Looking at the few small rice bags in front of us, it was the first time since we came to the copper mine that we had dozens of catties of white rice at home. These rice bags were placed at home, and it seemed that we had never been short of food or hungry.
Didn't people need this bit of rice to survive? The mountain was covered with trees and the ground was covered with grass. Why was there only rice that could keep people alive? Why would there be so many tree trunks growing on the mountain? Why did the grass grow on the ground? The ten-year-old me really couldn't understand how God arranged this world.
Looking at the black bag, which was made from old trousers and was just carried back by me, containing nine catties of rations, I couldn't help but reach my hand in and pinch it. I felt the smoothness of the rice grain flowing between my fingers and was unwilling to pull it out for a long time. At this time, the shadows of the black seeds of the Camphor tree and the wild Wormwood kept shaking in front of me. Shaking, shaking, I felt that the rice grain in my hand suddenly became the body of a snake swimming by the water. My hand retreated as if it had been electrocuted.
This was a long-awaited meal. Mother not only did not put wild vegetables in the rice, but also did not put too much water. Instead, she cooked a pot of white rice. Us brothers waited impatiently by the stove, waiting for the rice to be cooked quickly. We surrounded the stove and constantly added firewood and fanned the fire. Black smoke actually came out of the pot. The burnt smell mixed with the unique fragrance of rice filled the dilapidated straw hut.
In fact, her mother didn't know how to control the heat of the cooked rice. Ever since she came here, she had cooked vegetable porridge and vegetable soup every day. This was the first time she cooked rice.
We brothers carried the plates made of iron sheets and waited for Mother to distribute the rice in the pot to us. We no longer used bamboo tubes as bowls, but upgraded to iron plates. This was Father's new creation. He used the iron scraps in the workshop, cut them into circles, and then beat them into the shape of plates with a hammer. He made such bowls for each of us brothers.
Mother scooped a spoonful of rice into my plate. Although this rice had a burnt smell, it added a kind of fragrance. I ate it in small mouthfuls, as if I was tasting the best delicacies in the world. Little brother, on the other hand, finished it very quickly in big mouthfuls. He stood by the pot and wanted more, but there was only charred rice crust left in the pot. I took some rice from the bowl and gave it to him. Because he was my younger brother who was two years younger than me. He was even more pitiful to have suffered so much at this age.
Mother scooped up the charred rice crust in the pot and gave it to us brothers. She and Father still ate the porridge. Her mother said that she often ate white rice when she was young, so she did not crave for these things now. Could it be that his father had eaten enough white rice when he was young? However, when she went to her grandmother's house that year, she did see that the paddy field was in front of her grandmother's house.
Hunger didn't stop us brothers from growing up. As we grew taller, our appetite also multiplied. The monthly ration of nine catties of food didn't increase with the increase in our appetite. Fighting against hunger is still the first mission our family faces. We must fight a protracted war like the Chinese people who resisted the Japanese for eight years.
Since the country started to provide food to our family members, our family's diet structure had changed to a certain extent. The black and sticky porridge with root of love-vine and wild vegetables had obviously added white rice grains. In order to adapt to our brothers 'growing appetite, mother added more water to the pot. The more we drank the porridge, the bigger our stomachs became. On the contrary, we became hungry faster and faster. Sometimes, in order to fill the second bowl, my brothers would turn the hot plate and suck it like a group of little pigs fighting for food. He couldn't care less about his dignity.
We brothers have to thank our parents for their kindness. In those times when our lives were threatened by hunger, they always gave us food that was equivalent to their lives without hesitation, but they themselves endured the torment of hunger.
One day in early winter, I was sick and didn't go to school. I was lying in bed in a daze. I heard the bell for work. I saw my father still walking around the house, looking around as if he was looking for something. After walking for a while, he looked at me (There was no one else in the house at this time), as if afraid of being discovered, I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I saw him quickly walk to the stove and bend down. After lunch, he soaked in water. There was something in the unwashed pot. It turned out to be the burnt rice crust on the bottom of the pot. After being soaked in water, it floated up. He quickly picked up the floating residue and stuffed it into his mouth. Finally, he grabbed the bowl and scooped up the water in the pot to drink. Then, he pretended to be fine, straightened up, closed the door, and went to work.
Witnessing my father secretly fishing for swill dregs to satisfy his hunger, I, who was hiding under the blanket, suddenly felt a sense of sadness. I gritted my teeth. The moment he walked out of the door, I could no longer control myself. I covered myself under the blanket and burst into tears.
For decades, the fire in the blacksmith furnace had burned his father's face black, covering the greenish-yellow color of hunger and malnutrition. His short figure, black face, and squinting small eyes made him so humble and neglected. He seemed to be unworthy of people's attention. It was as if he had come to this world as a slave to his family and society. When it came to his father's opinion, his mother would only say,"Your father is an old country bumpkin."
None of us brothers liked him. We were all afraid of him. When we saw him, it was like a mouse seeing a cat. He squinted his small eyes and glanced at us brothers. We would feel uncomfortable all over. He was illiterate, but he stubbornly believed in the truth. No matter how absurd his words were, as long as we said anything more, we would immediately be scolded by him.
He didn't seem to need anyone's concern. When his mother asked him about Leng Nuan, he would just say," I won't die." His mother choked so hard that tears were about to fall from her eyes. "We brothers admire the kindness and kindness of other people's fathers to their children. We wish so much to have a kind and amiable father like their children. However, this is only our extravagant and unreachable wish. We brothers never dare to approach him or say a word of flattery to him. Because he doesn't allow us to contradict him, nor does he like us to flatter him. We brothers can only treat him as if he were a stepfather and avoid him as much as possible." We brothers even felt aggrieved for our mother marrying this "old country bumpkin" father.
However, such an " old country bumpkin " never shirked his responsibility as a father and his family. While I was afraid of him, or even hated him, I had to admire and thank him from the bottom of my heart. It was not because I had a conscience that told me that he was my father, but because he had such a respectable personality. He was a qualified father and a qualified husband who could bear the hardships of the family.
Not every father and husband can bear the responsibility and suffering like him. When he grows up, listen to me. Liu Yi said,"My second uncle is a well-read person and a professional pastor. He is very knowledgeable and cultured. He gives people the impression that he is gentle and amiable. However, during the three years of natural disasters, he was afraid that he would starve to death, so he forcefully divided his rations from his home and hid to eat alone. He did not care about the life and death of my second aunt and several children."
It was during dinner that day that dad announced another piece of good news to the whole family. He told us not to go to bed early. When he came back from working overtime tonight, he said that he would have braised pork to eat. My brothers were happy to have meat to eat. However, I thought of the scene where dad fished out swill dregs to satisfy his hunger at noon. A sense of sadness arose from the bottom of my heart. After dinner, I went to bed and covered myself with a quilt to pretend to be asleep. I didn't have the courage to see the braised pork that dad brought back because I felt sorry for my father in these difficult times. The gratitude of silently enduring hardships for my family would definitely make me lose my self-control in front of him and cry.
It was very late. Father had not returned from work yet. My brothers were waiting until they fell asleep, but I was full of thoughts and did not feel sleepy. Instead, I was afraid that Father would come back early. I was afraid that the red braised pork he brought back would cause me to lose control of my emotions and be embarrassed.
His father still came back. As soon as he entered the house, he said to his mother who was sitting in front of the lamp mending clothes," Wake up the children and eat the braised pork." Following his father's words, he immediately smelled the alluring fragrance of the braised pork. Through the gap in the blanket covering his head, he saw his mother take a small bowl from his father. It was a small bowl used for cooking in the canteen. There were about two taels of white rice in the bowl, and five or six pieces of braised pork the size of fingernails piled on top of the rice.
Hearing Mother's call, my brother and I rubbed their eyes and woke up from their sleep. When they saw that there was really red braised pork to eat, they immediately got out of the blanket. I turned over to the wall and pretended to be asleep. No matter how Mother called me, I shook my head and pretended not to hear her. Mother said that she was in a deep sleep and didn't call me, but Father refused. He came over and called," Second, wake up, get up and eat red braised pork." I just closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Father didn't call me anymore. He must have seen the tears in the corner of my eyes.
Mother first took a piece of meat from the bowl and put it into her sister's mouth. Then she gave a piece to her younger brother and elder brother. She ate a small piece herself. Mother asked Father to eat a piece too. Father said," Leave it for Second Brother. It's not easy to eat meat once." Mother said," Second Brother must be pretending to be asleep. I won't leave such a mouthful for him." Under Mother's repeated urging, Father picked up some minced meat from the small bowl and put it into his mouth. He had tasted it.
The small piece of meat that originally belonged to me was bitten into two halves by my mother. One half was given to my brother, and the other half was given to my younger brother. Then, she took a small spoon and fed everyone a mouthful of rice soaked in red braised pork juice. The whole family waited for half a night. The red braised pork that my father couldn't bear to eat was finally shared in joy. Finally, my father took the small bowl from my mother's hand and licked the remaining oil stains on the bowl. That night, in the straw hut, the fragrance of red braised pork lingered for a long time.
It was on this day that the young me began to understand responsibility and commitment from my father.
This book comes from：m.funovel.com。