The last mule in the village

This paper deals with the collision of Bole's theme writing.

I was eight or nine years old. Maybe I went to school, maybe I didn't. According to my age, I should have gone to school, but children in rural areas generally go to school late, so it is normal for me not to go to school at my age. that this is not the important question. What I want to tell is the story of my grandfather and a mule. The day before, grandpa was still working in the fields with a mule. When he came back, something was wrong with him, and his whole face was sallow. He led the mule into the shed, tied it, and came out to sit under the jujube tree in the yard and smoke. In early summer, the jujube tree bloomed, and a petal was torn off by the wind and fell on grandpa's head. He didn't notice. I stood in front of him and helped him choose the petals. His hair is still thick and black. After smoking a cigarette, he pressed the cigarette end on a passing ant. I think I heard a cry, and then I smelled burning.

He asked me, when does your father get off work? I said 5: 30, he nodded, smoked another cigarette and asked, what time does your father get off work? I said half past five. You just asked. He said, I know I asked, do you still want to say? I stopped talking and two jujube flowers fell on his head. This time I chose to hold hands.

Grandpa didn't wait for dad to come back. He stood up and took a step. His legs are numb and a little shaky. I'll help him. He waved, shook his legs and limped out. I asked him what he was doing, and he said he was looking for Lao Han. The old man is his old buddy, single, nearly sixty years old, hunched back early, bent at right angles. It turns out that I planted two acres of land and raised a horse. I'm full. After hunchback, I couldn't continue farming, so I rented out the land and sold my horse. Speaking of this horse, I should add that it is the mother of our mule and the father is the donkey of a foreign village. Grandpa often goes to see Lao Han. He collects food at home and grinds it into flour. Grandpa put a snakeskin bag on the mule and gave it to Lao Han. By the way, he will also put a bottle of wine in his pocket and buy half a catty of peanuts or a roast chicken in the canteen. I came back with a faint smell of alcohol and tobacco, and my face was red. I came back very late this time, and my parents sat in front of the square table in the living room and waited anxiously. My father said it was all your fault. It doesn't matter if you tell your father in advance. Mother said that telling him was just as angry. If you don't tell him, maybe you'll come to your senses. Father said, it's all your fault anyway. Mother said, what can I do? My father has a big temper.

It's almost midnight and the gate creaks. Dad and mom turned to look out of the window together. Grandpa's hard figure poked in the dark, holding the jujube tree and breathing with his head down. Mom slapped dad, and dad was excited. Mom said, drunk, go and have a look. I ran out and put an arm under my grandfather's armpit. The smell of alcohol mixed with a sour taste makes my nose itch. Grandpa probably threw up outside and had a stain on his chest. I helped grandpa to his room, and he lay sprawled on the kang. My dad stood at the door and said, ask your grandfather if he wants to drink water. I haven't asked, grandpa said, don't drink, you go, I fell asleep. Father took off his shoes and pulled up the quilt to cover him. Soon snoring rolled out from the depths of his nose and echoed in the room. My father and I were just about to leave when my grandfather suddenly muttered, no one wants to rob my land. Then the snoring sounded again.

Grandpa, who used to get up early at ordinary times, was uncharacteristically the next day. When breakfast was put on the table, grandpa had not come out of the room. My mother asked me to call him. I went to his house, my ear was stuck to the door, and there was no snoring inside. I pushed open the door, and grandpa was lying on the kang, still in the same posture as yesterday, just turning a blind eye, his mouth tilted to one side, like a spoon, and a string of water leaked out of the spoon. When he saw me, his open eyes blinked and his mouth twitched, muttering that I seemed to be tied. I was shocked and called my parents. They came running. Grandpa laboriously repeated what he just said, and I seem to be stuck. Mom and dad rushed grandpa to the tricycle and hurried to the hospital. Before leaving, grandpa told me to remember to feed the mule.

The barn is on the west side of the yard, facing the barn. It will stink in summer and block up the yard. My mother advised my father several times behind my grandfather's back that I should sell the mule, tear down the barn and plant some flowers. My dad shook his head like a rattle and said, no way, the mule is my dad's pet. Mother said sullenly, who do you think keeps livestock in the village? It's not necessary to do farm work. Father said, consider it a kitten and puppy. My father likes it. What can we do? Mother said, does this mean counting on mules to support his old age or counting on mules to support his old age? Father glared at mother, scolded and farted!

I walked into the barn, and the light was not very good inside. After the weather turned warmer, grandpa cut a hole in the wall and installed an exhaust fan. At this time, the exhaust fan rotates leisurely, playing the sunshine flowing on the mule like a piano, making the mule's fur look flickering. Mules used to be reddish brown, but now they look a little faded and close to dark gray. It is located in front of the trough, where caked chaff and grass are piled up. I squatted down and looked at it, and its eyelids drooped, as if it had aged a lot overnight.

I grabbed a handful of grass from the gate, twisted it into a strand and put it in the mule's mouth. His ears flapped twice and his head turned to one side. It seems that his mood is influenced by his grandfather. I put my hand on its neck and stroked its mane. Thanks to my grandfather, his mane was neatly trimmed. Grandpa may never cut his mane again. Maybe I can help him. Unfortunately, grandpa didn't teach me this skill. I don't know how long it took, but the mule suddenly stood up, pulling the reins, chirping and snorting. I didn't know what it was going to do, so I stood by and watched quietly. Later, I heard the familiar sound of a three-wheeled engine outside the door. It's grandpa coming back. The mule's behavior made me feel ashamed. Mules care more about my grandfather than I do. Perhaps it is the most loving creature in the world for grandpa.

Grandpa's illness is lighter than we thought, probably because of his usual exercise. He takes a mule to the fields almost every day. Even in the slack season, even in winter, when there is no work to do in the field, he walks around the shore to observe the growth of wheat seedlings or prevent sheep without eyes from trampling on the wheat field.

The sick grandfather just has a crooked mouth and a crooked eyes. Besides, his right hand is no longer as flexible as before. It can be seen that he is trying to control the trembling of his right hand when picking vegetables. Even so, food often leaks between his two chopsticks. At first, he seemed a little depressed. He often falls off the chopsticks while eating and then goes back to his room. His parents just looked at his back and exchanged complicated eyes with each other.

Grandpa still takes an old mule out every day. Once, I followed him on orders from his father to see where he had gone. I watched my grandfather and mule go out in tandem, with the reins hanging in the middle and almost dragging to the ground. Grandpa and mule walked slowly, like trudging through mud. They left the village and walked straight along Huancun Road, passing some tractors or trucks on the opposite side. The tail gas was dense on them, making their figure look fragmented. There are vegetable greenhouses on both sides of the road, and a long arched white dragon extends to the horizon. According to my father, this piece of land in the village has been contracted to vegetable farmers in Shandong. They built greenhouses and planted green onions in them. Further on, the shed disappeared and was replaced by a series of unfinished red brick low walls, which covered the field with a layer of armor. I also heard from my father that what factory to build on this land is a big project to attract investment in the county. Later, grandpa stopped in front of a low wall, sat on the side of the road and began to smoke. The smoke circled over his head and disappeared in an instant. The mule climbed down, too, with his head down and panting. Soon after, grandpa finished smoking a pack of cigarettes. He rummaged through his pockets to make sure there was no more substance for him to smoke. Then he stood up slowly and patted the dust on the back of his ass. Walk back with the mule. He saw me and he said, that's our land. At this time in previous years, corn seedlings had not passed their ankles. I nodded, glad to confirm that the disease didn't make grandpa dumb.

After returning home, mom and dad went out. One of them works in Maanshan Iron and Steel Co., Ltd., producing building fasteners, and the other works in woven bag factory, producing woven bags for vegetables. Grandpa tied the mule and took out a pickaxe from the barn. He stood in the middle of the yard and put down his pickaxe. The sharp mouth of the pickaxe pecked at the ground, making a crunching sound and bursting out gray-green fragments. The blue bricks on the ground were dug up by grandpa and scattered on the ground like a group of dead bodies. Grandpa ordered me to pile all the blue bricks in the corner, while I continued waving a pickaxe.

When the sun rose to the top of the head, the blue bricks in the yard had been lifted by half. Grandpa wiped his sweat, glanced at the mess in front of him, nodded with satisfaction, and his mouth turned up and twitched twice (after illness, he always pulled his mouth twice before speaking to start his mouth). He said, plant corn here, and then pointed to the other side. What did you say?/Sorry? I said, grow peanuts and sweet potatoes. Those were my two favorite foods when I was a child. They can cook, barbecue, stir-fry and, of course, eat raw. Grandpa took off his sweaty vest, kneaded it into a ball, put one under his arm on both sides and put it on his shoulder. A vest mark appeared on his back, and a lump of muscles moved in the mark.

After uncovering the blue bricks, grandpa turned three times around the jujube tree in the middle of the yard. It seems a little hesitant. I saw through his mind. I said, Grandpa, I love jujube, and jujube trees can't be planed. Grandpa said, well, don't plan, just get in the way. At this time, a gust of wind blew and the branches of jujube trees shook. I know it is expressing gratitude to me.

In the evening, mom goes home earlier than dad. I watched her reaction as soon as she entered the hospital. The muscles on her face seemed to be hit by something heavy, which obviously sank a few minutes. She glanced at grandpa, who was sitting at the door smoking and put on his vest (there was a brown stain on his chest). She asked cautiously, Dad, what are you doing? Grandpa said, the land is gone, and I have to plant crops.

After dinner, grandpa went back to his room. Mom and dad are sitting on a stool and one on a kang. A knife grew out of mother's eyes. His father may feel pain when he digs it out of him. He wiped his arm and aimed at his mother. You know dad's temper ... mother interrupted him and said desperately, do it, but it's hard to do it.

In the morning, I had a dream. I rode a mule through the cornfields. Corn stalks are buried above my head. The yellow leaves have faded and hung on both sides of the stalk. One or two corns are tied to each stalk and wrapped in satin, which makes me look bloated and clumsy. Walking, corn stalks suddenly jumped up and dragged two mud heels behind us. The mule was frightened, raised its hoof and ran away. I grabbed its mane, and its mane was cut off, too short to catch. When I fell, the mule ran away. I called it, but it ignored me. Just when I was at my wit's end, I heard grandpa's voice, wow, wow-

Woo, woo-the ending is long, crawling with ivy, crawling around the wall, echoing. I opened my eyes, and it was still dark outside the window. Grandpa got up. He was driving a mule. I was alone in a room, separated from my parents' room by a wooden wall, and I could vaguely hear their conversation.

What is my father doing?

Agriculture.

Really let him grow crops in the yard?

What else should we do?

I got dressed and walked out of the room. In the dark, grandpa held a plow in one hand and waved a whip in the other. The mule seems to have become young overnight, and its body is full of vitality. I sat on the threshold, quietly watching grandpa and mule. The yard is small, and the mule's head leans against the wall. Grandpa pulled the reins aside and the mule turned around with difficulty. Grandpa was carrying a plow. When the mule turned 180 degrees, he poked the plow into the ground and shouted. The mule strode with its head down and its front legs struggling. The soil in the yard is different from that in the field. It's hard, and there are some historical marks buried in it. Grandpa plowed the field and got an unexpected harvest from the plow. That's just a little shoe. He put it in front of his eyes to study. He told me that it was your father's childhood, and there was a hole in his big toe, which he thought was taken away by a mouse. With a wave of his arm, he threw his shoes under the wall. In a short time, a piece of rotten red cloth was plowed. Grandpa shook the soil above and watched it for a while in the morning light. Without saying anything, he crumpled the cloth and stuffed it into his trouser pocket. I said, Grandpa, are those your underwear? Grandpa said, nonsense.

The sun has risen, but the moon has not set. This is the first time I have seen the sun and the moon in the same sky.

Mom and dad went to work one after another. Before leaving, my mother said to my grandfather, Dad, the food is in the pot. The tone is as cold as the morning air. Grandpa finished plowing, unloaded the plow on the mule and carried it into the barn. His arm is shaking slightly. I said, Grandpa, let's eat. Grandpa lit a cigarette, looked at the raw land in the yard and nodded contentedly. After dinner, I asked grandpa, can we plant corn and peanuts now? Grandpa said, not yet. The soil is too dry. You should water it first. We each carry an iron bucket, fill it with water and sprinkle it on the ground. Grandpa was in a hurry and didn't forget to instruct me to spread the water evenly, just like it rained. I understand the spirit, but I can't sprinkle it well. The water gathered together to form a puddle, which could not penetrate for a long time. Grandpa grabbed the ladle from my hand and said that you should keep it and go, which made a big mess.

After sprinkling water, it was left to dry for a long time, until grandpa stepped one foot into the soil and pulled it out, and there was no sticky mud on the soles. He said, you can plant it now. With a hoe in his hand, he raked out rows of neat furrows in the field from south to north. After raking, he decided on the hoe and said, how about planting corn on the left and peanuts on the right with jujube trees as the boundary? I said, okay.

After planting corn and peanuts, grandpa piled a ridge in the middle and stamped it with his foot, saying that since the road is there, your parents will not find fault. I said, grandpa, you are so thoughtful.

Grandpa and I sit on the threshold every day, waiting for the buds of corn or peanuts to drill out of the ground. We waited for three days, but the earth was still asleep. Grandpa can't sit still. He went out with a laundry list on his back, and soon came back with a basket of chicken manure. Chicken manure is dry. Grandpa grabbed a handful of chicken manure, pinched it in his hand and scattered it into the ground one by one. The sun is shining, and the smell of chicken manure is wandering in the yard. They opened the door, entered the room and even ran wild at the dinner table. Mother finally couldn't bear it. She put half a bowl of cold noodles on the table and stared at her father's luck. She exhaled more gas and inhaled less gas. Father knocked on the edge of the table with chopsticks as a reminder, but it didn't work at all. Mother picked up the bowl, got up and poured the noodles into the slop bucket. She said, I'm full. Father looks a little ugly. He whispered, dad, it stinks, as if eating chicken shit-flavored noodles. Grandpa ignored him and ate happily.

Under the call of chicken manure, the buds arched out of the ground and covered with a layer of bark. Grandpa has a smile on his lips, although he looks a little nervous because of the stroke. In the next few days, grandpa talked a lot. He often discussed the advantages and disadvantages of corn varieties with his father while eating rice, and even praised a few delicious words intentionally or unintentionally. At this time, the mother's expression also eased a lot. My family and I waited for the harvest in harmony, but it didn't last long. A group of unexpected guests came to my house. Those locusts of different sizes and colors have amazing destructive power and amazing appetite, and young seedlings are quickly bitten all over. Some locusts, full of food and drink, take a lunch break on the wall, and some swagger into the house. They have no fear of grandpa's rubber soles, even if the bodies of their torn companions stick to them.

Grandpa bought pesticide urgently, poured it into a sprayer surrounded by locusts, adjusted the water and sprayed it at random. Grandpa won the battle, but he also suffered heavy losses. One third of the corn and peanuts were fatally injured, and the rest were colored. Grandpa had to sigh and replant the seedlings. It's all small things. The important thing is that, somehow, the poisoned locusts may have escaped into the pot and struggled to climb out. Anyway, after eating a meal, our whole family showed signs of poisoning. Grandpa dodged a bullet because he went to drink with an old fool. My mother kept twitching on the ground, and the foam in her mouth kept bubbling. Father vomited and diarrhea, and went to the toilet several times. The symptoms have eased, but it's just a stomachache. I farted a few times, but I didn't. My father asked me to call grandpa at the old man's house, but I think we should call the doctor first.

Grandpa and the doctor almost entered the door together. When the doctor asked, grandpa squatted on the ground and smoked until the doctor walked out of the room. He stood up to greet him and asked if the situation was serious. The doctor said that food poisoning was not serious. Take medicine and drink plenty of water, and it will be fine tomorrow. Grandpa breathed a sigh of relief, and the clouds on his face cleared away, revealing the guilt in the wrinkles. But grandpa will never give up, I know, and our whole family knows. He still goes his own way and takes care of those seedlings every day. With the growth of corn and peanuts, my mother's attitude towards grandpa is getting colder and colder, and she can't say a word all day.

It often rains this year. After entering July, it rains at both ends, once every three days and once every half day. Grandpa, wearing a raincoat and rubber shoes, inspected the field. When he found the seedlings washed down by the rain, he carefully lifted them up, and then gathered a fortress under the seedlings with both hands to prevent them from falling down again. However, it rained harder and harder, and the water overflowed grandpa's feet. Miao Miao, half immersed in the water, leaned back against Grandpa for help. Grandpa ran to the barn, took out a shovel and hurried out of the yard. Mom looked at grandpa through the glass in the room and said to dad, is there something wrong with dad's brain? Father said, you have a problem. Mother said, what is he doing out? Go and have a look. Father jumped up from the stool, grabbed the umbrella at the door and ran out.

The water in the yard suddenly rushed towards the gate of the yard and was soon clean. Father is back, grandpa is back. Father shook the rain on his umbrella at the door and said that the sewer was blocked. Mom said, poke it open? Father looked at Grandpa quietly-Grandpa was taking off his raincoat and digging the sewer. I think I heard a bang, and my mother's face sank to the ground.

In the hot summer, corn is waist-high, and I shuttle through it. They tickle me with dark green leaves; The fluffy and flamboyant leaves of peanuts show that the fruits hidden underground are booming. Grandpa, wearing a straw hat and bare arms, is weeding corn and peanuts. His dark back was stained with the blood of ungrateful corn leaves.

During this time, when the mule is idle, it occasionally shows anxiety, stamping its hooves like dancing, shaking its head and spraying snot or saliva on the wall. At this time, grandpa will untie its reins and let it play in the yard. It has devoted itself to wanton green vitality, and the corn seedlings tremble with irregular waves. Soon, it emerged from the other end and the other plunged into it. I'm afraid it will spoil the crops, grandpa said, no, it's okay. Sure enough, I verified afterwards that none of the corn was dropped and none of the peanuts were trampled.

Parents seem to have adapted to such an environment, except that they sometimes complain that there are many mosquitoes, but the problem of more mosquito-repellent incense is solved. They probably expect autumn to come soon, and these karma will be eradicated regardless of the harvest. I'm looking forward to planting more peanuts. I don't care about corn.

It happened a little suddenly. Grandpa was taking a nap that day. I'm too hot to sleep. I tossed and turned on the kang. At this moment, I heard something in the yard. I got up and squatted on the windowsill and saw a sheep through the glass and sticky air. It squatted on the peanut seedling and ate and drank.

Obviously, sheep will not have good fruit to eat. It is dead. At night, my neighbor Aunt pea (I always thought Aunt Pea was called Pea because of the blue mole on her left face. Later, when I saw the bachelor army staring at the two circular outlines protruding from aunt pea's shirt, I suddenly realized that the pea meant something else. Sitting in front of my house with a runny nose and tears, my grandfather and I stayed at home until my parents came back from work. My mother let Aunt Pea into the house, and Aunt Pea crossed the mountain with a disdainful expression on her face. She said, your father-in-law is really an elusive person. Mother curled her lips and didn't respond to her. Mother made tea, poured a cup, put her hand on the wall of the cup and tried to heat the water until she was sure that Aunt Pea wouldn't get burned. Mother brought the water to Aunt Pea and said, Have tea. Aunt pea didn't answer. She said that your family is very particular. What kind of tea do you drink in summer? I always drink cold water directly from the urn, which makes me very happy. Mother looks pale, but she still smiles with her. I stared at two peas looming on menstruation's chest and suddenly slapped me on the head. Where should I look? My mouth is watering! Aunt pea exposed my hooliganism and stood out in front of me. Father couldn't sit still, so he grabbed the feather duster on the kang and greeted me. I covered my head with my hand and howled like a pig.

The crying alarmed grandpa. He ran out of his room, grabbed the feather duster from his father and slapped him twice on the back. His father jumped away like a slut. Grandpa said, why hit the child? Father said he was a hooligan. Grandpa said, listen to that woman carelessly. Aunt Pea was unhappy and said with her hands akimbo: It's really fish begins to stink at the head. Seeing that the situation was developing in an uncontrollable direction, my mother stopped it in time. Sister-in-law pea, stop it. Is it not just a sheep? I'll pay you back. Aunt pea sat back on the edge of the kang and said that the sheep was originally for my son to eat for the New Year. You know, he is a soldier in the field and only comes back once a year. Mom said, I know, just say how much. Aunt pea said, for the sake of being a neighbor for so many years, a thousand.

Mother sent aunt pea away and sat on the kang sulking, while father drank herbal tea and vomited tea residue. Grandpa said I was out and didn't eat at home at night. I said, I'll go with you, too. Reach for grandpa's sleeve. Mom stared at me and said, you stay at home honestly. Grandpa looked at his mother and his mouth twitched. He wanted to say something, but he didn't say it. He fed the mule and left with his hand on his back. I know he went to drink with Han. He wants to see Han when he is happy and wants to see Han when he is unhappy.

Mom is still angry. She is so angry that she won't cook for us. I murmured that I was hungry. Mom said, if you are hungry, do it yourself! She lay directly on the kang, grabbed a pillow and put it under her head. Father finished his tea and said, I'll do it. Mom seems to have just discovered the existence of dad. She said, how can you have such a father? Father said, what's the matter? I don't think there's anything wrong with it. I agree, there's nothing wrong with it. Grandpa even planted peanuts for me. Mother suddenly broke out. She bounced off the kang and rushed out of the house. My father and I chased him out, and my mother didn't know when there was a sickle in her hand. She waved it like a crazy executioner and brutally executed the corn and peanuts. We verbally stopped mother, but no one dared to go forward. The sickle in her hand did not hesitate for a moment. Corn is flying around with broken limbs and peanuts are everywhere. I heard them crying and complaining. Mules are also moaning in the barn.

It was dark, and the night was the blood of corn and peanuts, which flowed all over the yard. Neither corn nor peanuts are spared. Mother stopped to keep quiet. She threw away her sickle and stood among the dead bodies of a pile of crops. Father suddenly said, you are in trouble. Mother ignored him, and she ignored anyone. She went into the room and lay back on the kang. I just found out that she didn't wear shoes, and both soles were covered with mud and leaves.

My father and I, as well as mules, are quietly waiting for grandpa's return. Grandpa came back an hour later. He walked into the yard, trembling in the face of a mess. There was a cooing sound in his throat. No, it should be said that it was half, and the other half was blocked by something. His body moved twice in the night, and then he fell down, with a bang, in the bodies of corn and peanuts.

Grandpa died in this way, and mom and dad urgently razed the yard, paved it with blue bricks, and set up a shed to entertain the villagers who came to mourn. After five days in a daze, grandpa was finally buried. I just think I may never eat peanuts again. I told my father this idea, and my father straightened the filial hat on my head and said, silly boy, isn't it easy to eat peanuts? There are spiced peanuts, boiled peanuts and sugar-coated peanuts in the canteen. I said, really? He said, of course it's true.

But my grandpa will never come back. We were so busy with grandpa's funeral for several days that we forgot the existence of mules. After grandpa was buried, I went into the barn and found the mule lying quietly on the ground with swarms of flies on it. I drove away the flies and the mule raised his eyelids. I'm relieved it's not dead. I stuffed forage into its trough, and it didn't even look. I think it may still be immersed in sadness, and when it accepts grandpa's death, it will eat. So I left it alone.

The next day, my mother suggested to my father that now that the land is gone and my father is gone, it is useless to raise this kind of animal again. Besides, you see it has nothing but skin and bones. I'm afraid it will die. Let's sell it while it's still breathing. Father nodded.

At night, there were two snores in my parents' room, so I quietly walked out of the door and came to the barn. The mule is still lying, and the grass in the trough is motionless. It must know I'm coming. I saw its ears turn a little, but there was no response. I untied its reins, put my mouth on its ear and said, come on, let's get out of here. It understood, stood up hard, and its four legs trembled slightly.

We walk in a cloudy night, in an empty space, and in a red brick and green tile barrier. I thought of the dead sheep. I kicked it down with one foot, and then the mule pulled the reins like crazy, and its front hoof jumped high and landed heavily on the sheep's stomach. It's a secret between me and grandpa and mules. The mule is behind me, walking more and more slowly. I feel the weight on the reins getting lighter and lighter. I looked back and saw that its body was soft and soft, and it fell on the wide asphalt road and in the river in the moonlight. I was surprised to find that it was slowly melting, decomposing, turning into fluorescence and flying to the sky and the moon.

I think this secret will eventually become my own secret.