Go home

Go home

Rush home army, squeeze into a bus full of people, large and small bags of land also want to go home.

the three brothers, all in their fifties, put aside all the things at hand and took their mother back to their hometown in Ching Ming Festival. The hall of the railway station was full of people. In this endless stream of the world of mortals, my mother suddenly stopped.

she frowned and said, "what is this place?"

my brother, who had been holding her hand all the way, had to stop and say, "this is Hong Kong." We are going to take the train. "

Mother looked bewildered and said, "I don't recognize this place. I want to go home."

my younger brother, a doctor, was like an attending physician, walking behind with two hands on his back, but not wearing a white robe, then he took a big step forward and said to his mother, "this is the way to take you home, and there's nothing wrong with it." Come on, or you won't be able to go home. " When speaking, there is no expression on his face, no emotion or emotion can be seen, but the tone is habitually authoritative. Thirty years of vocational training kept him hidden in front of his father's dying bed.

Mom didn't look at him either, fixed her eyes on the grindstone floor and replied half-compromised and half-threatening, "OK, then take me home right away." She started off. Looking at her from behind, she was so thin and a little stooped, her hands were held by the two sons on both sides, her steps were broken, one small step after another.

when I was walking with her in the countryside, I saw her walking with her head down in broken steps. I said, "Mom, don't walk like a mouse. Come on, the road is very flat. I'll hold your hand and you won't fall." Try to open the footstep, you see-"I put my foot forward, making a stupid soldier kick forward posture," you see, the foot is wide out, the road is flat, don't be afraid. " She really stepped out, but she didn't take a few steps, and she bowed her head and began to take small steps.

is the ground uneven when seen from her eyes? From her eyes, is it possible to step into the air at every step? The younger brother explained on the phone: "brain atrophy, or medication, will cause a sense of uncertainty about space."

take a walk until the sun sets behind Dawu Mountain, the pink clouds suddenly gush into the sky, and in the oil-painted dusk, we go back to her bedroom. She looked around the bedroom and said hastily, "what is this place?" I pointed to a whole row of bachelor's and doctoral photos on the wall and said, "they are all pictures of your children, so of course it's your home."

she approached the wall and looked up at the picture, one by one from left to right. For a while, looking back at me, my eyes could not tell whether it was sad or empty.

before the light was turned on, she stood by the white wall, like a black shadow, saying faintly: "…"... I don't recognize him. " The last glimmer of light on Dawu Mountain shone through the vagueness through the cracks in the curtains, just reflecting her gray hair.

the train left, and the world outside the window retreated rapidly, as if someone had pressed the "Fast rewind" button of the film without notice, whether it was quickly rewind to the past or quickly to the future, and saw it passing quickly in front of my eyes.

because it was a late bus, most of the travelers looked up and fell asleep as soon as they sat down, and everything was determined by the roar that allowed the train to move forward. Mother grasped the back of the front seat and stood up trembling. She looked ahead and a row of seats stretched out into the blurred distance. She turned and looked back. The door of the train was so tightly closed that she could not see the depth behind it. She looked out of the windows on both sides of the car, and the curtains had been drawn, and only the turbulent light flickered off, strong and weak, shining in like lightning at the speed of the train. She clutched the back of her chair to maintain her balance, and then she began to move forward. I followed closely, putting one hand on her shoulder to prevent her from falling, but she pulled my hand away and turned around and said, "you let me go. I want to go home. I want to go home when it's dark!" Her eyes were full of tears and her voice was sad.

I took her in my arms, pressed her head on my chest and hugged her tightly. Maybe the warmth of my body would reassure her a little bit. I said in her ear, "this train is going to take you home, but it's not here yet. It's coming home soon, really."

my brother strolled over, and we looked at each other silently. Yes, we all know: the "home" my mother wants to go home is not any home with a zip code and can be found by the postman. The "home" she wants to go back is not space, but a period of time. During that time, young children were chasing and laughing, and the smell of fried fish was coming from the kitchen. Her husband was covering her eyes from behind her and asked her to guess who it was. Someone outside the door shouted "time-limited delivery, bring me the seal."

Mom is the traveler who came here on a time machine, but could no longer find a return car

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