Stubborn illness

Pale yellow adobe brick walls, mottled and cracked cement sand ash, round wooden window edges, and a row of pomegranate trees behind, seven or eight, lined up with an interval of two or three meters. In spring, the leaf buds pull cores, pale Red, like bright jade.

On one side of the pomegranate tree is a row of low tile-roofed houses, and on the other side is a bare red soil slope, which extends obliquely and goes straight up. Along with a ribbon-like dirt road, there is a huge playground above it. The ground is flat and smooth.

Between classes, hula la, there are always tall and short male and female students rushing out of the gate of the tile-roofed house, towards the hillside, as if they were trapped all night, they can rush out of the pen gate, wading carnival ducks, Yiyi, ah, rush up playground.

In the playground, they put up a posture, some kicked the shuttlecock, some skipped rope, some just circled the playground, around the scattered or piled up crowd, chasing them, and in the sun, they raised mud and dust and grew brilliantly.

By the edge of the window, a small boy stood on tiptoe, leaned against the window, stretched his neck, glanced into the window, and then shrank back, going back and forth many times.

For several days, during the break between classes, the little boy would come here, standing under the corner, not showing his face, tentatively looking into the window from time to time, and then quickly retracted, like a thief.

On this day, just like in the past, he came again, and still took a tentative look inside. If no one was there, he just took a few more glances.

Inside the window is a simple and clean wooden bed and an old and shabby wardrobe. Next to the windowsill is a simple wooden drawer desk with books and student workbooks stacked on it. In the left corner is a pencil case with Pens, pencils, ballpoint pens, and brushes, and a few old New Year pictures hanging on the wall.

The little boy was intoxicated admiring all the objects and furnishings in the room that were not so intoxicating, when there were loud and powerful footsteps coming from the front door of the room, he was about to retract his little head.

A harsh question came from the window: "Student XX, you are here again, why don't you go play on the playground for a while?"

The little boy didn't answer, but when he heard these three words again, he blushed and his heart beat faster.

"What can you do?" The man in the room was dressed in white and black trousers, with a medium build. He changed his gloomy expression from the previous two days, approached the desk with a smile, put his hands on the desk, and slowed down his speech. Gentle question.

"Huh? I..., no... nothing wrong." The little boy was still nervous and stuttering.

"Go, go to the playground for a while, exercise and relax."

"Teacher, do you... smoke?" Seeing that the man in the room was about to turn around, the little boy mustered up his courage.

The man inside stopped for a few seconds, obviously a little stunned: "Oh, the teacher doesn't smoke, what's the matter?"

"Oh... nothing, nothing, I just asked."

The little boy pulled out his sweaty little hand from the right trouser pocket, retracted his neck, took a few steps back, exited the window edge, followed the bottom of the wall, and left as if fleeing, returning to the classroom.

This is a rural primary school, located next to a village, with mounds at the back and houses in the front. The front door looks like the gate of an ancestral temple, and it looks like a courtyard inside.

The rectangular yard is surrounded by low tile-roofed houses, classrooms, and teachers' dormitories.

The school has no preschool, no sixth grade, only grades one to five. There is one class for each grade. The number of students varies from thirty to forty to twenty. The students learn not only Chinese but also mathematics.

The little boy was in the third grade, with a medium number of thirty or so. In the classroom, there were wooden student desks, a wooden podium, a large cement blackboard on the wall, and wooden windows with wooden edges.The wall was mottled, the fallen lime and sand fell all over the base of the wall, and there were cracked mud lumps on the wall. If you didn't pay attention, they croaked and fell down again.

There are four rows of desks, and the little boy is sitting in the front row of the third row after entering the door. At the moment, he is resting his hands on his chin, keeping his eyes fixed, thinking about something on his mind.

"Stand up." With a huff, everyone stood up. The little boy stood up cleverly, followed the monitor's password, followed everyone, and shouted together: "Hello, teacher."

"Hi students, please sit down." The teacher nodded slightly.

At the beginning of the second class, he didn't hear the class bell, and now he came back to his senses and sat upright.

On the podium, I saw the Chinese teacher holding a stack of rectangular composition texts in both hands, gently placed them on the table, moved the pointer aside, cleared his throat, and said: "Students, today, we will talk about new Before the class, let me talk about the composition assigned a few days ago."

"XXX, XXX, what about your composition? Why didn't you write it? Why didn't you hand it in? Don't make excuses, go back and copy the book, from class one to ten, a total of five times, and hand it over to the monitor tomorrow morning for self-study, and then hand it in for you Me, and you two will stay on duty after school this afternoon, do you hear me?" The teacher said seriously, and the pointer slapped on the table.

"Understood." The voices of two boys in the corner responded timidly.

Uh-huh-huh, the teacher coughed a few more times: "In general, everyone completed the composition more seriously this time, which is worthy of praise."

"Come on, the team leaders come up and distribute it. Don't distribute these two books yet."

"Do you know why I kept these two books? Because these two articles are well written, I will pick them out and share them with you, so that everyone can learn from them."

"This is written by classmate XXX. The composition describes the fire in the family's firewood house in the village outside the school the day before yesterday. The time, place, people, and details of the event are clearly organized. The length is not large, and the number of words is not many. Basically everything that needs to be said is in place, and the last sentence: The fire is so ruthless and the people are sympathetic! It becomes the finishing touch."

"Well written, come on." The teacher looked up, cast encouraging and approving glances at the student he named, and then gently put the composition aside.

Then he picked up another book and said, "This article is about your math teacher. The whole composition contains no gorgeous rhetoric or classic sentences, but there is a strong sense of human touch between the lines."

"Let me read it to everyone." Huh huh huh.

"Guess who wrote this?" The teacher raised his hand, as if to show off, and then announced: "This is written by XXX." He clicked on the boy's full name.

"I remember I told you last week that some bad things happened at your math teacher's house. His sister had an accident. She was the same age as Hua and died unexpectedly. Your math teacher was very sad those days... .”

"There are many details in life. As long as we pay attention and observe carefully, the composition can be very touching, just like this one." The Chinese teacher called the little boy's name again.

"Okay, let's communicate more after class and learn a lot from these two students."

From the moment when the Chinese teacher picked up his composition text, the little boy's heart was beating endlessly, his face was flushed, happy?shy?what else?Is his emotion for the math teacher sympathy or admiration?

It's been a while, and I can't express my inner feelings.

How can a kid in the third grade have such a complicated mind.

After school that day, the little boy was lingering, walking alone on the field ridge path home, looking at the classmates from the same village who were running and jumping, watching the flowers and green grass covered the mountains and fields in spring, and watching the rice fields covered with white plastic like an arch bridge. The light-yellow or blue seedlings covered by nylon paper, thinking about their own thoughts, put their right hands in their trouser pockets, pinching the smooth and soft big front door, with a calm expression on their faces that surpassed those of their peers.

The cigarettes were stolen from home. When the third earth-tile house in the family was built, the wine was made. Grandpa was a person with a bit of face and a lot of face. He invited many people, relatives, friends, neighbors in the village, on the wine table. There is a fruit plate, including oranges, water chestnuts, apples and peanuts, and there are two packs of cigarettes on the fruit plate, the brand is Daqianmen.

After the banquet, the guests dispersed, and the little boy saw two packs of cigarettes lying quietly in the fruit bowl on the table full of women just now, so he quietly took a pack from it, put it in his pocket, and put it in his schoolbag.

Later, the little boy no longer lay on the outside of the math teacher's window, waiting and watching timidly.

Later, he became the representative of the mathematics class, and he could take the homework sent and received to go in and out of the teacher's dormitory, sit next to him, and help him correct some simple homework.

Every time, seeing the stretched smile on his face, he is very happy and down-to-earth.