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碑“2014中国闪小说年度大赛”亚军作品
文/憨憨老叟
要带的东西都装上了,等爹上车就可以动身了。爹倒是不紧不慢,从院子里费力地拖出一块用麻袋装着的东西。我只好从驾驶室下来,帮着把那沉沉的东西搬上了尾箱。爹似乎又想起了什么,折回屋去,握了把生锈的锹出来。我怪怨道:爹,您带这些有啥用啊?城里可没地好种。
爹一言不发,把铁锹捅进后排底,坐进车里重重关上门,沉闷地对我喊一嗓子:开车!
车慢慢拐出一道道山凹,我往倒后镜上一看,只见爹的头侧向窗外,紧紧地盯着车外划过的一山一水一草一木,似乎想把它们全部装进眼里去。
我知道爹的心情。他七十多年的光阴都撂在了这大山深处的村子里,忙时耕山种树莳田割稻,闲时采石刻碑。此前我跟爹提过多次让他到城里与我们同住,可爹死活不肯。随着村里一户户往外迁居,村里的麻雀学校没有了,水田荒芜了,小路覆没了,就连与他相伴一辈子的我老娘也在年前撒手走了,原本偌大几百人的村子只剩不到几十人了,再不接爹出来,心下实在难安。
车到一个三岔路口,爹突然低沉地喊:停车!
爹在路口来来回回打转几圈后,转身从车里拿出铁锹朝坚硬的地上直挖。我只得下来帮忙。挖好坑后,又帮着把尾箱里的麻袋抬了出来。解开麻袋才看到里面原来是一块路碑。
路碑竖在了路口,看着上面镌着的“岭上村”等字样,我叹了口气说:爹,您这又是何苦呢?
爹点燃了一旱烟筒,猛吸一口,盯着石碑幽幽地说:都说落叶归根,我们迟早都是要回来的。我怕到时找不到回家的路啊。
暮色四合,吞没了不远的村庄。
Top Three Stories of 2014 Flash Fiction Competition
No 2.
The Stele
by Han Han Lao Sou
All things are packed. I am waiting for Daddy, who appears in no hurry as he is trying hard to pull a sack of I don’t know something out of the yard. I get off the wheel and help him carry the heavy sack into the trunk. Then, apparently he thinks of something else, steps into the house again and out with a rusted shovel in his hand. “What’s the point of taking that stuff?”I complain. “There’s no land to cultivate in town.”
Daddy says nothing. He puts the shovel under the rear seat, gets in the car, slams the door, and throats dully, “Drive!”
As the car slowly pulls out of the vales, I take a glimpse at the rearview mirror, and notice that Daddy is looking out of the window, staring into the hills, the brooks, the fields and the trees, which are all flashing by. It seems that he is going to load everything in his eyes.
I know how Daddy feels. For more than seventy years he has been living in this village deep in the hills, busy with cultivating, planting, sowing and reaping, or, in slack seasons, picking and carving stones. I have tried many times to talk him into living with us in town, but never has he listened. Now that most villagers are migrating to town, the spallow school in the village deserted, the paddy fields neglected, the paths out of sight, even his lifelong partner, my dear mom, gone, he finally makes up his mind.
The car is passing a junction of three roads when Daddy throats dully, “Stop!”
He gets off and looks around. Then he holds the shovel and keeps digging and digging. I have to help him dig the pit and get the sack out of the trunk. Not until it is unwrapped do I see a stele in it.
The stele is set up, with Uphill Village carved on it. “What’s all this for?”I utter a sigh.
Daddy lights a pipe, takes a hard drag, and gazes at the stele. “Fallen leaves return to the root, you know,” he says, solemnly, “We’ll return to our home sooner or later. With the stele, we won’t get lost.”
At this point, evening sets in and swallows the village, which is not far away.
(赵金基 译)
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