I have seen my teacher again, such as those who go to the mountains to see a god who has been grateful for him since childhood. In the sunshine of the first month of this year and the cold winter of the first month, I went home to the funeral of my third uncle, and also went to the solemn etiquette and commemoration of the third anniversary of my uncle. In this free space, Teacher Zhang came to my house and sat on the stool in the hall of my house.
The emptiness and mess in the country room separates the distance and silence between me and my teacher. Sitting opposite each other, drinking white water, peeling apples, and talking about the sadness and joy of old memories, such as my studies, my homework, my skipping classes, and some of my A certain classmate studied very well, but because his family was relatively high, he was a rich peasant. It seemed that his grandfather was suspected of exploiting others, so he was not qualified to go to high school. Naturally, in the college entrance examination that thundered on the ground after 1977, he had no chance to sit in the examination room and test his destiny. There is another bitter classmate who not only works hard in study, but also has a lot of spiritual talent in calligraphy. In the first year of junior high school, his block letters and ink characters can already be indistinguishable from Yan Tie. But later, due to the circumstances and family circumstances, he not only failed to take the exam, but also because of illness, he left this desolate, hot and troublesome world early.
This world, for some people, is so cold that no grass grows; for some people, it is bustling and hot. Every time you talk and walk, there will be plants and trees blooming and fruit fragrant. But for my teacher Zhang Menggeng, there is warmth in the silence, and the biting cold is hidden in the warmth.
Born in the late 1920s, the teacher dropped out of school, dropped out of school, repeatedly, walking in the road between the ridge and life, experiencing the shadows of swords and guns from Japan; experiencing the cycle of the Kuomintang and the Communist Party’s tug of war, Afterwards, the red flag of 1949 was fluttered; after the land reform, the family suddenly became a landlord. With such a destiny, most Chinese people can imagine the twists and turns of their experiences and results, which is desolate and strange.
But fortunately, he is literate after all, has a rich culture, and the country’s villages are also the most popular culture. Although culture does not necessarily mean dignity and wealth, children can read books, write their own names and rough arithmetic. It was also part of life inevitable. Thus, the teacher becomes a teacher. From one village to another village, from one village to another village middle school, until the reform and opening up in China, he was transferred to a high school in the county, as a teaching director, and finally presided over all aspects of the school. The jumble of rushes and rushes gave him all the golden and precious years of his life. The forty-three spring and autumn vegetation was covered with dust, even the corners of the student classrooms and the legs of the desks, and the ground of the principal’s office. There are often green grassy rural schools that are declining and dying.
I don’t know what kind of feelings and emotions the teacher feels about his life. He wrote a simple booklet of “My Life—The Autobiography of Zhang Menggeng”, but after reading it, it makes people feel sad, thinking about the power and strength of the world. People are weak and small, thinking of how fate and life are like the snaking of water on the dry sand, rushing and breaking free, flowing can be described as flowing, but after all, it is unable to break free from the engulfment of dryness and strength.
The final outcome is that we have graduated and the teacher has gray hair; we are middle-aged, and the teacher has withered. We got married and established careers, but in a quiet life, the teacher looked at the students he had disciplined, reprimanded, and cared for, and lived a life of retrospect and reminiscence, thinking about those he still remembers, but His students are afraid of the long forgotten past.
I still remember that in the first year of junior high, he was my head teacher and the bishop of Chinese, but one day in the Chinese class, my cotton field was full of aphids, so many people were in chaos and fear, so I invited a dozen friends in the class. All of my schoolmates went to help my mother catch aphids. Naturally, that day in the classroom was empty, there were few students, and the teacher was unable to teach and could only let everyone read with books.
In the morning after returning to school from the cotton field, the teacher asked me why I took my classmates to skip class. I plausibly said that I took my classmates to the cotton field and caught aphids for a long time. Then I asked the teacher again that the field was full of aphids. Should I help my mother catch aphids for half a day? It is said that if the aphids are not removed within three days, the cotton will be dry and fruitless in one season. Time is so urgent and my family does not have enough hands. I asked my classmates to help for a long time. What did I do wrong?
As a result, it seemed that I took the classmates to skip class in compliance with the school regulations and the constitution, and it was in line with the law of human relations. Instead, the teacher was a little bit dumb on the podium for a while. Recalling the irrationality and making troubles, strong words and clumsy stubbornness of a young time, maybe it is the early start of my daring to make up or rigid methods in my writing today, trying to turn the impossible into the possibility. However, when I saw the teacher this time, facing the elder elders who had nurtured and cared for me throughout my life, the guilt that I had never had in more than 30 years suddenly appeared in my heart like a sandy spring.
We just sat and drank water and chatted, talking about reminiscing about the old days, until the sunset, when the wind blew from the wall of our house, there was the slight reddish sound of the sunset, and the teacher insisted on saying goodbye and leaving, not unhappy. Love said that his children are all working outside and they are extremely filial. It is really a promise. It made him have a rough life and teach seriously. When he is old, his children and students are successful, like the tortuous withered vine roots. A forest of trees spread out.
When the teacher walked from my house, I helped him to get up the stool; when he left the yard, I helped him to pass the threshold; when he was sent to the door, I helped him to cross the uneven ground. My father left the world too early. When supporting the teacher, I was like supporting my elderly father. Looking at the father-like teacher from the village head, he was like a glorious old tree walking on the ground in the sunset, until he slowly disappeared from the village head, I still saw him walking in my heart The figure and the slowly rising and falling footsteps are like listening to my heartbeat in silence.
I can’t tell how great the teacher is, but I think he is great; I can’t tell how extraordinary he is, but I just think he is extraordinary. Perhaps the world itself is the real greatness of all human beings, and greatness itself is actually a kind of vulgarity that has been concealed.