Chapter 31 winter

winter Speaking of winter, I suddenly thought of tofu.It is a "small foreign pot" (aluminum pot) boiled tofu, hot.The water is rolling, like a lot of fish eyes, a small piece of tofu is kept inside, tender and slippery, like a white fox coat worn backwards.The pot is on the "foreign stove" (kerosene non-gas stove), and the stove is smoked black and black, showing the whiteness of the tofu.It was night, the house was old, and although the "foreign lights" were lit, it was still dark.Sitting around the table are my father and our three brothers. The "yang stove" was too high, and my father often stood up, leaning his face slightly, squinting his eyes, reaching into the chopsticks from the hot air, holding the tofu and placing them one by one on our soy sauce dish.We sometimes do it ourselves, but the stove is too high, and we still enjoy a lot of it.This is not eating, just playing.My father said that it was cold at night, and everyone would be warmer after eating.We all like this kind of white water tofu; as soon as it is on the table, we are looking forward to the pot, waiting for the heat, waiting for the tofu falling from the father's chopsticks in the heat.

It's winter again, I remember it was the 16th night of the 11th month of the lunar calendar, and I was riding a small boat in the West Lake with Mr. S and Mr. P. Mr. S just came to Hangzhou to teach, and he wrote in advance, saying: "We want to swim in the West Lake, no matter it is winter."It turned out that the night before was "the head of the moon"; maybe the moon in November is really special.At that time, it was past nine o'clock, and we seemed to have only one boat on the lake.There is a little wind, and the moonlight shines on the soft water waves; the reflection in the middle is like new silver.Only the shadows of the mountains on the lake are left.There are occasionally one or two stars under the mountain. Mr. S took two lines of the poem and said: "Counting the stars and lights to recognize the fishing village, and the light ink to lightly describe the traces of the distant Daisy." We didn't talk much, only the even sound of oars.I gradually fell asleep. Mr. P said "Hello" before he raised his eyelids and saw him smiling.The boatman asked if he wanted to go to the Jing Temple; it was Amitabha's birthday, and it was quite lively there.When we arrived at the temple, the hall was full of bright lights and the voices of Buddhist women chanting, as if waking up from a dream.This happened more than ten years ago, and Mr. S still often communicated with each other. Mr. P heard that it had changed several times. The year before last, he collected special taxes in a special tax bureau, and there has been no news since then.

A family of four spent a winter in Taizhou.Taizhou is a mountain city, it can be said that it is in a big valley.There is only one two-mile-long street.On other roads, there are hardly any people during the day; it is pitch black at night.Occasionally there is a little light in someone's window, and a walking torch; but that is very rare.We live at the foot of the mountain.Some are the sound of the wind in the pine forest on the mountain, and the shadow of a bird or two in the sky.When you arrive at the end of summer, you will leave at the beginning of spring, but it seems that you are always living in winter; but even in real winter, it is not cold.We live upstairs, and our study is facing the road; someone talking on the road can be heard clearly.But because there were too few people walking, there was a voice of talking occasionally, which sounded like a distant wind, and unexpectedly it was outside the window.We are outsiders, and we often just sit at home except when we go to school.My wife is also used to the loneliness, and only stays with our men.Although it is always winter outside, it is always spring at home.Once I went to the street, and when I came back, the open window in the kitchen downstairs was next to their mother and child, three of them; all three faces were smiling innocently at me.It seems that Taizhou is empty, there are only four of us; the world is empty, and there are only four of us.At that time, it was the tenth year of the Republic of China, and my wife had just come out of the house, full of freedom.It has been almost four years since she died, but I still remember her smiling shadow.

No matter how cold, windy and snowy, thinking of these, my heart is always warm. (Originally published in "Middle School Students" No. 40 on December 1, 1933)