When she was alive, I was most afraid of her face. It was really ugly to carry her face. Her face is wrinkled, her skin is dark, she is covered with age spots, her face is irregular, she is as thin as black mud, and she has no meat, especially her melancholy and empty eyes, which are deeply sunken and have a cold breath, as if to see through the secrets hidden in your heart for a long time. She is short and light, walks lightly and has almost no sound. Sometimes, when she turns around, she suddenly finds herself behind her, silent, looking into her dark eyes, and her heart can't help trembling.
Her cough, her spitting sound, is the only place that can attract our attention. I used to hate this kind of voice. I don't know why, when she was young, her back was almost bent at 90 degrees, like a small mountain peak, standing there tightly and never being removed.
According to my mother, my aunt and uncle never had children, my grandmother died early, and my grandfather was an intellectual. He was sent to the countryside and had to entrust his young father to them. So his father became their adopted son. My aunt has always been a nag. Father rebelled from childhood and couldn't listen to a word. He often quarrels with her. I just don't know how many tears my aunt has shed for him and how much she cares. At that time, there was a famine for three years, and the whole family didn't have enough to eat, but such a thin aunt always left the best and most nutritious food to her thin father, and she didn't know what his father thought and never thanked her. Perhaps, she is not as intimate, gentle, beautiful and cultured as her grandmother. In her father's mind, she may not be as close as blood is thicker than water.
And I, every time I go back to my hometown, stay away from her, afraid of her eyes, afraid of her ghostly wandering, and even more afraid of her rickety back. It was raining and foggy, and all her relatives came to pay homage to her. Her graveyard is hidden in the dark bamboo forest, and the breeze blows. Ye Er hummed, the cold wind blew, the incense smoke twisted and turned into the sky. The misty rain is mixed with flowers, which fragrant my memories and sentimental my narrow soul.
Every time I go back to my hometown, the first person to meet me is my aunt. Her wide, thin, black You Lan hands always hold my little hand. In my struggle, I feel a warm power, which comes from an old man with such an ordinary and humble position, from an old man with such an ugly surface, and from an old man with such a generous and kind heart. She picked me up, approached me with her thin body, and put her face on mine. In the process of getting rid of it, I clearly feel a heart that loves me, loves my father and naturally loves me. It's just that I ran away from her hands and arms so obviously, but I never understood her sadness.
My aunt's hands are incomparable dexterity. She will weave a small flower basket and a big cattail fan with different shapes and beautiful patterns. On summer nights, there are many mosquitoes, which make a lot of red blood cells on us. My aunt made many fans and distributed them to relatives and neighbors. At that time, before I went to primary school, my aunt hugged me, painted me with sesame oil, fanned me and sang sleepy songs.
In the morning, she took my hand, and she and I were carrying a vegetable basket, happily picking the tempting and delicious Kobanawa wild vegetables. The sunshine in early summer is particularly bright, the stream is surrounded by bamboo forests, cool flowers are blown by cool breeze, bees and butterflies are attracted to fly, and bamboo leaves are singing cheerful songs. My aunt and uncle took wild vegetables and gently washed their dust in the bright waves. Only then did I know that there were fresh and delicious wild vegetables to eat at noon.
I grow up day by day, and my feelings for my aunt are alienated day by day. Maybe it's because she is getting older and uglier. So I stopped being close to her as I was a child, talking and laughing. When I grew up, every time I went back to my hometown, hiding upstairs and reading became the only way for me to get rid of her shadow. I never said a word to her, never gave her a grateful smile, never cooked her a delicious meal. However, she still loves me. I accidentally fell down the stairs. She rushed out of the kitchen and helped me up with all her strength. Step by step, she ran to the room to get the medicinal liquor, gently coated it on me, and blew gas carefully with her mouth. She asked affectionately, "Does it hurt?" "It doesn't hurt."
When I grow up, every time I go back to my hometown, my aunt will cook that kind of sweet and delicious Ciba. I have to eat several at a time. Every time I go back to my hometown, her boiled chicken is fat and fragrant, which makes my mouth water again and again; Every time she goes back to her hometown, she will make tremella lotus seed soup for clearing heat and relieving summer heat and put it in the refrigerator. In a few hours, she will drink it and her whole body will be washed away.
My face was wet with rain, and my heart was shaking. The year before menstruation died, she gave me a red envelope of several hundred dollars and said, "Jian, this is a token of my appreciation. Although it is not much, you can take it, buy some food and keep fit ..." I was moved for a moment, and I didn't know what to say. I held this heavy gift tightly in my hand and looked at it. People who don't know her will feel scared and far away because of those horrible eyes, but those who know her can clearly find natural pity, love and warm enthusiasm in her eyes.
Her back, which should have aroused people's love and sympathy, is just that I am confused by her ugly appearance. I don't know how many human joys and sorrows, human feelings are warm and cold, and the world is cold. Her back is so heavy, she is raising her father step by step, bearing the morality and responsibility that she should not bear. Not understood, but still walking alone, in the cold wind and rain, suffering a lot of unkindness, her back is bent by life and the world, and what can't be bent is her strong, tolerant and indifferent mind.
My aunt and uncle often have difficulty swallowing, which is the root cause of children's hypoplasia. She screams from time to time, which always arouses others' disgust. But now I understand that this is not the right reason. When my own feet can't walk normally, the shape when I walk is ugly. When I feel strange and unfamiliar eyes from people around me, I understand that it's not my fault to get sick, it's fate arranged by God. When I have similar experiences with others, I can understand that everyone has their own sadness and sadness. Why do you want to stab again? What's more, that person is his amiable and respectable relative?
My aunt died because she had difficulty swallowing at dinner. She walked so painfully and suddenly that it was unacceptable. She was only 74 years old when she left, and she was not seriously ill at ordinary times. I don't know why God punished her for her weakness.
It rained all the time, and I remembered the disrespect for her in those years. In those years, she was so kind to me that I woke up. Remember your love for me, and I will love the people around me with this love. Don't worry, auntie, I will face up to my miserable life bravely and be a caring person like you, broad-minded and indomitable.
The rain stopped, and I left with love for you. I will come again next year.