Mother’s Pork Killer Vegetables

In my memory, my mother never raised pigs weighing more than one hundred pounds. In the 1960s and 1970s, people didn't have enough to eat. The pigs were fed rice bran mixed with some wild vegetables picked from the fields, such as gray vegetables, chai lian ling, and shriveled beads. It was a meal with clear soup and fresh water. How could one grow a fat head and big ears? Therefore, the mother's pigs were slaughtered when they did not look very old. Whenever the pig is killed, my mother always feels a mixture of joy and sorrow. Usually, as long as the pigs hear their mother's "nagging" call, they can't wait to walk out of the pig pen, staring at their mother, looking forward to three meals a day. The mother always watches the pig eat, and the pig raises his head from time to time, as if full of gratitude like a child.

At this moment, the pig butcher knocked the pig down, and the father and several strong men stepped forward to help. The pig howled loudly, as if it knew that its life was up, and cried for its mother to come to rescue it. My mother always stayed far away, not daring to look at the scene in front of her. Later, when the pigs were being slaughtered, my mother simply went out to avoid it, so that she could no longer see or hear the pigs and shed some tears.

After the pigs were slaughtered, my mother was busy cooking the pigs, a large pot of pork stewed with vermicelli, and a large porcelain pot of yellow rice cakes. The sticky smell of the meat cakes filled the air. The entire government family home and the neighbors are drooling. There are five households in a row, and each household is given a bowl of pork stewed vermicelli and six or seven fried cakes. There were no courtyard walls in those days, so it was common to walk into the next door with a bowl of rice. Whenever I come home from school, I don’t know how to swallow the cake sent by my neighbor.

If the twelfth lunar month pork stewed with sauerkraut, pork stewed with tofu, and offal vermicelli soup are the best meals of the year, then cooking pig heads on the New Year’s Eve is the happiest time. From time to time there was a "gud-dong" sound coming from the pot, and the aroma of meat filled the room. From time to time, my mother would lift the lid of the pot and turn the pig's head over, and the pig's face would look like a blooming flower, welcoming the arrival of New Year's Eve with joy. We played with lanterns and set off firecrackers outside, and went home from time to time to see how Pig Head was doing. In that era, materials were scarce, and pig head was the best meal. On the first day of the Lunar New Year, my mother made vermicelli mixed with bean sprouts and a few slices of pig head meat. It was light and meaty, and I still have endless aftertaste.

My parents raised five of our brothers and sisters. If we include the boys above me and my sister below, my mother gave birth to seven children. Fortunately, those two died before their first birthday, and my mother cried her heart out over this. Thanks to those two who didn't cause any more trouble, otherwise my family's life would be even poorer. At that time, there was no such thing as family planning, and the number of people increased every two years. Relying on my father's small salary, I always had one meal but no one, I could endure the grievances in my stomach, and the mental shock was even more unbearable.

My father was an uprising member of Fu Zuoyi's army. Due to historical issues, he suffered humiliation during the "Cultural Revolution". The banner party and government leaders at that time, Ba (Bayin Dalai), Zhao (Zhao Shanbi), and Wu (Wuli Ji), "paraded" with signs, and my father, who had historical issues, followed behind and "bagged" him. The leader was charged with being the vanguard in implementing Liu Shaoqi and Ulan Fu's black line. My father was Ba Zhaowu's "black minion".

It was a dark and quiet night, and our family went to bed early. We only heard the "dong dong" knock on the door. Who did mother ask? There was a fierce voice outside the door, rebels in the unit! Open the door quickly. In fact, the dilapidated wooden door can be opened with a kick, and people are polite first and then attack. They rummaged through boxes and cabinets and found nothing but shabby clothes. These people still refused to give up. They said there was something fishy under the water tank, so they dug three feet into the ground like the Japanese in the movie "Tunnel War". At that time, our government housing was still land, and the bottom of the water tank collapsed and seemed to have marks. They thought there was gold hidden there. However, they did not gain nothing. They stole the "silver pony" that was passed down from generation to generation around the children's necks. There must be a receipt for the confiscation of property written in black and white, but this group of robbers did not leave a single word. After the "Cultural Revolution" ended, I went to see Zhu Zhixiong, the political commissar of the Banner Public Security Bureau, to inquire about the matter, but there was no news.

In any case, my father finally came out alive after experiencing the "Red Dictatorship" and "Poaching People's Party". Zhu Zhixiong's father, Zhamulai, could not withstand the harsh beatings of the "Internal Party" movement. On the way to the Red Five-Star Auditorium for criticism, he took advantage of the guard's unpreparedness and fell headlong into the well in front of the auditorium. He did not wait for the day when the clouds cleared and the fog cleared.

In the most difficult days, the mother did not forget her pig as she did her child. Whenever she has finished eating and washed the dishes, she would cook the swill, wild vegetables and grain chaff in the pot, and walk cheerfully to the pig house, calling her pig affectionately, "Laa Lala..." , whenever she hears the sound of pigs eating, the mother's face will show a joyful look. Pigs also have times when they have a headache, a fever, and an uncomfortable appetite. Once the pig refuses to eat, the mother's face turns from sunny to cloudy. She either calls a veterinarian or buys stomach medicine. She is afraid that her pig will die like her two sons who have not grown up.

In 1969, my mother became pregnant again, and we agreed to give her to my uncle. The aunt was barren and the three children they raised were all adopted. The uncle is the secretary of a commune in Chayouhouqi. There is no shortage of oatmeal, yam and eggs. It is also a good choice to be a son. When my mother gave birth to my third brother, I looked at the baby's fluffy little head and small black bean-like eyes and begged my mother not to give him away, so I kept my third brother.

In 1969, the "Cultural Revolution" was in full swing. Middle and high school students gathered all over the country. Elementary school students basically did not go to school, so I took on the important task of taking care of my younger brother. Every evening I go to the cattle farm near the west entrance of Guancun to buy milk. I hold a can in my hand and it costs 25 cents a bottle. I have to rush home before dark. Just because there are tombs in the crop field in front of the No. 2 Primary School, I dare not leave in vain.

My father was often imprisoned on trumped-up charges, and my mother attended neighborhood committee study classes every afternoon. I warmed up milk for my little brother on time and coaxed him to sleep soundly before I went out to play for a while. One afternoon my little brother kept crying, no matter how much he was coaxed, he would not stop. I yelled loudly, but my little brother couldn't speak. He looked at me in horror for a moment and started crying again. I was so annoyed! In the evening, the mother came back and stuffed the withered nipple into the little brother's mouth, and he immediately became quiet. How could that bottle of milk satisfy his growing appetite? Was he crying from hunger? From now on, I cut the potatoes into slices, roasted them on the stove plate, chewed them in my mouth, and fed them mouth to mouth. If the food is stuck in the esophagus, give him a few spoonfuls of cold water, and this will make him grow up day by day.

My father was imprisoned and my mother was uneducated. I also had to shoulder the task of buying grain and vegetables. In the middle of every month, I would go to the Chayouqian Banner Finance Bureau, sign my name next to my father's name on the salary list, and then go to the grain sales department to pick up rice, noodles and other grains on my bicycle. At that time, moon cakes cost only 16 cents, and my mouth watered just looking at them, and I never even ate one secretly. Anyone who grew up in a family like ours would find it hard to swallow.

This is also reflected in my father. When he was fifty-three years old, he broke his arm while riding a bicycle. I asked the Director of Commerce to specially approve ten kilograms of eggs and asked him to cook a few every day. . How could my father be willing to enjoy it by himself and share a stew of oatmeal noodles with the whole family? The most he could get was a bowl of egg soup.

After my father ate my mother’s last meal of pig meat, he never came back. At that time, he had already retired from his leadership position in the Banner Second Lighting Bureau and could have been taking care of himself at home. But he could never be idle for the rest of his life, helping Qi Cement Factory carry out technical reforms, and left us forever without leaving a single outspoken word. If the death of the two boys who were under one year old in our family reduced the burden on the family, the death of my father is equivalent to the loss of the "golden doll". My father started working before the founding of the People's Republic of China, and in addition to enjoying retirement benefits, he also received subsidies such as "poaching". So it’s not an exaggeration to compare my father to a “golden doll”.

From then on, our family’s life became even more difficult, and I couldn’t sleep at night thinking about my father. I woke up from the dream and looked at the moonlight outside the window, thinking, Dad, why are you leaving in such a hurry? You also know that your son is not an upright man. How can his weak shoulders bear such a heavy burden? I cried so much that I couldn't help but urinate a lot. Human beings are not as ruthless as plants and trees.

The coldest days are here again. A few days ago, I went to the countryside with some friends to eat pig meat. The scenes of my mother raising pigs and our family sitting around the kang table are still vivid in my mind. In fact, eating and drinking also require atmosphere. If a person holds a pig's head, he will never taste the sweetness.

Some of the photos in this article were provided by Li Fang, a photographer from the Ulanqab Photography Association, for which I would like to express my heartfelt thanks.

The Jining Old Stories public account narrates the past and present of Ulanqab in fluent words and profound connotations. Some travel notes, novels, and stories also enrich readers’ cultural life with knowledge and interest. . You are welcome to forward articles on this platform. As long as the signature is not changed, it is not an infringement.

Author: Li Lin Ai, pen name: Lin Ai. Born on February 23, 1955 (lunar calendar), he has worked as an educated youth, car driver, policeman and other professions. He has published novels such as "The Bitter and Happy Years" and "Old Stories in Jining" (Part 1 and 2). Now he is a member of Inner Mongolia Writers Association.