I was born in Shandong County, a remote and backward rural areas. At the age of 5, is China's history of the last hard times. Life is for my first memory is the mother sitting in a pear tree with white flowers in full bloom, a laundry with purplish red mallet, in a piece of white stone, beat the scene of potherb. Green juice flows to the ground, splashing into the mother 's chest, the air filled with vegetable juice bitter taste. The wooden club beat wild sound, dull and wet, let my heart felt a sudden contraction.
The memories of the picture made me difficult to forget is, worried mother, in the toil, the mouth was humming a ditty! At that time, in our large family, his mother is the most difficult, the most serious is the mother of hunger. She beat the wild side cry is consistent with common sense, but she did not weep but sing, this detail, until today, I was not very well understood that it contains the meaning of.
My mother didn't read the book, does not know the word, her suffering, it is difficult to describe. War, famine, disease, in that misery, what are the forces supporting her live, what strength makes her hungry, Ill still singing? I was his mother, always wanted to talk to her about this problem, but every time I don't feel qualified to the mother. At one time, the village of continuous Dutch act a few women, I be rather baffling to feel an intense fear. At that time, our home is the most difficult moment, father was framed, home of stored grain little, mothers have a recurrence of an old illness, no money. I always worry about mother walks up the commit suicide. When I returned from work, he would shout, only heard my mother answered, heart felt settled. Once came back from work was late in the evening, the mother did not answer my call, I hurried to the byre, mill, the toilet to find, no mother. I feel the most terrible things happen, not to cry loudly. At this time, the mother came in from the outside. The mother of my cry very dissatisfied, she thought a person especially men should not cry. She asked why I cry. I talk ambiguously, dare not to tell her my fears. Mother understood my meaning, she said to me: children, rest assured, the devil that I won't go!
Mother's words while the accent is not high, but I suddenly got a sense of security and hope for the future. Many years later, when I recall my mother this sentence, my heart is full of touching, it is a mother to her heavy-hearted son made a solemn promise. To live, no matter how hard it is to live! Now, although the mother had been called to the devil, but his mother the words contained in the face of suffering struggled to survive, will accompany me, encourage me.
I have seen on television a let me unforgettable picture: Israel's heavy artillery bombardment of Beirut, billowing smoke has not dissipated, a haggard, covered in mud old lady from the house out of a small box, the box has several green cucumber and green celery root. She stood by the roadside selling vegetables. When a reporter of the camera at her, she raised high fist, hoarse voice but abnormal said firmly: our future generations living in the land, even to eat here in the soil, we could survive!
The old lady's words let me be struck with fright, woman, mother, the land, the life, the great concept in my mind writhed, makes me feel an indestructible spiritual power, this even eating sand to live the faith, it is human life and growth in nature through the disaster and guarantee. The value of life and respect, it is the soul of literature.