Chapter 665 Listening to the Experience of Seniors
"Some time ago, I tried to discuss with some elders in the village about building a factory there, and Mr. Huang knocked his pipe against it on the spot."
"They said, 'If you dig among the dead, you will suffer retribution.' You said that if you really built a factory there, the workers would be worried."
"If they don't work hard, the reputation of the brick factory will be affected if some gossip spreads."
The cigarette between Director Liu's fingers flickered, and the ashes fell on the front of his greasy navy blue Zhongshan suit.
He leaned against the mottled corner of his desk, and suddenly reached out and patted Zhao Shuzhuo's shoulder heavily, his rough palm rubbing against the fabric of the other's shirt, making a rustling sound:
"What happened to the cemetery? Huh?"
He suddenly raised his voice, startling the sparrows on the windowsill and making them fly away. His cloudy eyes shone brightly behind the lenses.
"How can we, the living, let the dead take over the road?"
The brass cigarette holder made a creaking sound when he bit it, and his knuckles knocked on the notebook with worn edges, making a muffled "dong dong" sound. The roar of the bulldozer could be heard faintly outside the window, stirring up fine dust in the dry spring air.
"Listen carefully, Xiao Zhao,"
He leaned closer, and the smell of tobacco and sweat hit me in the face.
"As long as the road to the brick factory can be repaired--"
The old index finger poked heavily on the yellowed plan map, and the fingertip almost pierced through the paper.
"Don't even mention a few graveyards. Even if it's a mountain of swords and a sea of fire, we'll have to grit our teeth and wade through it!"
Suddenly he straightened up, fished out a wrinkled cigarette case from his trouser pocket, took out a cigarette and handed it to the young man standing there in a daze. In the dim light of the burning match, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were as deep as ravines:
"When our bricks can be used by people in all the villages, every household will build a bright brick and tile house. Who will squat on the grave and cry to the sky when the time comes?"
In the distance came the roar of a loader unloading. He looked out the window at the dusty construction site and suddenly grinned, revealing half of his yellowed dentures.
"The living are living comfortably, but the dead——"
The cigarette trembled slightly between the lips.
"It's time to give way."
Zhao Shuzhuo's back was pressed tightly against the hard wooden chair, his knuckles turned blue from the force, and the cold sweat on his palms made wrinkles on the meeting minutes paper.
He stared at the peeling lime on the wall, where he could vaguely see glue marks left by last year's "Safe Production Month" poster. He suddenly realized that his nails were scratching the edge of the table.
The locust tree outside the window rustled in the wind. The sunlight filtered through the gaps between the branches and leaves, cutting out alternating light and dark stripes on Director Liu's thermos cup.
"I understand that building roads is the key to revitalizing the brick factory."
His voice was still hoarse from waking up in the morning, and his thumb ran over the words "Grave Relocation Controversy" on the notebook, with the strokes so heavy that they almost pierced the paper.
"Just a few days ago, when I passed by a mass grave, I saw Uncle Zhang squatting in front of his ancestors' graves, adding soil, with a bamboo basket filled with newly cut willow branches..."
Before he could finish his words, a sparrow on the windowsill suddenly flapped its wings and flew away in fright. His eyes drifted to the undulating earthen hills outside the factory, where the weeds were undulating with the south wind, like a solidified dark green wave.
The iron door was pushed open at this moment, and the airflow caused the documents on the table to rustle.
Wang Jianguo's overalls were stained with fresh brick dust at the knees, the strap of his safety helmet was digging into his tanned neck, and the intermittent mechanical sound of the scale readings was coming out of the walkie-talkie at his waist.
He slammed the attendance sheet onto the table with a bang. The corner of the sheet hit Zhao Shuzhuo's pen, and the ink bottle released a few drops of dark blue due to inertia, which formed irregular spots in the "Villagers' Demands" column.
"It's not up to them whether it works or not!"
His palm slapped on the map, his fingertips poking the red dot where the planned road passed through the cemetery, and the rubber soles of his shoes made a harsh sound on the concrete ground.
"Last month, heavy rain washed away the temporary dirt road, and two thousand bricks from Team 3 were damaged. Li Hui calculated that it was a loss of fifty thousand yuan!"
He suddenly leaned over, and the measuring tape in his work clothes pocket slipped halfway out, and the metal buckle made a crisp sound when it hit the table.
"Go and see Old Wu's house in Team 3. The straw curtains on the roof are so leaky that you can see the sky. Go to Erni's house at the entrance of the village. The son-in-law has no place to stand when he comes to pay New Year's greetings!"
Zhao Shuzhuo's eyes fell on the patch on Wang Jianguo's shoulder - it was the patch he helped sew last month, and the stitches were crookedly running through the faded words "Serve the People".
In the distance, the chimneys of brick kilns were spewing out light gray smoke, trailing long tails across the skyline.
He took out a cigarette, took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth, but he didn't light it. The filter was deformed by being crushed between his teeth:
"You need to be strategic when holding a mobilization meeting."
He finally spoke, placing the tip of his pen under the entry for "compensation for grave relocation."
"First, let the team leaders visit the newly introduced fully automatic brick-making line, and then arrange for representatives of the house builders to share..."
"Share your ass!"
Wang Jianguo grabbed the enamel mug and took a sip of herbal tea; the brown liquid rolled down his Adam's apple and into his collar.
"Just put up the notice board for the 'key rural revitalization project' approved by the township government next to the cemetery!"
"If anyone makes trouble, we will make public the approval progress of his homestead. Wait until Old Zhang's brick house is built first, and then we'll see if those gossipers dare to talk about the ancestral grave again!"
As dusk seeped in through the window, Zhao Shuzhuo saw that his shadow on the wall overlapped with Wang Jianguo's, like two blurred paper cuts.
He took out a match and lit a cigarette. The flame flickered in the darkening room, illuminating the "grave relocation area" outlined in red on the map.
The leaves of the locust tree outside the window had turned dark green, and the evening breeze brought the rumbling sound of tractors in the distance. He flicked the ash into Director Liu's enamel jar, and white dots immediately floated on the surface of the water:
"After the meeting, I will go to Uncle Zhang's house and bring his grandson's tuition exemption certificate over."
The cigarette butt flickered between his fingers.
"By the way, bring two packs of his favorite sesame candy - last year he gave my family a basket of newly harvested peanuts."
Wang Jianguo suddenly became quiet, reached into his trouser pocket, and took out half a piece of crushed hard candy, the cellophane rustling between his fingers.
He put the candy into his mouth, puffed up his cheeks, and spoke in a vague and low voice:
"When my father passed away, I couldn't even afford a decent coffin."
He looked at the gradually blurry outline of the cemetery outside the window, his Adam's apple rolling up and down.
"When the road is open and the brick factory makes money, I want to build a tombstone for the old generation in the cemetery..."
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly stood up and tore off the old calendar on the wall, revealing a brand new "Five-Year Plan for the Brick Factory" poster behind him. The modern factory building under the red flag was glowing with metallic luster in the twilight.
Zhao Shuzhuo put out his cigarette and wrote at the end of the meeting minutes:
"The mobilization for grave relocation will be carried out in three batches, with a focus on the needs of extremely poor households, and compensation funds will be paid first."
The tip of his pen hovered above the paper. He hesitated for a moment and added:
“It is recommended to preserve the ancient locust tree on the east side of the cemetery as a symbol of rural memory.”