Unexpectedly, 35 years later, I returned to this small town that left my motherland, Wan Li.

I am on the train from Hamburg to G? ttingen. I can't believe it's true. Is it a dream? I keep asking myself. Of course, this is ridiculous. After all, it is a fact. My mind is full of images. People who didn't expect it in the past 30 years thought of it; What I didn't expect in the past 30 years, I did it. My respected teachers, their smiles appeared in front of my eyes. My mother-like landlady, her kind face also appeared in front of my eyes. The girl who is looking for a baby, Ilmujad, is also moving in front of my eyes. Narrow streets, shops on both sides of the street, dense forests on Dongshan Mountain, small cafes deep in the forest, deer in yellow leaves, even white snow clocks exposed from the snow in late winter and early spring, and many other things, all came to my eyes. In an instant, the image was in chaos, and my heart trembled violently like a pot.

As soon as the train stopped, I jumped up like a fly and set foot on Gottingen's land. Suddenly appeared a poem:

Young people leave home, old people come back,

The local accent has not changed.

The children don't know each other,

Smile and ask the guest where he is from.

How can such a poem appear? I was at a loss for a moment. But I immediately realized that this exotic town with a population of only 65,438+1100 million has already become my second hometown. I spent ten years here, which is the best decade of my life. My footprints have been printed all over the city. I have been happy, distressed, pursued, disillusioned, shaken and persisted here. This small town actually determines the road I will take in my life. All this is bound to leave an indelible mark on my mind. I subconsciously regard it as my second hometown, isn't it natural?

Today, when I returned to my second hometown, my thoughts were full of ups and downs. Emotionally, there is an inexplicable pressure that makes me breathless, like liberation, like melancholy, like regret, like yearning. The town has hardly changed. The famous bronze statue of the goose-hugging woman standing in the square in front of the city hall is exactly the same as it was 35 years ago. A group of pigeons are still wandering around the bronze statue as before, carefree. Maybe at some point, a whistle will fly behind the spire of the cathedral. It seems that I just left here yesterday and came back today. We walked down the basement and went to the underground restaurant for dinner. The furnishings inside are the same, the seats are the same, the lights are the same and the atmosphere is the same. Even the young waiter seems to be the same person. It seems that I just had dinner here last night. The shops around the square have not changed. Those famous restaurants, such as "Black Bear" and "Young Master's Restaurant", are still in their old places. The two bookstores are still in the same place. In a word, everything I saw was exactly the same as before. Have I really left this town for 35 years?

However, as the ancients in China said, the landscape remains unchanged and the characters are completely different. The environment has not changed, but the characters have changed greatly. Some people I remember on the train, if they are still alive, are over 100 years old. There is no need to ask whether these people are alive or dead. Those who are not so old-fashioned, I dare not ask questions rashly, for fear of hearing news I don't want to hear from the interviewee. Beating around the bush only asks one or two sentences, and the answers are often irrelevant and vague. I can't blame others because my question is vague. I really appreciate this ambiguity now, which contains hope. Unfortunately, even this ambiguity can't completely cover up the facts. The result is:

Found out that half our friends were dead,

Shocked us and burned our hearts with sadness.

I can only exclaim in my mind in a silent voice.

While sighing, I still insisted on visiting the old man with a heavy heart. First of all, I want to have a look at the house where I have lived for ten years. I know that my motherly daughter-in-law, Mrs. Park in Eastern Europe, has long passed away. But the house still exists, and the neat street is still as clean as new. I used to see some old ladies washing sidewalks with soap. Now the sidewalk still looks like it has just been washed. Lying and rolling will never get a little dust. The food store on the corner is still open, and colorful food is displayed in the big bright glass windows. I don't know how many generations the master has changed. I went outside the house where I lived and looked up. The window on the third floor of my house was still covered with red and green flowers and plants as before, of course, not from Mrs. Opal. I suddenly fell into a trance, as if I had just left last night and went home again today. I pushed open the door and strode up to the third floor. I didn't use the key to open the door because I realized that there was another family living in it now. Once upon a time, I'm afraid the hostess of this house had rested in a cemetery, which was probably covered with roses. I often dream about this house and its mistress, but now it is empty. During the ten years I spent here, I had happiness, pain, bombing and hunger. After the death of the landlord, I accompanied the landlady to sweep the grave many times. I, a young man from other places, became the only relative around her. No wonder she cried when I left. After I returned to China, I often wrote letters in the first few years. Later, the time shift happened and the connection was broken. It is wishful thinking that I want to see her again. Now I really came to G? ttingen again, but she will never see it again, forever and ever.

I walk in the street I walk every day. My footprints are everywhere here. The small lawn in front of every house is still green. The winter snow came a little early this year. 5438+1in the middle of October, it snowed. Snow, green grass and red flowers set each other off. Bright flowers are in full bloom, even brighter than spring and summer. The begonia flower I described in an essay "Begonia Flower" is still standing there. Suddenly recall that winter, the sun was gloomy and bright. I helped my Tuholovan and Professor Sikh, a Vedic teacher, and walked slowly through Shili Long Street. I feel sad in my heart, but I feel warm. After returning to my motherland, whenever it snows, I will think of this old man like my grandfather. In retrospect, it has been more than 40 years.

I haven't forgotten the Schiller lawn that I go to almost every Sunday. Just below the mountain, it is the only way to enter the mountain. In those days, I often walked on Schiller lawn with China students or German students, and then went up the mountain along the winding mountain road. Once boarded Bismarck Tower, overlooking the city of Gottingen; I once lingered in a small cafe; I used to shelter from the heavy rain under the pavilion of the big forest; In late autumn, deer were scared away for food, and they rustled all the way on the fallen leaves. Sweet memories are endless. I came again today. The green grass remains the same, and the pavilions are still fresh. But when I was young, I was desperate. My old friends had already left, some left this world, and some flew away to the other half of the earth. In this case, people are not wooden stones, can they feel less?

As I mentioned above, the mountains and rivers remain the same, and the characters are different. Fortunately, they are not completely different. For decades, I have been dreaming of the people I most want to see again, and the people who most want them to be alive. My "doctor father", Professor Waldschmidt and his wife are still alive. The professor is 83 years old and his wife is 86 years old. It's really suspicious to meet again today after a 35-year absence. The old professor and his wife were obviously very excited. My heart rolled like a wave and I couldn't speak for a while. We sat around in the dim light, and suddenly remembered Du Fu's famous sentence:

Meeting friends is almost as difficult,

As for the morning star and the evening star.

Tonight is a rare event.

* * * This lamp is candlelight.

We just arrived in G? ttingen 45 years ago, we met for the first time, and the scene of getting along with each other for the next ten years is vivid. It was a turbulent decade, with World War II in between, and we had few good days. In the first few years, every time I went to their house for dinner, his teenage only son was present. Once the professor joked with his son, "There is a guest from China at home. You can brag about it when you go to school tomorrow." I don't know. As soon as the war broke out, my son was drafted into the army and died in the Nordic battlefield one winter. This is an indescribable blow to the couple. Soon, the professor was also called up. I can't ask him what he thinks, and neither can he. It seems to be silently suffering. He reserved tickets for the theatre. When the theater starts in winter, he is not at home, so the task of going to the theater with his wife once a week falls on my shoulders. Late at night, after the performance, I have to walk a long way to send my Jenny to their home on the edge of the forest below the mountain, and then walk back to my residence in the dark. For a long time, in their beautiful three-story building, only Jenny lived alone.

In their situation, my situation is even worse. Bonfire parties have been going on for years, and letters from home are worth billions of dollars. The motherland is suffering, the whole family, old and young, and I am suffering myself. On the midnight pillow, my thoughts churn and I often can't sleep all night. And there is a plane bombing on the head, and there is no food in the stomach to satisfy the hunger. I dreamed of peanuts in my country. Once I went to the countryside to help farmers pick apples, and the reward was a few apples and 5 pounds of potatoes. After going home, I ate 5 Jin of potatoes at a meal, but I was still not satisfied.

About six or seven years, that's it. My study, writing a thesis, oral examination and getting a degree are all carried out under such circumstances. Every time the professor comes home from vacation, he should listen to my report, read my paper and put forward his own opinions. What I know today does not include the painstaking efforts of the professor? No matter how small my achievements are today, what would I have achieved if he hadn't seduced and taught me this strange young man with a selfless heart? Can I forget all this?

Now we meet again. The meeting place is not in my familiar house, but in a luxurious nursing home. I was told that he had given his house to the Institute of Indian Studies and Buddhism at the University of G? ttingen, sold his car and moved to this nursing home. The yard is magnificent and has everything, including a gym and a swimming pool. It is said that the food is also very good. But to put it bluntly, all the people who come here are people in their seventies and eighties, and most of them are inconvenient to move. For them, gyms and swimming pools are actually equivalent to deaf ears. They didn't come to exercise, but to die. The first night, we were still eating and chatting together, and the next morning, someone might see God. Living in such an environment, you can imagine what it feels like. On the other hand, the professor and his wife are lonely. If they don't come here, where will they go?

It was in such a place that the professor met his disciples whom he had not seen for decades. I can't describe how excited and happy he is. As soon as I got off the bus, I saw the professor sitting squarely in the round-backed chair in the tall and bright glass door. He may have been waiting for a long time, eager to see it. He stared at me with kind and hazy eyes. It's like trying to swallow me up with your eyes. His hand trembled a little when shaking hands. His wife is senile, deaf and her head is shaking all the time, which is completely different from that of more than 30 years ago. Jenny also cooked food for me that I used to eat at her house. The two old people said in unison, "Let's talk about the old life of old Gottingen!" They can only fill their daily lives with memories now. I asked the old professor if he wanted China's Buddhist books. He asked me, "What's the use of those things for me?" I asked him what he was writing. He said: "I want to sort out the old manuscripts before; I think it will stop soon! " Judging from some trivial matters, the old couple's opinions are still somewhat contradictory. It seems that the life of the old people living together is gloomy and depressing. In front of them, as Lu Xun wrote in Passers-by: "In front? The front is the grave. "

My heart suddenly became desolate. The old professor worked hard all his life, and his works are world-famous and respected all over the world. Is this how he spent his old age? Being here today has obviously brought them great happiness. What will happen to them once I leave here? But can I stay here forever? I'm really reluctant to go. I want to stay as long as possible. However, there is no banquet that does not come to an end. I stood up to leave. The old professor said with begging eyes, "It's only 10, it's still early!" I have to sit down again. Finally, late at night, I said to them, "Good night!" " "Stand up and leave out. The old professor kept sending me downstairs. Sent to the car, the appearance is inseparable. At this point, my heart is surging, and I clearly realize that this is our last time. However, in order to comfort him, or deceive him, or comfort myself, or deceive myself, I blurted out a sentence: "I will come back to see you in a year or two!" " "Voice from his mouth to his ears, appear empty, hypocritical, but sincere. This touched the old professor sincerely, and a smile appeared on his face: "You promised to come again in a year or two!" " "What can I say? I got into the car with tears in my eyes. When the car drove away, I looked back and saw the old professor still standing there, motionless as a statue.

Two days later, I left G? ttingen. I got on the train to another city. Sitting in the car, just like when I came, I was full of fans and complicated. The people and things I saw in these two days rushed to my eyes; It's just much clearer and more specific than the shadow I saw on the train when I came. Among these confusing shadows, one is particularly clear, concrete and prominent, and that is the statue I saw the night before yesterday. May this statue stay in front of my eyes and in my heart forever.

1980165438+10 West Germany started school in October.

1987 10 was written in Beijing.