Chapter 58 Four kinds of eyes

⒈ eyes It was late at night, and I was reading the newspaper—I always waited until late at night to have time to read the newspaper. Gradually, I felt that I was not reading the news, but reading history. According to the news from the Associated Press, in Georgia, the United States, a TV station photojournalist named Berger, 23 years old, belonging to the WTOC, was carrying sophisticated equipment to grab a piece of news. ".If it's done well—whether the result of saving lives is success or failure—it's exciting enough. At three o'clock in the morning, he was standing on the bank of the Shavan River. It was already cold in late September. His camera was focused on the river, on the woman, and on the lifebuoy thrown by the police. Sensitivity film.As for the young reporter, he himself was safe and sound.

But, suddenly, things changed. Berg found that the woman in the camera couldn't hold on to the lifebuoy at all-it doesn't mean that drowning people will be rescued naturally with a lifebuoy.Berg immediately dropped the camera, jumped into the river hastily, swam forty meters, and rescued the struggling woman. "As soon as I figured out that they couldn't save her, I jumped into the river without thinking. She was there, she was in critical condition, and it was the most natural thing for me to rescue her," he said. That morning, he returned to the TV station empty-handed. He didn't catch the news, and he became the news himself.

I put down the newspaper and stared at the night outside the window in a daze. The reporter in the first half of the story looks so much like my familiar friends!Possessing the qualifications of a professional, with excellent and accurate equipment in hand, responsible for describing and recording the chaotic state of the world, objective and calm, submitting documents on time, the work efficiency is amazing and impeccable. But Berg tonight is another kind of old acquaintance, what kind of old acquaintance?It is an ancient example of drowning people mentioned in thread-bound books!The training in the college was nothing more than induction, deduction, analysis, and comparison, but the reporter on the Savannah River leaped and snatched back a life that was almost frozen in the cold wave of the early morning——I felt warm all night And safe, as if it was I who was being saved, my essentially vulnerable heart floating in the reflux.Although the whole story happened on a river that I didn't know, and although a person I didn't know saved another person I didn't know, it was me who caught the warm and beautiful eyes!

⒉The secret of dry stems In the cool autumn season, I made up my mind to replant the Cui Linglong at home.After a long summer of roasting, the leaves are old and green, making one suspect that life is a great, difficult and unhappy duty, and the only way to deal with it now is to unplug and replug it.It turns out that there are also fire phoenix species among plants, and they must go through the procedure of uprooting to regenerate the flowing emerald feathers.Sitting on the front porch with a low stool, I started working with muddy hands, as if something had happened.Autumn sowing makes people feel the joy of "second-stage rice cropping". How about earning an extra season of green for no reason?I'm probably still a farmer in essence, right?Although my poor garden is all in that little bowl and jar.

Pulled out all the vines, pounded the homeland again, and then picked the buds and replanted them one by one, with the spirit of rebuilding the mountains and rivers, but after inserting and inserting, my hands slowed down, and I felt a little surprised... The background of the story is like this. The reason why I chose this kind of Cui Linglong to plant is because it has the most humble origin, the most vigorous vitality, and is the most suitable for the busy and green-hungry self.When you think of it, just pour a little water, forget it.It is said that this plant has an English name called "Wandering Jew". As long as you give him a breath of air and a pinch of dry soil, he will insist on living.As for the amount of water and the lack of backlight, he doesn't argue at all, and it seems that he has written a letter with his master before, and he must show you the rich and solid green!

At this moment, after pulling it clean, I was surprised to find out the bitter history in this family. It turns out that those who usually perform green tasks are all the bud tips of the second generation.As for the rhizomes under those buds, they have all withered long ago. The dry stems are half a foot short and more than a foot long. They are both yellow and thin, and they are the real "qi like gossamer". The blame is on this shriveled and ugly dry stem, and some new shoots are still calmly growing. . I stared at it for a while, and intuitively judged that these rhizomes were dead, and they gave water to the next generation of buds in a way of replacing stiffness - then I thought about it, it is not right, if it is dead, the function of absorbing water If there is no more, then the sprouts cannot be saved. Since it can still supply water, it can be seen that it is not dead yet, but isn’t it called death if it is dried like this?After much deliberation, I couldn't figure it out, and finally decided that it was probably dead, but because of some suspense in my heart, I even forgot that I was dead, and kept sending water all the way.Like the brave general in the story, he was chopped off in the middle, and he didn't know it, and he rushed forward...

The sky was very blue, the clouds were very light, and the sky was slightly cool. I didn’t say anything, and Cui Linglong didn’t say anything. I sat there, like the wind touched a secret document, and I felt that the life and death of Cui Linglong’s family continued. The whole history was laid out in front of me. That morning I plucked the green shoots from the martyr-shaped dead stems and replanted them one by one, as if recreating a sequel of history. "Goodbye! I understand," I bid farewell to the withered stem for the green shoot, "I understand what you pay me, that is a ration before I collapse from starvation, that is a drop of water before I die of thirst, in the future, I It will also treat our sprouts kindly."

"Go! Go! This is the day we've been waiting for!" I hurriedly turned to speak for the dry stem again, "Life is important, and all good things must be lived to wait, right? Look, how good it is Soft new soil! Go, go, don't be sad, it's just like this, it's nothing, we can rest in peace..." In the subtropical zone, autumn is actually just a melancholy but pretentious spring. After ten days, all the emerald greens that have been planted have grown taller, and the house has layers of fresh green again.In contrast, the green in the past seems to be just a vague concept, and the green now is the fresh flesh and blood.I don't know when winter will come, but being able to share a warm secret with a pot of Cui Linglong will make my business flourish in the cold season.

⒊ black hair giant rope After seeing the main hall, we went around to the back porch. In the area around Nara, Kyoto, looking at ancient temples can almost become an all-out occupation. I look at it in the morning, at noon, at dusk, and at night I check the information and sleep obediently, so that I can look at it the next day... I am a little scared I was spoiled by the classical beauty, I was afraid that because I was used to seeing the gloomy columns and the majestic cornices, I would finally be completely unmoved. That day, the place we went to was called Higashi Honganji Temple. In the hall, some people are worshiping and some are preaching.Pigeons walked slowly in the yard, and from time to time they went to drink water in the lotus-like storage pond.Liang asked the swallows to fly, and the bells ringing at the corner of the eaves when the wind passed by, reminded me of the prosperous Tang Dynasty...

Maybe it's the design of the building itself. I don't know why I was led to this back porch. There is almost no view here. I stopped in front of a big chest, a boring old-fashioned big chest, about a person's height except for the tripod, Boxy, very strong and heavy, there is a mess of dirty old things in the cabinet.I took a closer look, and it turned out to be a bundle of thick ropes, as thick as an arm, twisted into circles and circles, with a diameter of about one meter. This kind of scene should appear on the wharf where ocean-going ships enter and leave. How could they run to the temple? where?

After reading the instruction card, I realized that this kind of rope is called "Mao Gang", and what is "Mao Gang"?I tried my best to explain it, and it turned out that the rope had a great origin: the inextricable strands were all the hair of a woman in the Meiji period.At that time, wood was needed to build the temple, and the wood had to be pulled by huge cables, which were not necessarily strong, so the women in the village cut off their hair, twisted them into a hundred-foot rope, and used a big pry to pull the heavy wood together One dragged to the construction site. What is beauty?Is it the sad wish that has been persisted throughout the ages?Is it a woman's awe-inspiring smile when she loses her hair?Is it the willingness to donate the black silk-like Qingfa Committee to the dust?Is it the shock of the descendants of the whole life standing in front of the cabinet? Didn’t all the beautiful blue silks in the Meiji period become flying twilight snow long ago, didn’t all the twilight snow turn into mud along with the vast dry bones?Only this sharp and truncated wish is still entangled in thousands of times, lingering like tortuous thoughts.What is faith?Let the heavy black tiles talk about the ancient wooden structure, let the cornices talk about the black tiles, let Liang Yan talk about the unclear cornices, and let Liang Yan talk about the endless, clear words. What cannot be described in the stone-slab vestibule, what cannot be described by the evening cloud in the pool, what cannot be outlined by evening Sanskrit singing, but can be explained in a word by the huge rope woven by thousands of women. When I think of Kyoto, I always think of the long and strong hair rope that lasts like a piece of history. ⒋ frame that does not have to be opened "Well, let me tell you a story about my teacher," he said. He is an artist, seventy years old, his teacher must be older? "Your teacher," I asked, "is he still alive?" "He's still alive, his name is Pang Xunqin, he's probably in his eighties, and he's in Beijing." "Did you follow him when you were in Hangzhou Art College? What year was that?" "Yes, it was 1936." I was secretly shocked, it was exactly half a century!I can't help but sit and wait.Here are the stories he has kept in his mind for fifty years and will never forget. He stayed in France in the early days. In Paris, he painted oriental-style oil paintings for nine years.One day, someone introduced him to a very famous old critic at that time, and we met in a cafe.The young Mr. Pang was of course very excited and nervous, and hurriedly carried a large bundle of paintings to the appointment.Meeting with such an authoritative critic, if the work is reviewed, it will be worth a hundred times, even if it is criticized, it will be taught infinitely.Unexpectedly, when they arrived at the cafe, they met each other. Mr. Pang was about to open the canvas, but the other party held it down and said: "No hurry, let me ask you two questions first - first, how old were you when you went abroad, and second, how many years have you been in Paris?" "I went abroad when I was nineteen and stayed in Paris for nine years." "Well, if this is the case, there is no need to open the painting, and I don't need to read it." The critic's expression was very determined and there was no room for negotiation. "You just went abroad at nineteen, and you were too young. .Nine years in Paris are too short, and you don’t know what the West is—in this way, what else is there to see in your paintings? Where else do you need to open?” The young painter was shocked on the spot. He always thought that he was only being criticized or affirmed, but it turned out to be neither. His paintings turned out to be paintings that he didn’t even need to look at, and even the action of opening them was superfluous. After that, he seriously thought about packing up and going back to China. Later, he went to Hangzhou Art College to teach painting. Later, he tried to draw the life of the Miao people with the iron line drawing method, and the painting was excellent. After hearing such a thing, I was silent and could not praise it. The critic who is full of Paris is really a stranger.He usually looked at the paintings, and he was inherently insightful. Even if he didn't look at the paintings this time, he still had amazing words. But what I—who listened to the story fifty years later—was a little different from him. What he said focused on the ignorance of the East and the West. Pale and desolate, with no love, no heart, and no energy, resulting from ignorance. But being scratched by the story of Duomanjiao, the most painful point is: those who live in their own country will not leave their homes?How many people are there who are as colorful and exaggerated as plastic flowers, and become ubiquitous decorations without shame, but never know how many people have rooted in their homeland?The whole volume of life is not worth opening. Is it just the personal plot of the young painter who wandered in Paris fifty years ago?