四姨不敲门

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在我童年的记忆里，母亲姊妹共三人，还有两个舅舅。素来不知道还有个四姨。直到我六岁时，四姨来东北寻亲， 我才知道这一秘密。
四姨是我的亲姨。这是我长大后才晓得的事。

四姨走后，姥姥一下就病倒了，持续高烧不退,beats by dre。嘴里不停地说：“我要看看四妮，我要看看四妮。”

四姨被送走后未几,Polo Ralph Lauren，韩楼庄的人赶集到望鲁集，四姨悄悄地跟了过来，自己一个人找到了家门前。那时，她仅仅四岁。

时间仿佛是最好的医药，姥姥长时间没有看到四姨，好像已经淡忘。传到耳里的多是四姨生活得很好，堪称一个天 上一个地下。表伯父母待四姨犹如亲生女儿。四姨上学后，每次上学放学，表伯父都背着，唯恐累着四姨。这让姥 姥一下宽慰了很多，病也缓缓地好起来了。


母亲说：
母亲说：
母亲说，你四姨那一声声撒心裂肺的哭，至今都不愿再回想了。为了避免四姨再回来，并忘却这个家，韩家就举家 搬迁到离望鲁集一百多里远的处所。
母亲跟四姨在厨房说静静话时,Polo Ralph Lauren pas cher，四姨恨恨地说：“为什么偏偏把我送人，为什么送给人的是我？”

你四姨自己回来时，大表伯一家人并不知道。到处寻不到时，就寻到了我家，什么话也没有说，抱起你四姨就直接 带走了。
你四姨在东北住了一个多月，但一下车身体就小月了。身体一痊愈，就走了。

“觉得本人是被抛弃的，生涯是不完全的，像没有了根的浮萍，不知道哪里是家，心里老是空落落的。 ”



我突然懂得了这些话，亲情犹如那一片片鱼鳞，淡淡地融入时光的长河里，但不断地跳出，赐赉窘境中的人们，以 无限的气力。

我第一次见到四姨时，只记得四姨很美丽，有着母亲一样的样子容貌。那时，四姨与亲人的分别已是 近二十年。
母亲说：

那时，姥姥一家人住在山东望鲁集，还没有移民到东北。因为孩子多,dre beats，一家人时时感到生活的重压，让人透不外气来。姥爷姥姥决议把最小的四姨送人。
从此，一家人再也没有看见过四姨。四姨同样也没有见过自己的亲人了。


一位表亲一直没有孩子，盼望姥姥家过继一个给他们。就这样，四姨走进了大表伯的家门。当时，他们家住在韩楼 庄，离咱们家只有四里路，四妹也改姓韩，叫玉兰。
我一接到电话，就赶快告知母亲。
四姨不敲门，一直等着家里人出来。说来也巧，偏偏第一个出来是姥姥。由于姥姥天天凌晨都要去买菜。当她开门 后，第一眼看到的竟是日思夜想的四姨时，抱起四姨放声大哭。哭声也轰动了睡梦中的家人，一家人抱在一起，哭 作一团。



有亲人相聚的喜悦，也有身体不适的伤悲。这兴许就是人生的宿命。

这是姥姥一家人不愿提起的机密。



母亲说：



生于南国的女主人,beats by dre，流出来的粒粒鲜红的血滴，化为红豆。红豆生根发芽，长成大树，结满了一树红豆，人们称之为相思豆。这样的 故事对四姨的泪水，有着同样分量。满满的相思不知道让年幼的四姨开端了怎么的人生。

我没有见到四姨，这一晃，已经近四十年。事实的四姨，也是年近六十的白叟了。
忽然接到四姨的电话，她太想亲人了，没有想到，她的姐姐也到了南方，离她又那么近。急不可待地要来探访母亲 。“老来多健忘，唯不忘相思。” 斗转星移，四姨领有了幸福的家庭，生养了一男二女。但对亲人的怀念却丝如缕，汇成大潮，在心头再也不能退去 。
鲁迅先生说过：我的记忆力似乎被刀刮过了的鱼鳞，有些还留在身材上，有些是掉在水里了，将水一搅，有多少片 还会翻滚，闪耀，然而旁边混着血丝。
母亲说：你四姨始终在想家，在寻根。快让她来。


事后回忆，是什么力气，让一个四岁的孩子,polo homme，步行四里路一下子找到自己的家门。这不能不说是一个奇观,dre beats。

冷冷僻清时刻到最后仍然凄悲凉惨

还组织了晨跑

下一个，会不会是终点……


The driver clambered into his seat, clicked his tongue, and we went downhill. The brake squeaked horribly from time to time. At the foot he eased off the noisy mechanism and said, turning half round on his box--
"We shall see some more of them by-and-by."
"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked.
"There's four of them--children of a farmer near Ploumar here. . . . The parents are dead now," he added, after a while. "The grandmother lives on the farm. In the daytime they knock about on this road, and they come home at dusk along with the cattle. . . . It's a good farm."
We saw the other two: a boy and a girl, as the driver said. They were dressed exactly alike, in shapeless garments with petticoat-like skirts. The imperfect thing that lived within them moved those beings to howl at us from the top of the bank, where they sprawled amongst the tough stalks of furze. Their cropped black heads stuck out from the bright yellow wall of countless small blossoms. The faces were purple with the strain of yelling; the voices sounded blank and cracked like a mechanical imitation of old people's voices; and suddenly ceased when we turned into a lane.
I saw them many times in my wandering about the country. They lived on that road, drifting along its length here and there, according to the inexplicable impulses of their monstrous darkness. They were an offence to the sunshine, a reproach to empty heaven, a blight on the concentrated and purposeful vigour of the wild landscape. In time the story of their parents shaped itself before me out of the listless answers to my questions, out of the indifferent words heard in wayside inns or on the very road those idiots haunted. Some of it was told by an emaciated and sceptical old fellow with a tremendous whip, while we trudged together over the sands by the side of a two-wheeled cart loaded with dripping seaweed. Then at other times other people confirmed and completed the story: till it stood at last before me, a tale formidable and simple, as they always are, those disclosures of obscure trials endured by ignorant hearts.