The day before yesterday, I saw the poet Nishikawa's poem "Looking at the Starry Sky in Hargil", and the vague memory was clearly provoked by the poem. After repeated chanting, I gradually realized that even though Hargill was a passer-by in my growing journey, I should use words to pay homage to vilen, who carries my youth.
I caught a glimpse of passers-by riding horses, but my short memory brought me back to Hargil. The poet Nishikawa wrote: "There is a mystery that you can't control/You can only play the role of a bystander/Let the mysterious force/send a signal/send light from a distant place to penetrate your heart/Just like tonight, in Hargil/in this desolate place far from the city, beside the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau/a train station the size of a broad bean/I look up at the stars/At this moment, the river is silent. The bird's wings are thin/the grass grows wildly towards the stars/the horse forgets to fly/the wind blows the night away, blowing me/the wind blows the future away/I become someone, a room/a humble room with oil lamps on/and the cold roof of this humble room/hundreds of millions of feet of stars.
This poem was written in1980s. Thirty years later, if you have been to Hargil, you can recall the blue and empty sky in Hargil from the poem, and you can also remember the days when you ran on the ankle-high grassland. Nowadays, many people say that Hargil is no longer a simple place name, but has become a distant spiritual home with a blue sky and a deep night sky, which is the space pursued by a generation. There is nothing wrong with this, but when you walk into every corner of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau and are alone in the night sky, you will have a state of mind close to the poet Xichuan, or express the depth of the night sky, or express your inner purity, or sigh your own smallness. Haizi wrote the well-known "Sister, I am in Delingha tonight" in Delingha that year, and the poet Chang Yao also left many far-reaching poems.
Tonight, I stepped on my memory and walked into Hargill again, but I couldn't recite a poem between me and Hargill. My bitter and incomplete memory made me a bitter singer. I imagined that if I went back to three years ago, I would stand alone under the night sky of Hargil, and there would be no poems left between me and Hargil. I clearly remember that on the construction site without electricity, I would walk into the night sky of Hargil almost every night, stare at the starry sky and stand silently, but as it turns out, I left nothing behind, because I am not a poet. I walked into Hargill because the idea of economic independence flashed through my mind after the college entrance examination, and there were also elements of breaking free and pursuing freedom.
In Hargil, I am not a poet, and reciting romantic poems has nothing to do with me.
In Hargill, I followed my fifth uncle, carrying a shovel and wearing reflective overalls to try my parents' hardships? ? The only thing related to paper and pen is to put every hard-earned money into your arms every night and accurately count it to Uncle Wu and himself.
In Hargil, I am a migrant worker.
Walk into Hargil
After the college entrance examination, I was bored at home, so I had the idea of economic independence. One day, my parents and I raised the idea of going out to work, which was unanimously opposed by my parents because my mother was afraid that I would suffer losses at the construction site. Growing up, my parents never asked us to do anything else when my brother and I were studying. Even when my parents were working, they urged me and my brother to study. At that time, the discussion about going out to work was understandable. After being opposed, I often talk about this matter, and I will go to see my father and tell my mother as soon as I have time. About two days later, my father reluctantly called my fifth uncle, who told me the itinerary. The next morning, I went to the provincial capital and took a bus to Hargill.
It was the third time I went to the provincial capital, knowing that I was about to enter a strange region, but I was unusually calm, probably because I didn't want my parents to worry, and I also proved my ability to be independent. My father told me where to get off at the provincial capital, and I could see the bus stop. He also said that if I bought a ticket, I would stay in the waiting room and not run around. That day, I bought a ticket and had to wait in the waiting room for at least five hours. I called my playmates who worked in the provincial capital in the same village and took the bus to the destination according to the route they said. But I was as bumpy as a headless fly, and more lonely and helpless as a wild goose. When I walked into the bustling crowd, I felt that I had a strange look on my body. That kind of eyes gave me a feeling, which I deeply felt after reading Yu Dafu's novel "Sinking". After finding my playmates in the same village, I had a rest in the place dubbed "Damaigou Office in Xining" by the villagers, and then I hurried to the station. Finally, when I stumbled to the station, it was more than five minutes after the departure time, but I got on the bus to Hargil as I wished.
Soon after the car in The Journey to the West passed Huangyuan County, the scenery outside the car window has changed from farming civilization to nomadic civilization. I leaned back in my seat, feeling more and more Tibetan customs, Tibetan compatriots in Tibetan robes, flocks of cattle and sheep, and scattered yurts on the grassland, all of which made me a newcomer sigh. When I arrived in Hargil, it was already dark. In the afterglow of the sunset, I paced up and down the streets of this strange town, waiting for Uncle Wu to save me from fear and helplessness.
Back to the construction site, I ate a bowl of steaming noodles in the kitchen by candlelight. After dinner, I walked out of the kitchen and into the dark night sky. The sky is like spilled ink. In my panic, I lost my step and almost fell down. The two candles in the room set each other off, but the shadow of the soybean-like flame on the wall was magnified many times. When there is a breeze, the flames flicker and the shadows become empty. Everyone else who lives in the house belongs to Wu Shu's village, and his father was adopted from a neighboring village. According to seniority, I should be called uncle. When he entered the room and went to the bunk, he began to chat. At nine o'clock, a gruff voice outside the door said hoarsely, "Tomorrow, get up at three o'clock." I didn't see his face clearly because the room was too dark. Later, I learned that he was the captain and came to convey the notice. After running around all day, I fell asleep quietly in the snoring of my parents.
When I first arrived in Hargil, I could only express my feelings in one black word. At three o'clock in the morning, I was awakened by the captain's hasty whistle. I still feel dark after getting up. The steamed bread for breakfast is ready. At three o'clock in the morning, a steamed bread is really hard to swallow. Uncle Wu advised me to eat more and recite one or two. After eating, everyone in the team rushed to the attendance car. It's an old minibus, but it has a capacity of more than 20 people and often pulls more than 50 people. If they can't squeeze into the bus, they can only do so.
The plateau in July is still cold. Although sitting in the bus wearing sweaters, they are still shivering with cold, and the workers who "carry the trunk" can only shrink back and curl up under the canvas shed to keep out the cold. The night outside the window covers the grassland and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Although the scenery that can't be touched by hands is in the sub-zero temperature, the calm and hazy beauty is getting more and more beautiful. Under the distant sky, the mountain shape can be vaguely distinguished, and the mist is usually white, not snow. The stars are sparsely distributed, clean and bright, giving people a feeling at your fingertips. The car is driving on the grassland. At first, the scenery outside the window made me dull for a long time. Inadvertently noticed that a cigarette butt in the car was sucked by workers as blood. Suddenly I found twenty or thirty red spots shaking in the car. After driving for nearly an hour, the car arrived at a certain place on the Reha branch line, and nearly a red dot lit up.
Workers' inferior cigarettes appeared in the night sky in a very discordant tone. In the rural customs under the clan system, the Red Cross is commonly known as the celebration, which is a warm tone, a red happy word and a red event after the white event. However, under the legal system, although red is eye-catching, it always plays a warning role. The red light of traffic and the red light of life are shocking our lives one by one. In Hargil's' night', the workers used to pass the time with cigarettes, but my mind wandered between red and white events. Am I still wandering in the sense of a red cigarette butt, warning the countdown to life to leave, or celebrating the day when vital statistics have been alive?
Hal Jill gave me the first impression that he put himself in boundless darkness, while I was in a state of constant wonder and reverie. In others' eyes, Hal Jill and I are strangers. It's just that this strangeness passed away quietly in less than a month. Although I stayed for a short month, I broadened my horizons, met some people, left them with good memories, and tried to overcome the hardships of my parents behind my fifth uncle? ? At the same time, I also experienced life and gained some insights.
Workers in Hargil
As mentioned above, my first impression of Hallgeir is boundless darkness and strangeness, and the disappearance of strangeness in the following month, in my opinion, is inextricably linked with many workers. My short life with my workmates only concretized the abstract image of Hargill, and every bit was the blood and flesh in Hargill's memory. When reading Nishikawa's Starry Sky in Hargill, the first thing that comes to mind are several workmates, such as Lao Yin, "Injured Parr", a doll, an old man in Dawan, Xiao Er and so on. I carefully recalled my days in Hargil three years ago. Although their images are clearly presented, it is a pity that I don't know them. Among them, only a few uncles in the father's village can meet each other when they go home every year, and the others are just imaginary characters. The only thing I can do today is to remember them with words.
Workmate Lao Yin, about forty years old, has prominent eyebrows and thick black eyebrows. His height is not dominant, but his body is strong and his fingers are a little defective. His left thumb can't flex, but it doesn't affect his life at all. His dark skin can tell at a glance that his life is hard. The year before he came to work in Hargil, he was introduced to a village in a neighboring county to take care of other people's widows and take on the heavy responsibility of the family. Later, according to his father, Lao Yin was introduced and adopted by his wife.
Old Yin Huoda is optimistic and practical about his work. He and I were on the same team from beginning to end. On the first day after I finished my work, he asked me if I could eat, and then he told me that his body was similar to that of when I was young, and he became stronger after running outside for several years. I remember he said that there were big fish and meat every day when the cold storage was unloaded in the 1980 s. His eyes are bright and his voice will increase. I can think of his enviable life from his description. On another occasion, he told me that he was the first person in his village to wear a suit. When I got home, I hurried to ask my father for proof. My father has no memory of it. Maybe only if it happened to him, such a thing would have such a far-reaching impact. When Lao Yin said this, I was dubious, but after my father failed to prove it, I believed it. No matter big or small, everyone is impressed for the first time.
Later, during the Spring Festival of 1 1, I met Lao Yin who went back to his hometown. Because Lao Yin took special care of me in Hargil, we were very excited as soon as we met. We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. During the chat, we talked about how Lao Yin and I pooled our money to buy cold medicine. Originally, I was given some medicine on the construction site, so I didn't have to go to town to buy medicine when I caught a cold, but I just went to the construction site for a few days, that is, during this period, both Lao Yin and I caught a cold and fought hard for two days. Not only did I have a bad cold, but I also had a headache and a runny nose, so I had to ask the accountant on the construction site for some money. Old Yin came back empty-handed and called the accountant a donkey, but I was only a few days old, even the accountant. As for what medicine to buy, he goes without saying. In this land where I live, everyone treats colds by taking metamizole and metamizole, one for each person. After dinner, I sweated on the hot kang and basically got over my cold. I went to town to buy medicine, and I had a dollar and fifty cents from Lao Yin in my pocket. I'm going to buy some analgin and analgin as I walk. When I arrived at the drugstore, I spent a piece because I felt my nose was serious. After I came back, the medicine only cured my cold once and left us. Such a quick effect has never appeared in my previous cold, and both Lao Yin and I attribute this magical effect to our joint contribution. When chatting, Lao Yin gave some melon seeds in his hand. When I took the melon seeds, I obviously felt that there was residual temperature in my hand, just like when I first shook Lao Yin's hand.
Two people, nearly 30 years apart in age, care about each other and talk about their days in Hargil in the northern winter. Actually speaking, Lao Yin, a craftsman, is still my grandfather, but there is no need to call him Lao Yin, because the old family said that "grandpa and grandson are the same generation".