俞天立

當我反應過來的時候，人已經在坑根村了。

那么，我失去記憶的時候，腳步是怎么抵達它的一石一木的呢？仿佛這是一個神諭。在云和縣這個因銀礦而聲名鵲起的小村莊，看到的一切都是銀閃閃的，這里保存著明朝礦工們壘石起木、建造石屋、開墾梯田的記憶。它們許是不知不覺移植到了我的記憶中吧。

停下，聆聽鳥雀嚶嚶、溪水潺潺。古老的村莊在晨霧中蘇醒。村道，鋪滿細密的石子;瓦舍，多見古舊的木檁;老樹，沾了一臉的露水。古村的一切都是神秘的，處處透著明朝的氣息。甚至，似乎還可以從青石板、木格窗上望見身披蓑衣的蘇軾、穿著葛麻的陶潛。晨光熹微，樟樹葉上的光斑隨風躍動。一群七八歲的孩童，絲毫不受外人叨擾，無憂無慮地嬉戲;坐在石墩上抽煙的老農，聊著家長里短。

眼前的這片民宅黃墻黑瓦，半隱在層疊的梯田和蓊郁的樹林中，猶如美人嬌羞的側臉。這讓人泛起一種感覺：自己不是訪客，恰似在此地久居多年的隱士。一座老宅的土墻上，貼著幾張紅紙，記著今年春醮時村民們的公益捐贈賬目。聽村民說，一年一度的春醮在正月十五舉行，祈求的是風調雨順、五谷豐登。那是戲班、戲社入村表演的時節(jié)，將一年的農忙化作一日的狂歡。所有的辛勞都在鑼鼓中消解，在咿咿呀呀的戲腔里風流云散。

我撫看著其中一張紅紙，上面寫著 “水果5樣、利群煙5包、白年糕5根、雞3只……”點滴捐贈，只為賡續(xù)傳統(tǒng)的民俗活動。另外一張則是“春醮助社殿收入賬”，上寫 “某某捐50元、100元、150元……” 一長串名字，覆蓋了整張紙，金額總計超萬元。我不解，向一位老伯探問?！敖衲甏乎春屯瓴灰粯?。山上在修一個明清時建的觀音廟，是個文物呢。你看到的，那是村民隨緣捐助的善款?！崩喜让忌颇浚⑿χf。這是村里的文化盛事，我想他是引以為榮的。

說話間，忽見旁邊一座老宅正在整修，建筑風格有些與眾不同，我探頭過去看。他說：“那家在造藥鋪，用來解決村民買藥難?！痹趦H有170來戶人家的坑根村，文化禮堂、圖書室、醫(yī)務室、金融服務所、公廁等惠民設施一應俱全，這里的村民是有福的。

一場夜雨來過，村子空氣格外清新。我穿過蜿蜒的村道，惹來三兩聲狗吠?！肮贩蜕钕锢铮u鳴桑樹顛。戶庭無塵雜，虛室有余閑?！贝迓涫菨皲蹁醯?，詩歌是素淡的，濕漉漉的村落與素淡的古詩很搭。如此外婆一樣慈祥的村莊，讓人心里踏實，不必在意身在何處，走向何方，又將對上誰的目光。

抬頭間，一間牛欄酒吧引起了我的興趣。酒吧并沒有人，只是放著悠揚的輕音樂。主人串門去了，收山貨去了，還是到陌上為女兒采野花去了？這并不重要，重要的是他留下了音樂，留下了遐想。可以遐想，他曾經把一頭老牛拴在這里，讓它搖著尾巴吃著青草，那牛是他娶媳婦的本錢;可以遐想，在一個清晨，老牛病了，他心急火燎地請來獸醫(yī)為它診斷;可以遐想，在一個雨天，為了供女兒讀書，他忍痛將老牛牽去集市賣了。老牛來了，又走了。他來了，又走了。

而現在我來了，也即將要走的。短暫的邂逅，至少讓思緒慢下來，靜心澄慮，告訴自己不必在意微信上未處理的消息，不必理會格式化的人情往來，不必憂慮明天和意外哪個先來。所有的思緒停留在古風老韻的酒瓶上。這一架子的美酒，三百六十度環(huán)繞著我;這滿屋子的音樂，也三百六十度環(huán)繞著我。主人也許是深思熟慮后，打算與往日作別，才生出將牛欄改造成酒吧的念頭的。我忽然想起，爺爺活著的時候，也有過一個樸素的愿望——挖一個自己的酒窖。這琳瑯滿目的酒瓶，難道不是寄托著酒吧主人樸素的愿望么？我叫不上酒的品牌，也說不出音樂的名字，但重要的是我來過，遐想過，在這里洗過澡，心靈的澡。

離開酒吧，我繼續(xù)行走，對星散在山水間的民居作著民俗文化的觀察。

一位老農身著青布衣，翹著二郎腿，在廚房門口吃著面。被面香吸引，我便上他家去看看。廚房薪柴林立，墻面晦暗，只有他是明亮的。我注意到土灶頭竟然有四個，這在農村也不常見。

“大爺，您家四個土灶??？”

“是啊。三個燒豬食，一個是燒飯的。”他憨厚地笑著，沒拿我當外人。

灶頭前，貼著灶王爺的像。他皴裂粗糙的手捧著一碗青菜肉絲面，熱氣蒸得額頭汗涔涔的。我癡癡聞著，有種若隱若現的柴火味，那是熟悉的農家醇香呵?！拔疫@里隨便，快到里面看看。”我隨了他穿過天井，來到正廳。

“你看，這是我兩個兒子和明星的合影?！彼行┑靡獾貙χ掌f。

他主動介紹起來：“這是模特徐沖和他的孩子，這個是鐘麗緹的女兒?！蔽覍γ餍怯行┭勖?，旁邊一張照片C位上的人倒是眼熟。

“浙江衛(wèi)視主持人沈濤，你知道吧？他在我家住了兩天呢！”其實大爺不說，我也知道。照片里，他的兩個兒子一左一右，穿著羽絨服，站在沈濤的兩側。哥倆一個咧嘴憨笑，一個表情莊重，都和我差不多年紀。

“許多年前的吧？”

“有七八年了。浙江衛(wèi)視節(jié)目組拍真人秀，來了我家。”他興奮地比劃著，仿佛往日重現。這對一戶農家而言無疑是高光時刻，用大幅照片呈現在正堂，也屬常情。

我問起他的家庭情況?！拔野?，兩個兒子，一個女兒。兩個兒子都在外面打工。疫情一來，廠里生意淡了！我一個種田老頭，腿腳不方便，還指望著他們呢。你看，這老房子舊了，墻壁都裂開了。好在政府給我家刷了外墻，又裝了窗，才像個家吶！”我連連稱是，看得出他是實篤篤的滿足。

陽光從院子的天井漏下，驅散了廊柱后的晦暗，一切都安然起來。木柱上的牛腿似有神，歷經百年風雨而不朽，活成了一尊時光的雕塑。陽光是輕柔的，院落是舒展的，雞鴨是悠閑的?！吧綒馊障眩w鳥相與還?！边h方的梯田起了一層輕霧，與金燦燦的稻子、綠油油的蔬菜纏繞在一起。這樣的景致容易讓人想起王維的輞川。這時候，你就需要一本書，周華誠的《春山慢》就很好，蔣瞰的《山居莫干》也好。如果什么都不做，也是自然而虔誠的，可以聽聽禽鳥的對話，溪流的小調。

我坐在臺階上，享受著又思索著，閑等日頭近午。忽然，從側屋里伸出來一個俏皮的腦袋?！鞍?，有客人來了？”那是一個女孩，約莫二十歲。老人應了一聲，她便打量了一下我。也許是習慣了外人的叨擾，她并未顯得特別好奇。

“這懶丫頭……睡覺要到大中午，書也不看！”老人嗔怪起女兒來。女兒也不惱，返身回了小屋。

“開學推遲了吧？”

“是啊！學校去不了，她就知道在家瞎混日子……”老人無奈地嘆氣，卻又分明飽含了對兒女的期許。

“現在大兒子抱上了兩個孫子，二兒子也有個孫女。我老了，半只腳踏進棺材了，就指望這個女兒能讀出來，找份好工作！”他望著客廳里高懸的祖先像，這番話更像是對列祖列宗說的。

老漢的愿望是樸素的。牛欄酒吧主人的追求是樸素的。同樣，村民們做春醮許下的愿景也是樸素的。盡管疫情對鄉(xiāng)村家庭或多或少帶來了影響和改變，但鄉(xiāng)民們顯然并沒有失去對美好生活的冀盼。不求大富大貴，惟求平安和樂。世事難料，人生如寄，然而鄉(xiāng)村鄉(xiāng)土的調適能力令我吃驚。也許是這里的山水田園風物有著驚人的自我更新的能力，才造就了農人的堅忍與平和。

我看著老人悠悠然點起了一支煙，一縷煙霧徐徐而裊裊，仿佛平凡日子里的人間煙火。

每一個村莊，都有我們在尋找的東西。在坑根村，我也找到了，那就是，美好的生活從樸素的愿望開始。這個銀色的小山村，有夢，有未來。

Village of Silver

By ?Yu Tianli

Before I could realize what had happened， I already arrived at the Kenggen village.

How did my foot carry me to this place then？ As I tried to recollect how things started in the first place， a thought suddenly struck me： maybe it was an oracle. Looking around in the little village， a place located in Yunhe county， Lishui city and well-known for its silver ore， you could find everything in sight was of the color silver. Historical traces of Ming dynasty （1368-1644） miners who had built houses from rocks and trees and opened up terraced fields are vividly preserved here — so vividly that they seemed to have left a mark on my mind without me noticing.

Wandering around the ancient village， I paused and listened to chirping birds and murmuring creeks. Every day when it awakes to the morning mist， this place appears extremely delightful with its trails carpeted by fine gravels， time-worn wooden houses and old trees freshly wet with dew. It is all covered in mystery， easily reminding visitors of the Ming dynasty. There， children of seven or eight years old are commonly seen playing care free， and old farmers always smoke and chitchat with one another sitting on stones.

All of a sudden， a house came into my view， with its yellowish walls and black tiles. It was half hidden in terrace fields and lush-green trees， delicate and beautiful like a sweet lady’s side face. It made me feel that I was a hermit who had been living here for quite some time instead of a visitor. I also noticed on the wall were several pieces of red paper with some hand-written donation accounts on them. It is a tradition that all villagers donate for the Chinese New Year celebration which takes place on the fifteenth day of the first month of lunar year. Yet this year， according to a proud senior folk， people have also donated for the restoration of a Guanyin temple located on the hill， which was first built between Ming and Qing （1616-1911） dynasties and hence a cultural relic.

In the middle of our conversation， I happened to catch sight of an old house under construction， which stood out in architectural style. “It is a pharmacy，” an elderly man told me. With such well-equipped infrastructure including cultural halls， libraries， clinics， banks and public toilets， the Kenggen village of only over 170 households obviously treats its people kind.

The air was especially fresh from the rain last night. With great ease， I walked across some wet meandering village roads and ran into a bar which was transformed from a cattle pen. No one was there， only some light music playing on. The whereabouts of the owner were not known， but it didn’t matter at all. We could always unleash our imagination： maybe the owner raised cattle here， which were then sold for money against the owner’s will. After that， the owner himself was gone as well.

And I would also be gone in a short while. But now， at least in this very moment， I could slow my pace and ease my mind by looking at the bountiful good wines stored on the shelves and listening to the music which I could not name.

I left the bar to resume my walk and observation about the folk culture of this village. There was an old man in an indigo fabric gown， sitting cross-legged while eating noodles by the door of his kitchen. Drawn by the inviting aroma of the noodles， I decided to step inside his house and take a look.

Beside numerous firewood， dark and gloomy walls， four hearths were there in the kitchen， which was quite uncommon in rural households. “You’ve got four hearths there， that’s impressive.” I exclaimed. “Very true. Three for making pig feed， one for cooking our own meals，” explained the old man with an amiable smile. “Please feel free and comfortable here. Do come inside and have a look.” I followed him across the courtyard into the living room. “These are pictures of my two sons with some superstars，” he introduced for me proudly.

Then I asked about his family. “I have two sons and a daughter. Both boys are working outside the hometown. The factory has been making less money due to the epidemic， yet this limping old farmer at home has to count on them no matter what. Look at this shabby house， the cracks in the wall. Luckily， the government people repainted the outer walls and installed windows for my house， which feels like home now.”

The sun softly shone down through the commodious courtyard， dispelling the gloomy darkness behind the pillars in the corridor and letting in a peaceful mood. From a distance， terrace fields looked foggy， and were lovely together with golden-yellow rice paddies and green vegetables. This idyllic view made one crave the company of a book. Seated idle on the stairs， I was savoring the moment while thinking until it was almost noon. Suddenly a girl’s voice naughtily raised from a side room， asking if there was a guest in the house. She was the old man’s daughter， about 20 years old. Getting a positive answer from her dad， the girl checked me out for a bit with a little curiosity： perhaps she had already grown accustomed to having strangers at home.

“No school these days， this lazy girl of mine knows nothing but fooling around at home，” sighed the old man， yet in a hopeful tone. “Now I have two grandsons from my elder son， and a granddaughter from my younger son. I myself am a very old man and have got one foot in the grave， and my only hope is for my daughter to graduate with a proper degree and get a decent job.” While saying these， the old man looked high up at the portraits of his ancestors， whom he seemed to be actually talking to.

Surely the hope of the old man was simple enough， like those of the bar owner and kind-hearted villagers. Although the epidemic has hit and changed the village and its dwellers more or less， the locals’ well-wishing nature stays unchanged. They are such a resilient and peaceful crowd， perhaps thanks to the natural surroundings which are capable of self-renewing in an amazing speed.

Leisurely， the old man lit up a cigarette and a wisp of its smoke slowly rose， like the smoke coming from the chimney of every household on every ordinary day. Each village offers something we have been looking for. A beautiful life starts with a simple wish is what I have learned here in Kenggen， a mountain village of silver， dream and future.