-Zhao
The wind is blowing. The wind whirled from all directions, entangled in the empty Gobi, collided, galloped and roared that shook the earth. The wind rolled up the yellow dust that covered the sky, and the world suddenly became dark. ...
Sitting on the westbound train, watching this sudden gust of wind, my heart is really a little hairy: it was sunny just now! In Jiangnan, even the typhoon of 12 is not so severe. The wind outside the window seems to destroy everything. No one can imagine how big this desolate Gobi desert is.
"What a strong wind!" The passengers exclaimed and quickly closed the window.
"What is this wind? This is nothing! " An old Uighur man sat opposite me, but with a cold expression, he rolled his Mohe cigarette unhurriedly.
I can't help asking, "What's the wind like this?"
The old man lit a cigarette and took a drag. Then he brushed his beard, smoked a cigarette and looked at me and smiled. After a while, he suddenly stretched out his fist and said happily, "Look, such a big stone explodes like a small shell, flying into the carriage through two layers of glass and blowing your head off." The glass is not broken, it's just a hole. This wind is called strong wind! "He pointed to the window filled with yellow smoke and Mohe smoke and shook his head contemptuously." The wind is nothing. " This is a famous wind bank! "
The old man spoke vividly, and several passengers beside him were at a loss. His words are endless. "There are worse things-trucks parked at the station. On one occasion, the wind blew the rails over and overturned them beside the railway ... "Several passengers subconsciously grabbed the back of the chair with their hands. It seems that the train will be blown down by the strong wind soon.
I looked out of the window, and it was still the vast Gobi with yellow dust flying. A small station roared by, and a railway worker stood on the platform, waving a small flag at the train. The train went too fast to see his face clearly, as if he were a young man. I can see the small station clearly. Several small houses are lonely, and there are not even small trees around them.
I suddenly began to worry about these railway workers-on this abandoned small station. How do they live and work in such an overwhelming wind?
The train stopped in Turpan, and it happened that a young man in a railway uniform came and sat next to me. I struck up a conversation with him. The young man works in a small station east of Turpan, and his actual age is only in his early twenties. He is very talkative. When it comes to work, he is actually in high spirits. Listen to this:
"Lonely? Bored? Of course, there is probably nothing more boring and lonely than us, guarding a small station and going out is the big Gobi, only the burning sun and fierce wind accompany us. However, it is neither lonely nor lonely. Think about it. How many trains do you pass every day? People in the car wave, smile and say hello to you. That kind of happiness I'm afraid you can't taste it. Sometimes I really want to let the train stop at the station for a while and look at the many strange faces in the window, which also makes people feel comfortable. But no, always a few minutes. Then I thought to myself: Never mind, there is the next bus. If the train really stops at the station, it will be bad. There is something wrong with our work. I have to be scolded by the people in the car. I have worked in this small station for two years and have never had a problem! "
The young man said with a smile, in a casual tone, and a strong sense of pride overflowed:
Not easy? Of course not! In our line of work, it's impossible not to be a tough guy. This vast Gobi says that the wind is the wind, and it will be fine if it is sunny. In summer, under the big sun, there is only one pole that can provide shade, and people can only follow the shadow of the pole. When the first shift is on duty, you can boil all the oil out! Windy days are interesting. Stones are blown all over the sky, and people are standing on the ground, floating like kites. But it doesn't matter, there is a way to tie yourself to a telephone pole with a belt. ...
"I'll tell you a story: a man and a woman-a young couple, both working in Gobi Station, have a doll. But they are at ease. Why? Love your job! One winter, it was thirty or forty degrees below zero. It was the man's turn to be on duty that morning. When a bus comes, you have to pull the switch, but it won't move. At first glance, it is not good. The switch is frozen! The whine of the bus has come with the wind, and there are not many divisions between H and tl. If you don't pull the switch, the bus will hit a parked truck, which is a big mistake! The man was in a hurry, pulling hard and shouting. The woman came out with a doll in her hand. Seeing the emergency, she wrapped the child in a fur coat, put it on the platform and ran up. The young couple worked hard and finally.
Turn the switch. But looking back, the doll is gone? "
"Where is the doll?" A passenger asked anxiously.
The young man still smiled and replied unhurriedly: "Of course, the child was not lost, and it was blown away by the strong wind for five or six meters. Fortunately, it was wrapped in a fur coat for a short time. They picked up the child and the little guy was still crying. "
The young man was probably a little tired of talking, so he took out an old "Harvest" from his backpack and buried himself in it, looking silent again.
The passengers were also silent. The Uighur old man opposite smoked Mohe cigarettes and looked blankly out of the window, as if looking for something in the sand.
My heart can't calm down. What the young man said reverberated in his mind and turned into one thrilling painting after another: the big Gobi smoking in the hot sun.
Shouts and whistles in the storm, the crying of babies, the quiet flashing green light in the dark. ...
I have witnessed a similar life with my own eyes. Just a few days ago, I passed the Gobi Desert by car, and the sun was very high. That car is like driving in a high temperature furnace, which is unbearable. Unexpectedly, in the depths of the Gobi, a road construction team is repairing a damaged road in the scorching sun. There are Han workers, Uighurs and some young girls in the road construction team. Panting and sweating, they kept waving shovels to spread gravel on the road and spraying smoky asphalt, which looked like a war. I sat in the car and looked at it, and I was also worried about them. Although I just passed by, I will never forget that scene. ...
The wind has died down. There is a clear sky outside the window. There are some greens on both sides of the railway: camel thorn, red willow and poplar. Various houses flashed from time to time, and Uighur children on the roadside waved to the train. ...
Finally out of the Gobi desert!
The young railway worker sitting next to me is still absorbed in reading Harvest. In the small station where he works, he may have spent a lot of long and lonely time reading books and periodicals ... an unspeakable respect arises: it is these unknown people who work hard in the depths of the Gobi Desert that make the barren Gobi Desert come alive and have a smooth road to the oasis. They deserve respect!
In my mind, the title of a poem pops out: Gobi Soul!
Zhao. Memory and reverie. Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House, 20 10.06.