Chapter 2 the dying bell part 1

I was about two years old when I stood on the steps and looked at the small street. I remember early.One of the earliest signs I can remember is the death of Stalin.One day my father hung a black picture frame on the wall, and my grandma hugged me and walked closer and said: Stalin is dead.In the frame is a strange old man, the prominent feature is that the beard is concentrated on the upper lip.In grandma's Zhuozhou accent, "Si" is pronounced three times.I thought to myself, since this is the case, what else is there to say, of course this "Dalin" is dead?I kept repeating my grandma's words, and pronounced "S" three times, which was interesting, and I thought it was strange that no one else noticed this.I didn't know until many years later, it was 1953, when I was two years old.

Finally one day my grandma led me down the steps to the east end of the small street.I've always imagined that there is the end of the earth, that the world will fall and disappear there - because when the sun climbs up there, there seems to be nothing behind it.Unexpectedly, there is more like the beginning of a noisy world.There is another side street crossing there, and there are taverns, grocery stores, oil mills, grain stores and food stalls on that street; because of the food stalls, it has become my most yearning place for many years.There is also a caravan of camels coming from outside the city. "What, grandma?" "Ah, camels." "What are they doing?" "Packing coal." "Where are you going?" "Into the city." There was a loud clatter, the camels kicked up the dust with their big feet, their heads held high and their chests held high, and seven or eight camels swaggered through the city without any haste, and pedestrians, carriages and horses all gave way to them.I looked at the direction the camel came from and asked, "Where is that?" Grandma said, "If you go further north, you will be out of the city." "Where is it after you go out of the city?" "It's outside the city." That's enough, don't ask!" I really wanted to see outside the city, but grandma led me in another direction.I said "No, I want to go outside the city", I said "Grandma, I want to go outside the city to see", I didn't go, I squatted on the ground and couldn't get up.Grandma pulled me forward, and I cried. "Wouldn't it be better to take you to a more fun place? There are many children there..." I didn't listen and cried all the way.

The more you walk, the more desolate, the houses are messy, and the number of residents is gradually decreasing.After walking along a gray brick wall for a while, I entered a gate.Ah, it's a completely different scene suddenly opened up in the gate: a large stretch of silent woods, with gravel paths winding among them.The fallen leaves all over the ground rolled in the wind and creaked when stepped on.Sparrows and gray magpies are jumping and jumping on the grass in the forest, looking for food calmly.I stopped crying.For the first time in my life I saw the church, its steeple reddened by the setting sun behind the smoky branches.

I followed my grandma into an archway, through the long corridor, and into a large house.There were a lot of kids there, sitting behind tall desks with only their faces showing.They are singing.An old man with a beard in a long robe played the organ, and the sound of the piano fluttered, and the sunlight in the room seemed to fly up with it.Grandma pulled me out and backed to the door.Among the singing children was my cousin. He saw us but did not come over, but sang hard.I have never heard such piano and singing before. It is peaceful and joyful. Rows of old tables and chairs, dark walls, and high roofs seem to be alive, connecting with the clear sky and woods outside the window.I will never forget the feeling at that moment, as if a gentle yet strong wind blows through my body and penetrates into my heart.Later, grandma often said to others: "As soon as the piano sounded, the child was so stupid that he didn't cry or make trouble." How much I envy my cousin, envy all those children, envy the light and sound at that moment, tangible and invisible.I stood there blankly, my eyes wide open in vain, but I couldn't actually hear or see, and something ignorant was startled for the first time—maybe it was the soul.I can’t remember what happened afterwards, it seems that the old man with the beard came over and touched my head, then the light went dark, and there were no children in the house, and then my grandma and I walked there again In the woods, and my cousin.My cousin tore open a paper bag and took out an egg and some candies, saying they were Christmas presents from the kindergarten.

At this time, the bell of the Vespers rang—well, it was the sound, it was him!This is the kind of ethereal sound I have heard resounding in the sky! "Where is it, Grandma?" "What, what did you say?" "That voice, Grandma, I've heard that voice before." "The bell? Ah, right under the steeple of the bell tower." Only then did I know that the sound I had heard since I was born was the bell of this church, and it was from under that steeple.Twilight was thickening, and the sun was no longer on the spire of the bell tower.The wind blew through the woods, carrying away the joyous calls of sparrows and gray magpies.The sound of the bell is steady, melodious, and fluttering, connecting the sunset and the early moon, extending to the depths of the sky or the end of the earth...

I don't know why my grandma took me there that day, and why I never went there again. I do not know when, the bell in the sky has stopped, and disappeared in this land for a long time. I didn't know until many years later that the church and kindergarten were demolished shortly after we visited.I think, when grandma took me there, she must have wanted to enroll me in that kindergarten, but she failed. It was 40 years before I heard that bell again.That year, my wife and I took an eight- or nine-hour flight to a beautiful city on the other side of the world. As soon as we entered that city, I heard him.In the clean air, in the clear sunlight and above the surging waves, in the quiet side streets, in all parts of that city, he could be heard floating freely at any time.My wife and I walked slowly amidst the ringing of the bell and listened carefully to him. I seemed to have returned to my childhood all of a sudden, and the whole world seemed to have returned to my childhood.I suddenly had a new understanding of my hometown: a person’s hometown is not limited to a specific piece of land, but a vast and incomparable mood, not limited by space and time; once this mood is awakened, it means that you have returned home.