Chapter 680 A successful ending
His voice trembled and he reached out to wipe his face, not sure if he was wiping away sweat or tears.
Director Song looked around, his eyes sweeping across the elderly people's suspicious faces, and suddenly pulled open his collar, revealing an old scar on his collarbone:
"This scar was left by the flood control in 1976. I jumped down holding a sandbag and was pierced by a steel bar."
He ran his fingers over the scar.
"My life was rescued from the flood by my fellow villagers. If I dare to lie to you, God will be the first to disapprove!"
Uncle Huang's pipe began to shake uncontrollably again, this time not because of suspicion but excitement.
He looked at the four people in front of him tremblingly, the patches on the commune director's shirt, the worn-out Liberation shoes of the production team leader, the corners of the brick factory director's clothes stained with brick dust, and Wang Jianguo's bloodshot eyes.
The sun illuminates the wrinkles on their faces, and each wrinkle is engraved with the years of living with this land.
"Okay, okay..."
The old man suddenly put his pipe back to his waist and rubbed his torn hands on his trouser legs.
"Just because of your kindness, I will tear all the weeds off the west hillside even if I have to dig my old bones!"
After saying that, he turned his head and looked out the dark window. The outline of the mass grave in the distance was faintly visible in the night.
"My dear, we are finally going to have a decent new home..."
Grandma Cheng, with her back hunched, moved tremblingly towards the stone pier. Her dark grey coarse cloth apron was still stained with grass scraps from twisting hemp ropes during the day.
She took out the copper pipe hidden in her sleeve and took two puffs. The sparks in the pipe flickered, leaving tiny traces of light in the twilight.
"Xiao Song is from my mother's village. I have watched him grow up since he was a child."
The old man's cloudy eyes suddenly lit up, and his hands covered with age spots gestured in the air.
"His mother had a difficult labor when she gave birth to him, and it was I who went to the back mountain to collect motherwort to make soup!"
Director Song squatted beside him and quickly refilled the old man's cigarette. On the pocket of his washed-out work clothes was a shiny Mao badge.
"Grandma, you are really embarrassing me!"
He scratched his head and smiled innocently.
"To be honest, I have to thank you. If you hadn't helped persuade Aunt Zhang last month, it would have been difficult to requisition her vegetable plot."
Grandma Cheng tapped the back of Wang Jianguo's hand with her pipe and smiled, revealing her toothless gums:
"My good grandson is the director of the supply and marketing cooperative. He praises you every time he comes back. He says Jianguo is a sincere kid who has helped the village do a lot of practical things."
She turned to look at the villagers sitting around, her old voice filled with unquestionable certainty.
"At my age, I have never been wrong in judging people. Xiao Song and Jianguo are both good kids with honest hearts. What they say is more real than a weight!"
Director Song came over, squatted in front of the old woman, and carefully supported her arm:
"Grandma, when the brick factory is built, we will use the first batch of bricks to build you a new house. We will build a two-story building with big windows. It will be brighter than the adobe house you live in now!"
“Pah, pah, pah!”
Grandma Cheng spat with a smile, then wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with her apron.
"How many years can my old bones live? I'll be satisfied if I can live in a decent cemetery before I die."
"In the future, when children visit the graves during the Qingming Festival, they won't have to wade through the mud to find the graves. How wonderful!"
Wang Jianguo suddenly had an idea. He took out the notebook from his pocket, drew a few strokes on it, and held it in front of Grandma Cheng:
"Look, grandma, I designed a grave for you. I'll plant your favorite roses around it, and engrave 'Grave of Old Lady Cheng' on the tombstone."
"Add your photo. Once it's completed, it will surely be more beautiful than any garden in the city!"
The old man squinted his eyes, carefully examined the drawing paper, and smiled brightly:
"You kid, you always know how to make me happy. But when it comes to this cemetery, it's not just about burying people, it also has to leave a memory for the living."
She pointed to the old locust tree in the distance.
"Bury me under that tree. When the children come to visit my grave next year during the Qingming Festival, they can rest under the shade of the tree."
At this time, the melody of "The East is Red" came from someone's radio, and the evening breeze blew gently with the fragrance of locust flowers.
The villagers discussed the planning of the cemetery: where to plant pine and cypress trees, where to build stone roads, and where to build the Siyuan Hall.
Director Song took out a pen and wrote quickly in his notebook, occasionally looking up at the western hillside in the distance, his eyes full of longing.
As the night deepened, the flame of the kerosene lamp flickered gently in the breeze. When the last wisp of smoke dissipated in the night sky, the meeting that lasted more than three hours finally came to an end.
Director Song closed his notebook and said solemnly:
"Don't worry, folks. We will keep our promise. Next year during the Qingming Festival, we will definitely let our ancestors move into their new home!"
On the way home, Grandma Cheng walked in front with a cane. The moonlight shone on her hunched back, casting a long shadow. She muttered as she walked:
"Okay, okay... I live in a brick house when I am alive and go to the cemetery when I die. This life is worth it..."
Wang Jianguo followed the old woman silently, and from time to time he reached out to help her, fearing that she would be tripped by the stones on the road.
Wang Jianguo smiled and supported the old man:
"Grandma, once the brick factory is built, the village will be bustling. By then, we will not only have a cemetery, but also build a school and repair canals. Life will definitely get better and better!"
Grandma Cheng nodded, her face full of relief:
"Okay, okay! I'm an old man, and I really want to live a few more years to see the new look of our village."
The western hillside in the distance looms in the night, as if we have seen what the spring of next year will look like:
The newly built tombstones are arranged neatly, the tender green pines and cypresses sway in the wind, and the children listen to the old people telling stories about the past in front of Siyuan Hall.
And from the chimney of the brick factory, wisps of green smoke are rising, heralding a new beginning.
The late spring evening breeze carried the sweet fragrance of locust flowers across the village road. Director Song and Liu Chuanjun walked side by side on the gravel road. The sound of their soles crushing pebbles intertwined with the roar of brick kilns in the distance.
The dacron shirt on Liu Chuanjun's shoulders was already soaked with sweat, and the back of his neck was still stained with chalk dust that he had accidentally rubbed off during the meeting. He raised his hand to wipe his face, smiled bitterly and said:
"Today's scene is even more thrilling than when I was adjusting the temperature of the brick kiln."
Director Song unbuttoned the button on his collar, revealing a neck with red marks from being strangled, and the canvas bag straps left deep marks on his shoulders.
He looked at the burning sunset in the western sky, suddenly stopped, bent down, and pulled up a purslane from the roadside:
"Chuanjun, look how lush these wild vegetables are. Let the canteen pick some for making dumplings tomorrow."
Before he finished speaking, the enamel pot in his pocket made a crisp sound as he walked. It was the half pot of dry tobacco that Uncle Huang had forced upon him.