The yard was the administrative command center of the farm, and it was also the place where the high-ranking officials lived. The first highest-ranking official of the farm lived here.(Deputy Secretary of the Prefectural Party Committee and Secretary of the Farm Party Committee) The Bao family. Officer Bao's daughter, Ping, transferred to my class in the first semester of the sixth grade. Ping was tall and sat in the back row. My seat was in the back row of the adjacent group with Ping. I could see Ping when I turned around. Ping was tall and didn't seem to have double eyelids. Her melancholic eyes always carried some sadness and indifference. Perhaps Officer Bao was very strict with his children, so he never saw Ping in the class. With the First Chief Officer's "thousand jin" attitude of "acting big," he was actually careful everywhere. Ping's academic performance did not seem to be very good. Was it because her grades did not go up and she was criticized by someone at home? When she arrived at school one morning, Ping's eyes looked like she had just cried. Unless it was necessary, Ping would not take the initiative to contact her classmates. Even if she did, it would be a short conversation. She had never seen her smile, which increased Ping's mysteriousness in class.
Because I was sitting next to Ping, I was always worried that Ping would dislike the bad smell coming from my body.(I would pick up trash after school, which is what we call scrap picking today), so when I unconsciously met Ping's eyes, I would always lower my eyelids first and let Ping look at me. Now that I think about it, I think that my evasive gaze must have been very wretched, but Ping did not show any disgust towards me. She only looked at me with a depressed gaze and turned her head away very normally. Ping didn't stay in class for long. Her father's rank was too high, so he only worked temporarily on the farm. Soon, he was transferred to the district to take over the secretary's work. After Ping left, because no new students transferred to the class, the seat she sat in was empty for a long time. I still unconsciously turned my head and looked at the empty place of Ping, thinking blankly, why did Ping not have the arrogance that other cadre children could not avoid? Perhaps it was because of Ping's nature, or perhaps it was because Ping's upbringing was different. In short, Ping's performance showed that people did not necessarily like to bully others.
Of course, Ping's father, Old Red Army, and his family lived in this courtyard, as well as the family of Marshal's father and a few other classmates. This courtyard didn't have a physical wall. It was just called a "courtyard". Unlike the provincial government compound, the municipal government compound was surrounded by brick walls. It was just a few houses scattered on a gentle hillside. There were office buildings, guest houses, cinemas, canteens, and dormitories for the officials and family members. Although it was not surrounded by any walls, to me, this courtyard was still as noble as the Forbidden City where emperors and dignitaries lived. Unless it was necessary, I was rarely willing to walk through this courtyard during the day (sometimes I would come here to watch movies at night). Firstly, I really did not live here. Secondly, some of my classmates who lived here had a higher status than me, although when I met them in the courtyard, they would happily call me,"Why are you here?"”，But I didn't like their enthusiasm. I always thought they were asking me,"Why are you here?"”，At that time, the economic conditions were poor. The buildings in the courtyard were just ordinary houses with low brick and wood structures. I didn't envy these houses. I just felt that the feng shui of this territory was more advantageous, which added a lot of "official air" to the people living here, whether adults or children. This was what I deeply admired and strongly envied. Perhaps at that time, a kind of motivation had been born and hidden in my bones.(Twenty-five years later, I moved into this courtyard with my family.)
After the aunt came to Zhoutian, she suggested to her father how to make a living." There are so many children. They're growing up slowly. They need to eat, wear, and go to school. You can't solve them by yourself. There's plenty of firewood on the mountain. The officials in the yard are not willing to cut firewood themselves. You can take the children up the mountain to cut firewood and sell them to them in exchange for money to take care of the children's lives and school.”
Dad listened to the cousin's suggestion and changed his way of making a living from grinding scissors in the countryside to the mountains. He got up at dawn every day and went up the mountain alone (it was the periphery of the mountain, about six or seven miles away from where he lived). He first cut a batch of firewood and put it on the mountain. After our brothers finished school at noon and in the afternoon, we followed him up the mountain to carry the firewood he had cut home (Dad continued to cut) before we could eat.
When I was in the sixth grade, I didn't look short, but I was just tall and didn't have any real strength. I could only carry 30 to 40 catties of firewood. Firewood was not valuable at that time. At first, 100 catties were sold for five cents. Sometimes when weighing firewood, the buyer had to give more (more), and my father let others take it. In this way, the firewood I carried down the mountain a day (twice) couldn't be sold for five cents. The skin on my shoulders was broken, and when it healed, calluses appeared.
At noon in the hot summer, as soon as school was over, my brother and I would go straight to the mountains under the scorching sun, enduring hunger and thirst. Dad would rush to the mountains first after work and bundle the firewood in advance. He was also in a dilemma. He was afraid that we wouldn't be able to carry too many bundles. If there were too few bundles, it wouldn't be worth it to run back and forth for more than ten miles. He would bundle them and break them up repeatedly.
This afternoon, I carried a bundle of firewood and walked down the mountain. In the past, Father would walk behind me so that after I rested, he could help me when I lifted my shoulders. But today, I really didn't have the strength to walk fast, so I naturally fell behind my father. At first, my father slowed down to wait for me, but I slowed down and finally couldn't keep up.
It was as if I had just crawled out of the water. Sweat was flowing down my face, neck, back, and legs. My hair was soaked, my vest was soaked, my shorts were soaked, and even my shoes were filled with sweat. My toes were slippery inside. My physical strength began to weaken. My waist hurt so much that it felt like it was about to break. My abdomen was also sore. My waist was bent like a prawn, and my head was about to touch the ground. At this time, I was not carrying it, but walking like a hunchback carrying firewood on his back.
I didn't dare to put down my hands to rest. Father walked to the front. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to straighten my waist when I put down my hands and raised my shoulders again. This was what I was most worried about. It was still barely possible to carry 30 to 40 catties, but after putting down my hands and raising my shoulders again, someone must help me to straighten my waist. Otherwise, it would be difficult to stand up. I forced myself to continue walking. My eyes were hurting from the sweat, and my feet began to shake. I panted heavily, feeling that the mountain road would never end.
The path after leaving the mountain followed the river to the Dayuan Bridge. The path was paved with weathered stones and sand grains. Some of the stones were exposed on the road surface, making the road uneven. I stumbled when I walked. I couldn't move my feet anymore. I almost dragged my feet. I stumbled and my legs went soft. My right knee knelt down and happened to kneel on a wind fossil that protruded from the ground. My knee was immediately cut open by the wind fossil. Shattered sand filled the crack, like a big mouth full of sand that couldn't be closed. White flesh was torn out from the edge of the crack, but no blood flowed out. A tearing pain made my legs spasm and I couldn't support it. At this moment, the firewood was still on my shoulder.
Suddenly, I didn't know where I got my courage from. I gritted my teeth and stood up fiercely. The pain in my knee was completely gone. I carried the bundle of firewood back home with a heroic spirit as if I was going to die. When I looked down again, the blood had already soaked my lower leg below the knee. It flowed into my shoes and seeped out from the broken gap. Mother saw that my leg was covered in blood and was instantly dumbfounded. Father didn't know what was going on either. He lifted my right leg and looked. The open wound looked like the mouth of a devil who had just drunk human blood. Blood was dripping out. For the first time, I saw my hard-hearted father. At this moment, he cried.
The nurse in the infirmary of the mining department used a pair of tweezers to take out dozens of grains of sand from the wound. When she washed it with alcohol, she saw the white bones exposed in the wound. She stitched it up more than ten times without anesthesia. At this time, I no longer felt pain. It was as if I had grown up to be a man and should bear my share of suffering and responsibility like my father. Because he didn't have the money to insist on changing the dressing (20 cents per time), the wound turned into a chronic sore. It rotted for more than a year before it recovered. It completely relied on his own vitality to recover.
On Sunday, my father brought us to carry the firewood from home to the family building in the yard. This was the place I didn't want to go the most. My classmates were there. I didn't want them to see that the person who cut the firewood was my father. However, I still had to go because I didn't dare to disobey my father. Moreover, my family only relied on chopping firewood and picking up scraps to make a living and pay for our school.
In the beginning, we sold bundles of long firewood (not chopped) to others. Later, the family members of the cadre asked us to chop the firewood, and then asked us to help send it home to stack it. Dad agreed to the buyer's request, but the selling price was still five cents for 100 catties, but we had to endure hunger and pay several times more physical strength and sweat.(Later, the price rose. Three months later, it rose to 70 cents for 100 catties, and a year later, it rose to 1 yuan for 100 catties.)
This Sunday morning, we carried the bundles of firewood to the building of the cadre's family members. We found an empty place. Dad asked me to stay and chop the firewood (chop it into small bundles so that it would be convenient for the buyer to carry it home). He went back to carry it. Usually, it was dad who chopped firewood on the mountain. My brother and I helped carry it back most of the time. There weren't many direct firewood chopping, so the chopper was very unstable. When it touched extremely hard miscellaneous wood, the chopper was easily bounced back by the firewood stick and even drifted to the side. At this time, the blade edge was very likely to hurt the hand holding the firewood. After chopping for more than an hour, the hand holding the knife lost its strength. The knife in my hand was broken by the hard firewood, and the knife edge went straight to the back of my left hand. Fortunately, I pulled back my hand in time, but it was still cut by the chopper. I threw the knife down and covered the back of my bleeding hand. Just as I didn't know what to do, a very anxious voice sounded behind me.”，Then, a tall female officer in her thirties came down and grabbed my injured hand. She kept saying,"Let me see, let me see.”，At this moment, a few more people gathered around to watch the show. She quickly called out to one of the boys."There's tape in the drawer at home. Go get it quickly." The little boy responded and went away. After a while, he took the tape and handed it to the female officer. She used the hemostatic tape to stick the bleeding spot on the back of my hand and said,"This child is so pitiful. He has to do such heavy things at such a young age. He has to be more careful. Don't chop the firewood that's too hard." His tone was like a mother taking care of her son. I couldn't believe it. There was actually such a kind person in this courtyard. This scene reminded me of the auntie who helped us enthusiastically when we escaped from Dafutun to Nanchang Train Station.
At this time, my father came back with firewood. When he saw that my hand was covered with tape, he guessed what was going on. He said to the people around him,"Thank you." The female cadre said to her father kindly,"It's already very difficult for the child to do such a heavy thing. Don't blame him. He hasn't had breakfast yet, right?"”，Father said,"After chopping these, we'll go back to eat." The female cadre immediately went to a room on the first floor. In a short while, she brought a bowl of porridge and a steamed bun.(At this time, the country's economy had improved a little.) I looked at my father and didn't dare to take it. My father said,"Hurry up and thank your aunt." Only then did I take the porridge and steamed bun from the female cadre. From then on, this kind "female cadre aunt" in the courtyard took root in my heart. I didn't expect that ten years later, I would find out that this kind "female cadre aunt" was actually my middle school principal's wife, Aunt Phoenix.
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