乔伊斯的故事-第7部分
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sweetness of this *ell。
I waked up when my father return home with his kitbag； then my mother return home from the field； this is a moment that the sunlight drip down from the plane trees leaf； and the ringing resound in the primary school； this is a moment that a group of students run out the schoolroom with the shout and jump for joy； this is a moment that my mother walks in the door； and her hands bring the green from the fields of the countryside。
Because my father stands by my hammock； my waking is about some snacks what he always brings for me。 I always fancy the moment that maybe mixes all the *ells and takes me away from my deep sleep。 I should wake up one time like this beautiful moment； for the moment that my father brought my first school fee after he returned from one distant construction site。 Maybe I need this beautiful memory to illusion that my mother asked me about going to school。
I never want to study in school before。
Because I h*en’t played all the games in my childhood time； but the moment of the new pool which I h*e exc*ated in a pile of sand didn’t appear all the time； and I thought that I can’t finish building my manor； so I break the pool and follow my mother to the school which near to my family。
Attending school is the only choice because I feel nobody would play a game with me。 It was a very disheartened moment。 I feel very unhappy when I walk along that sand pile； I know it is a unpleted work for me when I want build my manor in my childhood； that must be the most sorry moment when I walk by that pool。
If a child has an unpleted building in his childhood； and breaks it by himself like me； I truly want to ask him a question。 Was he feeling happy in his childhood？ If we can ask one question when they attend school； I want to ask why they went to school？ I want to know the motivation of study； maybe someone goes to school for an award of ice cream。 If he goes to school； his mother will give him some pocket money。 Although someone feels alone when his friends all went to school； when his girl next door also hangs her schoolbag over her shoulder； likewise he want to be a student like his brother。
Maybe he brings the disturbance to the henhouse； or he turnover his mother’s needlework basket。 I also guess whether I will follow my mother’s hand and go to school if I can build my manor in the sand pile and my neighbor never use that sand pile to repair his courtyard wall。
Without the stories from school； I can’t meet with the child cowherd in the spring of ancient poetry； I lose the scenery of my hometown which is described like two poems： “The February winds blow over the weeping willow” and “Trim the le*es like a scissors。”
And if you want to sport fishing with a river of snow； it’s very implausible； you can go fishing at our river； take a seat on the bridge which stands in the middle of the east village and west village。 In the upper river； you can fish with the distant sun in my village； although if you turn your back toward the sun and look at the village changes into a snow country after the he*y snow。
But in this season； the flowers of Chinese scholar trees also cover the village airspace。 From the one second floor window we can see and *ile at the full…bodied flowers。 I also sleep under those flowers and *ile at the delicate fragrance； the potpourri washes over my pillow like a stream of running water。
My father also stands by the raised platform around a well； he cannot drink the unboiled water because he has stomach illness； so he has to wait for his bowl of hot water； and in this moment he re…attaches to the building which peeled off the chimney in summer。
He is a good mason in our village； but the mason’s chimney also drops off some clod； and his courtyard wall is also waiting to be repaired in this *all village。 The juvenile peach branches stretch out my courtyard and can be touched by some schoolchild。 The peach tree shakes behind my father and makes the whole courtyard shaking in my mind。 My father’s hot water cool down with the wind； and I also sleep lazily and don’t worry about going to school tomorrow。 。 想看书来
School Fee
My father es back with cash for my school fee。 The cash can be regarded as a big expenditure for my family。 Absolutely！ And in that time I can’t think out a way to spend ten Yuan on something； but I know this situation will change tomorrow； because I will go to school。 Some schoolchild play a game of chicken； they all run into the classroom suddenly when I want to join with them； then the class ring remind us back to the classroom； and I run with them into a room with shabby windows。
What we finish a day’s class； I can’t remember anymore； I only care about the game I h*e played or didn’t play。 After the last student was carried to the classroom； the class begins truly。 I remember the blackboard was scribble by the chalk； and the chalk line clearly more and more in that afternoon I know I begin to study。 I feel the strokes of a Chinese characters； I feel my mind clearly gradually。 My neighbor is different with the one who was seen in the field when he stand in the dais； his cloths looks very clean。
Maybe the ine of the first class is an impulse of h*ing a colored chalk； and then we can play with the colored chalk in the blackboard from one side to another side when the class is over。 We draw a picture in the blackboard with the chalk which our teacher used and build our configuration objects painting。
Maybe the interesting of mimicry is a instinct of human being； he is a child whether he h*e went for a walk in the country in spring； or h*e play the game of kite in spring； whatever he h*e done when he played with the sunshine and flyer； he must feel the spring in his childhood at least once。 And whatever he thought about the easterlies； he has flied kites with it。
I also met the same landscape in our language books； and we also h*e the same childhood with the color pictures which print in the first few pages of the language books。 And in that time we all believe that there must be an old man fishing in the river with the pure white snow in the winter； and he is fishing day after day and changing into an old verse。 But we can think about those pictures now only if we h*e a poet’s fancy and courage。 I feel the morning reading one day when I lingerer around school building； and in that day I don’t go to school。
Yes； I cut a class in my childhood。
When the famer irrigates in the field； I shuttle in a noiseless alleyway in my village and the indistinct class where I always read some archaic poems that I h*e wearied。 I feel alone in that time when I separate from the big group； my school。
The khaki road extend far away； I roam in my village from the north to the southward。 The flaps of sparrow in the sky break this stillness； and I remember two verses of book when I roam by riverside behind the school building。 And I always remember the picture aside。
A seed is sown in spring。 A harvest is reaped in autumn。
The villager poetize the first verse in the northern field； the river flows to the south with the gold leaf of sunshine； flows to the south with me and drains。 When I walk in the end of the river； I know one river is dead in the south of my village； and that place is spacious as a big river； the dead le*es overlaid the nude riverbed。
The evening is going to end here； the river burned crimson in the setting sun； and the setting sun plains never to deceive anybody； it fall down fair； and hide his whereabouts with the black fog。 And it rise again up the housetop of the canteen in the east village； ing with the golden color； le*ing with the golden color； so the sun mast be the golden color； the white radiance is the tired and misty eye merely。
The class teacher； Ms。 Ren knocks on our door in the sun falling time。 She talks with my parents about nothing。 She only arranges the homework with me and exhorts me to go to school tomorrow with a gentle manner of speaking； and I’m suddenly aware of this holiday； I feel very ashamed although she didn’t bring a lawsuit against me to my parents。
This matte
