small basket, and carried it with a small bamboo stick. He took a short piece of foreign wax from the window sill, put it inside and lit it, then handed it to me and said, "It's dark and the road is slippery. Let this little orange lamp shine on you as you go up the mountain!"
I took it with appreciation, thanked her, and she sent me out of the door. I didn't know what to say, but she said as if to comfort me: "Soon, my father will come back. Then my mother will Okay." She drew a circle in front of her with her little hand, and finally pressed it on my hand: "We are all okay too!" Obviously, this "everyone" includes me.
I carried this clever little orange lantern and walked slowly on the dark and humid mountain road. This hazy orange light really couldn't shine very far, but this little girl's calmness, bravery, and optimistic spirit inspired me. I seemed to feel that there was infinite light in front of me!
My friend has come back. When he saw me carrying a small orange lantern, he asked me where I came from. I said: "From... from Wang Chunlin's house." She said in surprise: "Wang Chunlin, that carpenter, how do you recognize him? Last year, several students from Yamashita Medical College were arrested as Communist Party members. Later, Wang Chunlin also disappeared. It is said that he often delivered letters to those students..."
I left the mountain village that night and never heard from the little girl and her mother again.
But since then, every Spring Festival, I think of that little orange lantern.
Twelve years have passed, and the little girl's father must have come back long ago.
Her mother must be fine too, right? Because "all" of us are "well"!
Written in January 1957