The Statue of Buddha Living in Tile-roofed House

By Yuan Youcai

The Statue of Buddha Living in Tile-roofed House

By Yuan Youcai

It was under the camphor tree at the entrance of the village that my grandfather chanced to meet my grandmother.

One afternoon in the early autumn of that year, my then 25-year-old grandfather, as usual, slipped out of the house to enjoy the cool air under the shade of the camphor tree after lunch.

Grandfather was the only son for three generations. As the apple of the family’s eye, they felt he should get married and have children as early as possible to carry on the family line according to the local customs. However, my grandfather, being no more than 1.6 meters in height with a flat pumpkin-like face, a pair of small eyes of garlic chive width, and swarthy complexion, insisted on taking a woman like Xi Shi (a beauty in the late Spring and Autumn period) as wife, which seemed like reaching out and touching the moon in the eyes of others. His refusal of a dozen girls that family matchmakers introduced to him worried my great-grandmother a lot, who, like feeding an ever-hungry group of mice, kept nagging him everyday. But this exerted no effect on grandfather. He was nicknamed as“the sharp-eyed blind,” which meant he was always slowpaced towards everything. Even when dining, he picked up the chopsticks as if spearfishing in a field ditch, waiting for just the right moment to pick up a grain of rice.

The sun burned hot like a stove, and the camphor tree cast a mountain-like shade on the ground. Grandfather bent down to blow away the dust on the black flagstone, dusting it with his sleeves, and then sitting on the stone with a tilted body. The black flagstone was hot.

Almost everything in the world goes like this, what is coming will come at last. After sitting for a while, grandfather felt his foot on the stone got numb. He stretched himself, lifting the other foot propped on the ground to the stone while lowering the numb foot down to the ground. No sooner had he finished this series of actions in slow motion than a girl from the south with a load of firewood on her shoulder entered into his narrow field of vision.

Probably tired, the girl stopped under the camphor tree. She took the bundle off her shoulder. Then she bent down to free herself from under the firewood, balancing the carrying pole with two hands, standing in front of grandfather elegantly.

By judging from her skillful actions, grandfather affirmed that this girl came from the valley, for girls from farming families in neighboring villages would by no means take on such hasty manner.

The magpie perching on the branches had flown away, and the shade of the camphor tree was creeping to the east. Several pedestrians came to and fro in a hurry. When the girl freed up a hand to wipe the sweat off her face, the carrying pole begun to twist, and the stick that served as a prop started to tilt as well. The girl rushed to balance the stick, but it was too late: The girl had had her hands full, and the two bundles of firewood, like two mangy dogs, threw themselves onto the ground in tandem, raising a cloud of yellow dust all around. The stick under the carrying pole flew through the air, rolling to grandfather’s feet.

The girl frowned at the two bundles of firewood lying on the ground, heaving a sigh. Beneath her thin eyebrows was a pair of grape-like eyes, round and light.

Grandfather felt a heat from head to toe, as if he were drinking a bottle of rice wine. He jumped up from the black flagstone, and for the first time in his life he acted at a lightning speed, striding to the girl while saying, “Take it easy, let me help you.”

The girl was panicking, for it was hard to put the load back on her shoulder by herself. She had seen that grandfather was sitting on the stone but was too shy to ask for help. Now grandfather’s offer of help was exactly what she wished for. In a moment she nodded withconsent, “Thank you!” she said.

Grandfather’s arms and legs were tired and soft, but he strained every nerve to help her uplift the firewood, his both hands supporting the carrying pole while his feet trembled. The girl bent down to stand under the carrying pole and straightened up and the load fell upon her shoulder steadily.

Grandfather delivered the stick to the girl, asking her,“Sell firewood?” His voice sounded like a mosquito’s buzzing.

The girl smiled to him in appreciation, nodding her head, “Yes.”

Grandfather still wanted to say something, but his throat was dry with nervousness. By the time the girl had walked three or four steps away, he faltered, “Take……it……easy.”

The girl, burdened with a load of firewood on shoulder, walked towards the direction of the county market at a good pace. Grandfather saw her long braid rhythmically swinging on her rounded hips. Her figure gradually faded away, until completely disappeared from his narrow sight.

On the black flagstone, grandfather sat down then stood up again, repeating this five or six times. He kept running through the image of the pretty girl in his mind over and over again. His thoughts raced: Which village was she from? Was she married? Why did she sell firewood alone? Her family should be poor for she was wearing straw sandals, and her family couldn’t be far away from here since she was carrying a whole load of firewood.

Suddenly, an unimaginably queer idea dawned upon him like a streak of lightning: She would pass the camphor tree to go home after selling firewood. So, I would wait for her at here, then I could follow her secretly to find which village she lived in. If she was unmarried, I might ask a matchmaker to propose a marriage. We had cows, land, and a house, and we could prepare more betrothal gifts……we could take this slowly.

Having waited for three hours under the camphor tree, she walked past. He followed her covertly for eighteen li. It took grandfather one and a half hours to follow grandmother to her thatched cottage on the hillside in Xujiagou. Grandmother was just over eighteen when she married grandfather. The men in the village would rank newly-married brides according to five criteria: fair skin, black eyes, plump breasts, rounded hips, and long hair. Grandmother was ranked No.1 for ten years in succession.

The story of my grandparents under the camphor tree was not only a much-told tale in every household in Wanghu village, but also used as a vehicle to tease my grandfather.

(From Literature Port Magazine, Issue 3, 2017)

我爺爺是在村頭的大樟樹下認識奶奶的。

爺爺二十五歲那年初秋的一個中午，他吃過午飯，偷偷溜出家門，去村頭的大樟樹底下乘涼。

爺爺是一顆三代單傳的“夜明珠”，按農(nóng)村的風(fēng)俗習(xí)慣要早一點結(jié)婚生子，完成傳宗接代的使命?？墒牵０尾贿^一米六，臉型像一個扁南瓜，皮膚黑得如木炭，眼睛只有韭菜葉子一樣寬，卻癩蛤蟆想吃天鵝肉，硬說自己要討個西施一樣漂亮的老婆。村里的媒婆已經(jīng)介紹了十多個姑娘，他都對不上眼，急得我太奶奶心里像養(yǎng)著一群饑餓的老鼠，整天嘮嘮叨叨的。可爺爺不管，爺爺有個綽號叫“亮眼瞎子”，他做什么都摸摸索索的，就連吃飯時拿一雙筷子也像在田溝里捉泥鰍。

太陽猛得像盆火，大樟樹下的樹陰像山一樣大。爺爺彎下腰，用嘴巴吹了吹青石板上面的灰塵，再用袖子撣了撣，斜著身子，輕輕地坐到青石板上。青石板熱乎乎的。

世上的事大都如此，該來的總是會來。爺爺坐了一會兒之后，放在青石板上的腳有點發(fā)麻。他欠了欠腰，把支在地上的腳慢慢地抬到青石板上，把青石板上的腳輕輕地放了下來。他這個慢鏡頭一樣的動作剛剛完成，一個挑著柴擔(dān)的姑娘從南邊過來了，漸漸地闖入他窄窄的視線里。

這個姑娘大概是累了，到大樟樹下停了下來。她利落地把木棍從肩膀上拿下來，支在扁擔(dān)的中間，欠著腰從扁擔(dān)底下鉆出來，雙手扶著扁擔(dān)，亭亭地立在爺爺眼皮之下。

爺爺看到姑娘的動作十分熟練，斷定這個姑娘是山溝溝里鉆出來的，鄰村種田人家的姑娘是不會有這副風(fēng)風(fēng)火火的架勢的。不知是有意還是無意，姑娘用柴擔(dān)擋住了爺爺?shù)囊暰€。

枝頭的喜鵲飛走了，樹陰偷偷地向東爬行著。幾個行人來去匆匆。爺爺剛要瞇上眼睛的時候，意外發(fā)生了。這個姑娘抽出一只手去擦臉上的汗水，扁擔(dān)轉(zhuǎn)動起來，支在扁擔(dān)上的木棍也慢慢開始傾斜。姑娘趕緊去扶木棍，但是，柴擔(dān)的重心已經(jīng)偏移，扁擔(dān)成了一根蹺蹺板，一頭慢慢升高，一頭漸漸低落。姑娘顧了這頭顧不了那頭，兩捆柴如兩只癩皮狗，一前一后撲在地上。柴捆的四周飛起黃色的塵灰。扁擔(dān)下的木棍也彈了出來，旋轉(zhuǎn)著滾到爺爺?shù)哪_底下，靜靜地躺在他的跟前。

姑娘擰了擰細細的眉毛，看著地上躺著的兩捆柴，輕輕地嘆了口氣。眉毛下是一雙黑葡萄一樣的眼睛，又圓又亮。

爺爺像一口喝下了一瓶加飯酒，從頭到腳熱了起來。他像彈簧一樣從青石板上跳起來，生平第一次三步并成兩步，一邊走一邊說著：“慢慢來，我?guī)湍惆巡駬?dān)抬上去?！?/p>

姑娘心里正在發(fā)愁，一個人是很難把柴擔(dān)放回到肩膀上去的。她看到爺爺坐在青石板上，又不好意思向爺爺開口。爺爺說要幫她，姑娘是求之不得。她馬上點點頭說：“謝謝你?！?/p>

爺爺?shù)氖帜_都軟得像一個熟透了的柿子。在幫姑娘抬起柴擔(dān)的時候，他使出吃奶的力氣，雙手支著扁擔(dān)，兩只腳像彈棉花一樣發(fā)抖。姑娘彎下腰從扁擔(dān)下面鉆進去之后，挺直腰，柴擔(dān)老老實實地落在她的肩膀上。

爺爺把木棍遞給了姑娘，聲音像蚊子在叫：“去賣柴的嗎？”

姑娘感激地向他笑笑，微微點了點頭說：“嗯?！?/p>

爺爺還想說點什么，可喉嚨像塞著一團棉花。等姑娘已經(jīng)走了三四步，他才支支吾吾說：“慢……慢……來?！?/p>

姑娘挑著柴擔(dān)，健步如飛地向縣城方向走去。爺爺又看到那條大辮子有節(jié)奏地在姑娘圓鼓鼓的屁股上左右搖擺。她的影子越來越淡、越來越小，最后消失在他扁扁的眼眶中。

爺爺在青石板上坐下又起來，起來又坐下，反反復(fù)復(fù)五六次。他腦子里不斷勾勒著這個姑娘的倩影。爺爺?shù)哪X袋像陀螺旋轉(zhuǎn)起來：她是哪個村的人啊？她結(jié)婚了嗎？她為什么一個人來賣柴呢？她腳上穿著草鞋，家里條件肯定不好。她挑著柴擔(dān)經(jīng)過大樟樹去賣柴，她的家不會很遠。

驀然間，一個匪夷所思的念頭像一道閃電從爺爺腦袋里蹦了出來：她賣掉柴回來，一定還會路過大樟樹的。我等著她，到時候，我悄悄地跟在她背后，先去打探她是哪個村子的。如果她還是個姑娘，我就托媒人過去。我家有牛有地有房子，多給點彩禮……慢慢來。

我爺爺在大樟樹下熬了三個小時，悄悄地跟著奶奶走了十八里路，花了一個半小時，偵察到奶奶的家在徐家塢半山腰的茅草屋里。奶奶嫁給爺爺時，剛滿十八歲。村里的好事者會把娶來的媳婦排名次，評判的標準有五項：皮膚白、眼睛黑、胸部大、屁股圓、頭發(fā)長。每項二十分，按累計得分排名，我奶奶連續(xù)十年排名第一。

爺爺在大樟樹下和奶奶的故事，既是王湖村田頭巷尾的美談，也是他們戲弄爺爺?shù)男α稀２恢l說了一句：“慢人有慢福，泥塑木雕住瓦屋。

(摘自《文字港》2017年第3期)

泥塑木雕住瓦屋

文|袁友才