Fanjiatun in my memory is gray, gray sky, gray street, gray people.
The streets were dotted with mule and horse dung, fresh, with the enthusiasm of Life, and old, with the ancient color of maturity. The street wall corner exposed the old cabbage gang, gray and yellow potatoes skin on the snow left after the night passers-by, live urchin dashing relics: liquid, instant solidification, fine glacier stagnation; solid, frost in the powder, solid crystallization hidden. There is no hint of odor, which is the benefit of winter.
A lethargic old dog in the hanging icicles under the eaves of the rubbing east and west sniffing to kill Time, a tough little fuck dog “woof” “miso” across the road, the old dog looked up, look at a dazed, looking for what happened.
The street is walking, wearing gray and white dogskin hat is Tun Lao Er, wearing greasy sheep shearling is the street people; wearing black cotton gourd (cotton rubber shoes) is the countryside, wearing brown fur shoes is the master; wearing dirt does not pull the black cotton jacket is a farmer, wearing oil-stained linen overalls is the workers, wearing wrinkled four pockets is cadres. (Shiny leather boots were fashionable for young men, small flowery cloth collars were turned over outside the cotton jacket for girls, and blue and gray “cards” were worn by cadres, which was the fashion after several years.)
Sitting on the upside down carriage, I was shivering from the cold, but I could see a tall, spiked cylinder, which was the Fanjiatun grain depot – Fanjiatun was here. I left the car at 2:00 a.m., catching up with 40 to 50 miles to the street, but I couldn’t get out of the car, and my legs were frozen to the point of not being my own.
The simple Fanjiatun train station, where you can go Home (although the express train does not stop), just follow the railway line all the way to the south all the way to the south. Spend one yuan and twenty cents to buy a ticket to Changchun, to the north, which is the provincial capital. Is there a teacher training or technical school in front of the train station? Fanjiatun bus station only departs in the morning, and the truck cars are ripped up with canvas sheds, wooden strips are nailed on both sides for seating, and there are iron-framed sloping ladders at the end of the car, which can be stomped on with a high leg lift.
When the departure time came, the car was late, and I was bored waiting to meet the thin Wuxi man, a graduate of the Modern Physics Department of the University of Science and Technology of China, who had been haphazardly sent to this small place in the freezing cold. The body is next to the pussy, must be helpless to find a nest early. Look at the Jiangnan talent facing the Northeast maiden gentle and satisfied smile, both for his sigh and happy for him.
In the green brick and green tile (earlier but which big Family?) The Fanjiatun town hospital made a physical health, a little apprehensive, a little uneasy – to transfer, to leave the production team, do not come to something to interrupt. In the foggy and noisy Fanjiatun restaurant, I ate the most Food stamps in my life – one catty and two taels – two big bowls of eight taels of rice and four taels of sticky rice cakes (chee gao) of the Xian people. The meal was painful and hearty. The red and white two rice is painful because of the white (rice), and the fresh people’s cut cake is smooth because of the sweet (white sugar).
The sugar must be from the Fanjiatun Sugar Factory. The tallest building in Fanjiatun is the big chimney of the sugar factory, and the biggest building is the workshop of the sugar factory. From afar, I have seen the square, gray and black factory building, sitting in the haze of the cold winter mornings, the huge sink for washing beet lumps, and the long line of carts carrying beets from the villagers. It is said that the Fanjiatun Sugar Factory was built with the aid of the Soviet Union’s big nose, and is said to be the first in the country; it is said that the corridor of the sugar factory’s guest house is filled with large jars of sugar, and guests can lift the lid to scoop a spoonful of sweetness whenever they wish. Listen to people smacking their lips, straight sweet.
The Cantonese Lao Cao was a translator for the Soviet experts at the Fanjiatun sugar factory, all the anti-revision, the big nose all fucking run away, what else is there to turn? In the bookcase of Lao Cao’s house, there are still many old and worn original Russian books, which I flipped through by hand, but I didn’t understand a single word, not even the illustrations. Cao’s wife is from Shanghai and works in a department store in town. In response to the saying “the end of the world is the same”, the Shanghainese from the next 5 teams got into the relationship and ventured into the warm hut of Cao’s family when they went home at the end of the year. It was the slow train from Sankeshu to Jining in the evening, and the old Cao couple cooked crystal rice and sliced pork Soup with pickled vegetables. That is sincere, warm, no utilitarian color sympathy and intimacy, and then the same Northeast rice, are now history.
The old Cao couple had three children, two daughters, and the old lump was a kid.
More than 30 years later, the memory of Fanjiatun is always gray and a little sweet.
Note: Fanjiatun is a town under Gongzhuling City
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