In the countryside, there will be no farming in 1 1 month, and all the ladies who love singing will get together and rehearse repeatedly. Three days later, with the support of the enthusiastic village Committee, the stage was set up on the playground of the village primary school and sang for more than ten days.
When the sound of gongs and drums began to drill into every corner, opera fans gathered in front of the stage crazily, craning their necks and eagerly waiting for the curtain to open. The children's little heads poked into the curtains, their eyes shining with curiosity. They are the most lively actors, squatting on the edge of the platform, with dogs cutting at their feet, climbing up and down, standing, sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall. Everything is their patent. Watching their children's performances, I had a smile on my happy face. I don't know the drama, but I still mingle with them in a serious way, just to catch a glimpse of my father's appearance, or point to the old man and proudly show off to my companions.
Father can't read music. As long as you sing the song, he can play a beautiful melody.
Neighbor Lao Li often looks for his father happily after dinner. Before his feet set foot on the threshold, the tune of Shaanxi Opera had flown into the room. "ah! Brother, my good brother, please listen to me quietly. Play a song and let me shout. He can do nothing but you. " Father laughed and jumped off the kang. Without saying anything, he took off the purple-brown banhu hanging on the wall, twisted the handle and pulled it twice. When Lao Li sang, his father's fingers were thick, desolate and melodious. My father is not only a banhu, but also an opera fan. He loves watching plays and knows more about them. After a while, Lao Li's father also got involved with him. We radish heads often get into bed, lie on the kang with our hands propped on our cheeks, and watch them walk eight steps under the house, swinging their robes and sleeves, learning to be famous, telling the story clearly in the play, writing our own paradise in our own difficulties and frustrations for hours, spreading a rich and bright banhu complex.
With the increase of father's wrinkles, the number of times his father pulls banhu is less and less. When Lao Li comes, he always refuses in front of his wife. Later, the normal school required every student to know one or two musical instruments, and told his father that he took the banhu off the wall and handed it to me without saying anything. My father looks very excited. "Third, this is a good thing. It seems that my hand has been inherited. " So my father's banhu accompanied me to study for more than three years. Although I practice hard every day when I have time, I can't play music like my father. Until one day, Banhu accidentally fell from the bunk bed, destroying the five sound holes in the shape of the money eye of the piano barrel and ruining his father's hard work. I took Banhu home and secretly hung it on the wall, fearing that my father would be sad and even more afraid that he would scold me. I didn't dare to tell him that I broke Banhu.
Later, when I worked, I always wanted to buy my father a banhu, but I gave it up because the sound quality was not as good as my father's and it was expensive, and because I dared not take medicine and injections for many years. A few years passed quietly, until I got well, got married and had children, and I didn't have to worry about these. On weekends, I went home to visit my white-haired parents. As soon as I entered the window sill, the four-panel huqin drum lay peacefully in the sun. The purple-brown drums and fine workmanship made me roll my eyes. I hurried into the room. My father is away, so I greet my mother. I took off the bad banhu that had been hanging on the wall and took it off the cover. This surprised me. It's as good as before, with a purple-brown light. Mother said, "What are you looking at? Your ancestors have finished. He has been hooking that thing with a hook these days. He said he would make a banhu for every grandson ... "
Father was ill, and until he left his children and grandchildren, Class Four households had not pressed the strings. I put them in a box, sealed them, and the box full of regrets floated into my heart day and night. When his grandchildren grew up, they felt the deep regret in my father's grandfather's banhu complex.
Just like the banhu sound he played, his father's life was full of melody and charm, which left his children and grandchildren with endless aftertaste and enjoyment. The legacy he left us is not only an unfinished banhu and four regrets, but an eternal voice of the world.