I came to the grassland in September. It should be the verdant grassland of brown and yellow, which is the true color of the earth. Many herders woke up in the morning, and when they saw the window, the tears came down – the land is the same as winter, which is summer!
I live in the Sumu (Community) Guest House. The watermelons, eggplants and cabbages planted in the yard are eye-catching, just like summer. Organic well in the yard.
The first morning, I was woken up by the snoring. A woman swears: You are a stinky Wang San, stinking! Looking at the window, the women who cook are pointing at the sky, their faces are red, and the apron is used to wipe the foam on the corners of their mouths. Her name is Tian.
Strange, in such a remote place, someone came to the commune in the early morning to sneak out? Maybe the thief stole the kitchen and ran off the wall.
Breakfast is milk tea and meat buns, and there are well-knotted pickles. The female chef is busy with tea and buns. I want to ask Wang San’s business. I don’t like to open my mouth. Maybe they are quarreling with each other.
After dinner, stroll to the vegetable garden. In the red brick corner scorpion, the cabbage is sturdy and fat. The grass outside the scorpion is dying, closing his eyes and waiting for it. From the beginning of spring to September, there was no rain here. The green peppers and persimmons in the vegetable dumplings grow well and pluck. Compared with grass, the dish is a national cadre. People want to be planted here.
Look again, the open watermelon in the throat, the white cockroach will open, not to eat and throw away. There are also red dragonflies thrown. In the country, the ruined family did this.
The courtyard of the commune is big and catches up with the two football fields. A red brick wall surrounds a row of houses with sky-blue color steel tile roofs. Before the sun, hundreds of Swifts circled around the color steel tile, fell, and stood on the whole station. The head was facing the yard, which seemed to be very obedient. Planting a row of sunflowers near the wall, near the front, the seeds of the disk are much less, and the face is white.
In the evening, I lit the wormwood in the house and prepared to smoke the mosquitoes. There are women outside the window: “There is a kind of coming out, see how I can clean you up? Stinky Han wife Wang San, you have a sickle!”
Is Wang San a woman? Of course, a woman can also be called Wang San. I have a female classmate called Wednesday. Look at the window again, no one in the yard. In this time, the murder of Sumu went to the villages to fight drought and did not come to work. I looked at the courtyard from the gate to the vegetable field to the office to the simple toilet. No one, only a row of magpies stood on the high-voltage line. Where did Wang San go? Maybe this female chef has paranoia and speaks alone. I couldn’t help but be curious and went out. The female chef saw me and shyly and dexterously turned back to her room. She is in her early forties and will be ashamed for a few years.
A large cloud of fire burns in the western sky, indicating that tomorrow will be a rainless sunny day. The magpies drew from the wires like diving and ran at the roots of the wall. The big iron gate of the commune has been closed. Wang San seems to be quite insidious, not in appearance, but has not stopped the harassment.
The next day I got up early and ran back along the road. I saw the female chef walking out with two shovel and two death magpies.
I asked what happened?
I am dead.
You are still aunty, and it is unlucky.
What kind of Geely, these guys are not doing anything wrong with sunflowers, watermelons, and persimmons.
Hey, like the bad things that do.
She threw the death magpie on the garbage dump on the side of the road, saying that it was a pity that she died of the dead king of Wang San. She took the iron hammer to the high-pressure porcelain pot, and stood there with a big magpie.
Wang San is a magpie!
Yes, I gave it the name. It is the head of the gang of bad magpies, commanding the magpies to rush down, on the wall, and harm the vegetables. It’s like a drought, and it’s a bad thing. It’s really shameless.
Does Wang San know you?
understanding. You said that it is not good to face, to kneel down the clothes I washed, and to take the claws wide and squat. It avenged me, retaliated against me, and stood on the window sill and blinked at me across the glass. They don’t eat seeds, they are light, this is a slap!
Within two days, the female chef sprinkled the vegetables that had been soaked in the wall roots and was swallowed by a sheep of the herdsmen who strolled into the hospital. The sheep died. The female chef lost her salary with her salary and was sent home.
This yard only left me and Wang San. It flew into the yard after a few days with me, and even walked around me. I said to it, “You killed your business, killed the sheep, and the female chef was laid off.”
Wang San is thinking, and his tail is tilted up like an arrow. The black feathers on its wings are not pure black, but have a light blue color of gems.
I forgot to ask the female chef, why is it called Wang San? I can’t see how this magpie is like a point – like Wang San.
Have you been to the moon?
After the female chef came home, she was replaced by the Mongolian girl Saren Qiqi. She is a graduate of the Zhalantun Medical School. She can’t find a job. She is a temporary worker here.
Sa Renqi is a small and cute character. I mean she is not like an adult, nor is she like a university student in a foreign country. Her eyes are like children, pure and safe. Her name means “flowers on the moon.”
I asked her: Have you been to the moon?
She answered seriously: I have never been there.
Haven’t been there once?
Not at all.
Very serious. I said that you are the flower on the moon, she thought for a long time (in fact, don’t think so long), said: Yes.
The female chef made the steamed buns and Sa Renqi made the pie. This pie is especially delicious and powerful. I know that it is not good to say that “there is a strong”, but it is really good to eat.
I ate three pies and said to Sarenqige that the pie you made is really good.
She smiled and nodded, as if to signal the students – you got it right.
How to do it?
Can the meat be a pie? I feel a bit outrageous. She led me to the kitchen, hanging a string of dried meat on a rope. I touch it, it is harder than iron.
How do you lick the stuffing?
Smash with stones.
I have never heard of it. However, the kitchen knife can not hold such a dried meat. Below the water tank, a piece of chopped stone on a large greenstone pickled with sauerkraut, stained with the end of the dried meat.
These pies are all made of stone?
She nodded, the longer the meat of the year, the more fragrant the pie, which was dried for three years.
I held the cobblestone of the big melon, and my wrists were sour. I feel that my stomach is full of guilt, eating a little girl with a stone out of the pie, and said that there is strength.
- The fresh meat is cooked for four or two, and the sun is not even one or two. It is too wasteful. I said that I will not eat pies in the future.
She said it doesn’t matter, the meat is taken from her home.
- The individual takes the dried meat from the house to the guests of Sumu. The Mongolians can do this. I asked: Why? The glory of admiration in her eyes, you are a poet.
In Mongolian, the word poet is more noble than the writer, not only the style, but also pure. Tengger introduced me to others and said, “This is our Mongolian poet.” I said that he did not listen.
I said that I am not a poet, I only write a little prose.
You are a poet, Saren Qiqige said, there is your poem in the Mongolian textbook of middle school. The Mongols also called their favorite works as poems.
I am silent. Even if the poet can’t squander the beef jerky, can I not be a king? Her meat is dried up, put in the celery juice, and the onion stuffing is really delicious.
Teacher, my brother wants to see you, she said to her face.
come on. She yelled at the phone and said excitedly. After 3 hours, her brother arrived. The wrinkles on my brother’s face are like the mounds blown by the sand. The age is almost double that of my sister, and the clothes are worn out.
The meat is given by my brother, let me make a pie for you, my sister said.
My brother smiled and bowed, meaning it was insignificant.
Eat, or pie, they both eat rice. I asked, why don’t you eat pies? They said they don’t like to eat. I understand in my heart that this is the number of rituals of the Mongols and does not eat with the distinguished guests. I am more guilty.
After dinner, my brother said to go back. He rode down forty or fifty miles to look at me. When he broke up, he stood and looked at me seriously, like looking at a picture, laughing, very satisfied.
Sarenqiqige sent his brother to the door, and said, my brother said that your poem is worth more than a car.
This is not a very embarrassing question, I thought for a long time. Not to mention that the work I wrote is so sloppy that it is not worth a basket of dried meat. Mongolian herders have a unique concept. They feel that literary artists have created public wealth for everyone, and everyone should repay them. This made me a little unrecognizable and went back to learn to write poetry.