Building a stove fire

Brief introduction：

This is a collection of narrative essays about childhood and growth. The book presents childhood memories in the eyes of the generation born in the 1970s： digging up herbs， chasing rabbits， making a fire， making baskets， fishing， reading comic books， making candied fruits ... Through fun activities in childhood， the book shows the fond feelings between friends， teachers and students， fathers and sons， humans and animals. Each story connects all kinds of emotions， and it is a narrative poem on growth， which conveys true feelings， the pursuit of positive ideals， the tenacity， optimism and courage of people in the face of difficulties. Like a fire in winter， it is hopeful and powerful.

About the author：

Wen Jianlong has worked as a book editor and associate chief editor of journals and has been engaged in journalism and publishing work for 20 years. The books he edited and published received many national and provincial awards such as the Chinese Outstanding Publication Award and the Bing Xin Children’s Literary Award， etc.

In winter， the northwest wind blew from the gorge to the village from time to time. At the same time， the pines and cypresses in the mountains shook their heads and bodies leaving the catalpa trees stripped of their leaves. The branches lashed against each other， making a snapping sound. Occasionally one or two small black balls dropped from the branch to the trunk， and then fell into the grass; the yellow grass was in a mess because of the wind; nearby were some small chestnut shells under the chestnut trees. They were rolling together as if they tried to hide in the warm grass as soon as possible.

We were very familiar with chestnut shells. After fall， every household in the village collected some to make a fire. Even for elementary school students like us， under the guidance of the teacher， we would go to the mountains in labor class and picked up chestnut shells to get some warmth in the school when winter came. Therefore， in the southeastern corner of the classrooms， chestnut shells are piled up like mountains every winter. A naughty boy， who wanted to show his strength in front of his classmates， would threaten to “throw you onto the ‘southeastern corner’！ It was so terrible that I felt prickled all over my body at the mere thought of it. However， no one had actually suffered this fate.

When I was in the third grade， all boys in the class had a new task： building a fire. This was not a simple task. They had to come to school early， set the fire in the classroom， warm up the classroom， and dissipate the choking smoke as soon as possible before the morning class on a daily basis for the whole winter.

Each class was given a stove by the general affairs office of the school every year before everything is frozen. At this time， each class will ask at least four strong young lads as well as a leader. The strong boys were responsible for competing for quality stoves against other classes while the leader acted as the chief commander.

The trophy was quickly dragged into the classroom. The class pooled together and made remarks about it. Then every boy who participated in the scramble would emphasize that the stove they grabbed was the best one in the school.

The students were also responsible for the installation of heating equipment. While the “stove collecting group” set off， another group of dexterous boys also started to build the stove and assemble the chimney. Then the schoolgirls also came to help them. Some helped to keep the stacked tables and chairs steady， and got frightened by the sudden and deliberate shaking of the schoolboys on the tall stools; some would deliberately make a slip of the tongue when instructing the schoolboys to adjust the height of the stove tube， seeking revenge for girls who were terrified; others were responsible for making pastes， posting papers and sealing the sockets of the stove pipes.

Although the task of making the fire was assigned to all the boys， no one complained. Instead， all of them were particularly happy. On the one hand， everyone agreed that this was a man’s glorious mission; on the other hand， they could finally play with fire blatantly and openly and stopped worrying about being blamed for having matches.

After dinner， the fire in the stove was still burning. I was tucked up in bed， my whole body relaxed. But I was not sleepy at all. I tossed and turned， but still couldn’t find a comfortable position to sleep in.

“Why you are still awake？” Dad asked beside me.

“Somehow I just can’t fall asleep today.”

“What’s up？” Dad continued.

“Nothing. It’s my turn to build a fire in the class with Santuzi tomorrow. Somehow， I’ve been always thinking about it in my head. The more I want it to go away from my head， the more it remains there. It keeps turning in my head over and over.” I turned my head to Dad.

“I know. Just sleep now. I’ll wake you up on time tomorrow morning. By the way， what time will you leave tomorrow morning？” Dad replied lightly.

“I will leave at six o’clock. You must remember to wake me up. Don’t be late. I have an appointment with Santuzi in the classroom shortly after six o’clock.” I repeatedly stressed the time.

Dad’s reassuring words quickly set my mind at ease and dispelled my worries. Later， I forgot what else we talked about， and I did not know when I fell asleep.

Before dawn， I woke up in a daze， with a bulging belly. I had to answer nature’s call. A little embarrassed， I chuckled to myself.

Then I reluctantly got out of the warm bedsheets and put on a cotton jacket. I took the flashlight next to me， opened the door of the house， and went to the yard to relieve myself.

A cool breeze touched my bare legs. Suddenly a chill run down my body so that I was shivering and shaking with cold. I sighed， tiptoed， and rushed into the house quickly for fear that I would catch a cold.

Going into the house， I subconsciously glanced at the clock. My goodness. It was after six o’clock！ I almost yelled.

“How come ... What’s the matter？ Dad， why didn’t you call me？ It’s past six o’clock！” I complained deep down but didn’t say anything.

Then it was quiet in the room， and not a sound was heard outside the window. The bright moonlight shined through the small glass in the center of the window and gently spilled into the house. It was so quiet， except for the ticking of the pendulum.

The sound became louder and faster. It was like a race. The sound and my heartbeat were competing against each other.

I quickly and quietly put on my clothes and carried the manure basket outside the house. It was filled with small chopped firewood， which I prepared yesterday. Then I rushed to school.

My family lived along the village’s north street to the east， and the primary school was in the southwest of the village. They were about one mile apart. I never thought about the distance between them when going to the school along the streets and alleys. Sometimes， in order to have a few more words with my good friends， I deliberately took a detour. Today was different， and I was thinking about taking a shortcut.

With a manure bucket in my left arm and a flashlight in my right hand， I set off at a brisk pace along the main street. After getting almost halfway， I felt a little pain in my left arm. The lower edge of the manure basket had been resting on my hip bone. Sweat beaded on my forehead， my fitted clothes stuck to my body， and my steps gradually slowed down.

At the end of the main street， I turned onto a narrow， winding alley. At this time， the moon had risen higher， and the bright moonlight streamed into the alley along the back eaves of residents’ houses， leaving the alley half bright and half dark. The dangling flashlight beam shuttled and flickered back and forth， with slight weirdness. The erratic shadow that had been following came and went. Then I felt a little nervous and quickened my pace unconsciously. I tried turning off the flashlight and thought if I walked in the half bright and half dark street， it would not be easy for me to be noticed.

Finally， I rushed to the gate of the school， but the huge iron doors in front of me were tightly shut. I turned on the flashlight， looked back and then slapped the iron gate hard， shouting： “Uncle Zhang， Uncle Zhang， open the gate. Open the gate！”

After I yelled several times， the light in the reception room was finally on.

“Who is it？ It’s so early！” I knew it was Uncle Zhang himself. But what he said was a little strange. Without a second thought， I continued， “It’s me， Xiaolong. Uncle Zhang， it’s me.”

The huge iron gate clacked back and forth and then opened. Uncle Zhang leaned his head forward and said， “Xiaolong， it’s you！ Why are you here？ You come so early？”

I hesitated for a moment， and my brain quickly analyzed and judged， as if the information I heard was right. I immediately replied， “I come to build a fire for the class！ The teacher arranged it！ Has Santuzi arrived？”

“The teacher arranged it？ The teacher asked you to build a fire after four o’clock？ Who is Santuzi？”

“What？ It’s after four o’clock？ Isn’t it ... isn’t it after six o’clock？” I was confused and hesitated in speech.

“Come， come into the room. We’ll talk about it after you feel warmer. You little kid are really active. Do you want to take the place of a rooster？” Uncle Zhang joked.

“Oh， my goodness！” Leaning over and seeing the small alarm clock on Uncle Zhang’s desk， I suddenly realized what was wrong. “I’m so ignorant. I must have mistaken the hour hand of my clock for the minute one.” I scratched my head and explained in an embarrassed manner.

Uncle Zhang looked at me and smiled： “Now that you are here， don’t go back. Take a nap for a while and I’ll wake you up when time is up.”

I thought over his words， “I’ll wake you up when it is time to get up”. I smiled and shook my head.

Lying on Uncle Zhang’s bed， I soon fell asleep. When I woke up again and rushed to the classroom， the classroom was already warmed up and it was time for morning reading.

The teacher praised me and Santuzi for making a fire in front of the whole class and gave us bonus points of labor.

Up to now， my classmates don’t know how the fire was made then. In fact， I don’t know either. Santuzi has always been grateful to me because he slept in that day.

Uncle Zhang， I， and Santuzi haven’t said anything about this incident until today. However， since then， Santuzi and I have been really good at making ?res ...

Green Scented Soap

Wen Jianlong

Hope Publishing House

August 2020

28.00 （CNY）