6. Ping An Lane
There are at least one hundred Ping An Li in Shanghai.
Speaking of Ping An, that kind of twists and turns, deep and dirty alleys will appear in front of you.
Sometimes they can walk across and come to another road; other times they will be connected to neighboring lanes and become one piece.
It's a bit like a net. Once a foreigner walks into this alley, he will lose his way and don't know where he will take you.
In this kind of peace, others see it as a mess, but they themselves are sober, guarding their own hearts, and living a bit of struggle.
When night falls, and sometimes even the moon rises, Ping An presents a clean and tranquil face. It is a kind of meticulous painting, which depicts that rough livelihood in detail.
That Ping An Li is actually a bit of a show, but it can't be seen.
In the brick and wood grid that began to decay, there will also be some memories and longings that are not as beautiful as an embroidery, but are still moon shadows.
The ringing of "Beware of Fire Candles" is a bit of care and love in Ping An.
The one-day livelihood in Ping An is the curtain being drawn amidst the hustle and bustle; the rumbling of a dung car, the sound of toilet flushing, dozens of briquettes stoves raising smoke in the alley, the clothes washed overnight, and the bamboo poles staggered, as if Raise the flag in the smoke screen.
These voices are inevitably a bit exaggerated, with a little bit of aura and ostentation, and with great momentum, they obscured the rising sun.
There are some old residents here, who are the same age as Ping An Li. They are witnesses in Ping An Li, and they use historical eyes to examine the later residents.
Part of it is you coming and going, showing a constant stream.
Their deeds hide their heads and tails, a little mysterious, and clouds of suspicion spread in the sky above Ping An.
Wang Qiyao lives on the third floor of No. 39, Pingan Lane.
The previous tenants left all kinds of flowers and plants on the balcony, most of them withered, and there were one or two pots of unknown, but new leaves grew.
The previous tenants still left their own bottles and jars in the stove, moulded in them, bugs swimming in the stagnant water, but half a bottle of fresh peanut oil.
There are some handwritings on the wall behind the door, there are adults, remember: the tenth birthday of the first month.
I don't know whose birthday gift is.
There are also children who vent their personal anger and write "Wang Gensheng eats shit".
It's all sporadic years, not a chapter, but here and there, it is everywhere.
It's still layered on top of each other, sticking shoes on the same footing, solid and hard to eat.
Wang Qiyao placed a few of her own things, and the others were all in a mess. First, he installed a few curtains, pulled them up, and turned on the lights.
That room changed its appearance, even though it was connected to other people's stubbornness, it was renewed after all.
The lamp had no chapters, and the light filled the room. It was not bright, but everything was stripped and naked.
Outside the window is the May day, the wind is warm, with the smell of oil fume and swill, this is actually the smell of Shanghai Xinzi. After a long time, you will not notice it, and your body and mind will be saturated.
Later, the scent of sweet-scented osmanthus porridge also floated up, all of whom were old acquaintances.
The curtains are also old curtains, covering the familiar night.
There is a gap in this familiarity, one must be carefully connected, and then there are some traces of splicing.
Wang Qiyao is very grateful for the big flowers on the curtains, which are in full bloom at any time and place, and they look like loyal companions.
It also means taking a photo, which is the relics of good times, and then it is still gorgeous.
The floor and wooden window frames exude the mildew warmth of wood, and the cautious footsteps of a mouse, as if stepped on it from the heart, are also caring.
Then, the bell of "Beware of Fire" rang.
Wang Qiyao went to the Master's Training Institute for three months and got a license for injections, and then put up the sign in Ping An.
This kind of brand, almost every three mouths have one piece, is the business of all kinds of Wang Qiyao.
They get up in the morning to clean up the room, put on clean clothes, and then light the alcohol lamp and cook a box of injection needles.
Sunlight shines into the window from the roof of the house in front, drawing one side on the floor.
They turned off the alcohol lamp, opened a free book, and waited for someone to come and get an injection.
Visitors usually call in the morning and afternoon. There are also one or two in the evening.
They also came to ask for an injection. In that case, they brought a straw bag with a needle box, cotton wool, white cloth cap and mask, just like a nurse, and went.
Wang Qiyao always wears a plain-colored cheongsam. On the streets of Shanghai in the 1950s, such cheongsams are declining. The few remaining ones will inevitably have a nostalgic expression. They are relics of the previous era and obsolete. Integrated with modern.
Wearing a cheongsam, Wang Qiyao walked one or two roads to give the patient an injection.
She will have the feeling of reappearing in the old world, but the people have changed roles.
One day, she went to Jiya's apartment and walked into the gloomy living room. Her shoes and socks were reflected on the waxed floor.
She was introduced into the bedroom by the servant, a young woman on the bed, covered with a thin green silk quilt, she felt that this woman was her incarnation.
After the injection, I packed my things, and walked out of the apartment, but my heart seemed to stay there.
She could almost hear the woman's annoyance at the servant. It was because the shrimp she bought was small and not fresh. She knew her husband was coming home for dinner.
Sometimes she looked at the blue flames of the alcohol lamp and saw a colorful scene. There was a small world in it. The singing and dancing in the small world were endless, it was the singing and dancing in the sky.
She occasionally went to a movie, the one at eight in the evening.
The road is quiet, with the reflection of lights on the road, and the quiet boiling in the front hall of the cinema, which means going back in time.
She watched mostly old movies, Zhou Xuan's "Angels on the Road" and Bai Yang's "Cross Streets". These are also old acquaintances, and the most irrelevant stories are also from the heart.
She ordered an evening paper. At dusk, she spent reading the newspaper. She read every word in the newspaper. She understood half of it, half of it, half of it, and half of it. It’s time for dinner. It’s on the stove. The water is also boiling.
Those who came for the injection at night always smelled like an uninvited guest. When she heard the sound of the stairs, she guessed who came.
She is a bit active and speaks a few more words.
If the injection was a child, she would especially make him happy.
She turned on the alcohol lamp again to sterilize the needles, asked questions, and when the patient was about to leave after the injection, she was a little bit reluctant.
The commotion and noise will leave a lingering sound. She forgot to clean up, and the water in the pot dries up before waking up.
This kind of night broke the stereotyped life, although it was a fruitless, but after all, it created a little ups and downs and made life look forward to.
The expectation is at a loss, the direction is not clear, what is unknown is brewing and developing, and finally there will be fruits.
She was woken up once in the middle of the night.
People have fallen asleep long ago, and the cry was particularly alarming, with some danger and terror.
Wang Qiyao’s heart was throbbing. She put on a jacket on her pajamas and went downstairs to open the door. Seeing that it was two countrymen, they carried a stretcher and lay the dying patient, saying that she was asking Dr. Wang for help. .
Wang Qiyao knew they had made a mistake and treated the nurse as a doctor.
She directed them to the nearest hospital, and then back upstairs, but couldn't sleep anymore.
The night in this city is always unexpected, and every movement is unusual.
Under the street lamp at the alley, the sign of Wang Qiyao, an injection nurse, was written with a little eagerness.
In the quiet night, there is a car passing by, and the sound of wind sweeping fallen leaves, the night will flow, there is a secret activity.
There is a constant stream of people coming to get injections. If you go today and tomorrow, new people often appear.
At this time, Wang Qiyao secretly looked at that person's family and occupation, and then used some gossip to compose a few words of truth.
Whenever the nurses bring their children, they should tell you the details of the host without asking.
Which nanny is not a broken mouth?
Isn't it that you have hatred and hatred for your boss and want to pour you a lot of bitterness?
There are also some patients who appear on a regular basis. These are not actually patients. They are given nutritional injections such as placental fluid once a week or twice a week.
The days are getting longer, and some of them come when they don’t have injections, sit and gossiping, Zhang’s parents, Li Jiadan.
In this way, even though Wang Qiyao did not go out, she knew what was going on in the world.
Although these choppy pieces belonged to others, they filled Wang Qiyao's life half-full.
Morning and night, sometimes even busy, eyes and ears are not enough.
The noise in Ping An is contagious, and it is seamless without drilling. Gradually, some of Wang Qiyao's quietness is broken.
The footsteps on the stairs rose up, the door opened and closed frequently, and people often looked up behind and called Wang Qiyao's name.
Especially in that kind of leisurely afternoon, the call spreads far, with an ardent taste.
The oleander also opened.
There are also a few oleander trees in Pingan, which are planted in a pile of soil surrounded by broken bricks on the terrace, and they bloom with gorgeous flowers.
Although there will be no adventures in the day, many small details are accumulated carefully, which will lead to something in the end.
Wang Qiyao got acquainted with others.
People knew that she was a young widow, so naturally there were enthusiastic matchmakers coming to her door.
Wang Qiyao had met one of them, a teacher, and said he was thirty years old, but he had died.
The two met in the cinema and watched a movie about a farmer turning over. It was the kind that Wang Qiyao didn't want to watch, and it was the last one.
There was a gap of silence, and I heard the cramped breathing of the teaching, with a whistling sound in the chest, which was a symptom of asthma.
From then on, Wang Qiyao politely declined to the matchmaker. She knew that no one else would be able to escape the gibberish of the teacher.
She doesn't blame others, only her own fate.
She looked at the smoke-filled sky above Ping An, and thought to herself, what good things could come?
People say that she is proud, or that she keeps the festival, she is always talking about gossip, and she is also talking about any enlightenment.
Although they are familiar with each other, they are still separated. This is normal.
I don't know how many gaps there are in the acquaintance in Ping An, and how many big fish are in the muddy water.
The acquaintance in Ping An is not asking for understanding, sloppy, sloppy on the surface, but loneliness underneath. This loneliness is not known to people, nor do they know it.
Life went on in a muddle.
Wang Qiyao is half confused, half clear, half confessed, half clear is confession.
During the day, I was busy dealing with all kinds of people and things. At night, I turned off the lights, and the moonlight suddenly jumped on the curtains, pushing the big flowers close to my eyes, not wanting to think about it.
There are actually a lot of thoughts on the night in Ping An, except that it can't be reflected without the big flowers on Wang Qiyao's curtains.
Many thoughts are sinking in the bottom of my heart, like scum.
It's all called livelihood training, squeezing out the juice, draining the water, and condensing into a lump. What kind of agitation does not appear.
Wang Qiyao hadn't reached this point yet, she still had some branches and flowers in her mind, and some light flashed in the dim night in peace.
7. Regular customer
Among those who often come, there is a person called Master Yan from the Yan family, who comes more often.
She also lives in Ping An, the bottom of the house, a single-family house.
At the age of thirty-six or seventeen, her eldest son is nineteen years old, studying architecture in Tongji.
Her husband was the factory owner of a light bulb factory before 1949. After a public-private partnership, he became the deputy factory director. According to Yan's mother, he was just showing off.
In normal days, the Yan family also traced her eyebrows, put on lipstick, and wore a short emerald jacket, underneath her suit pants.
When she walked through the alley, people stopped talking and turned their eyes to her.
She just ignored it, going in and out like no one else.
The children of her family do not play with the children of the neighbors. Mr. Yan even enters and exits by car. For many years, he has never seen his face.
The Yan family's mother-in-law is not allowed to come out casually, and she changes her work, so even her family's mother-in-law seems to be proud and does not know people.
Every Monday and Thursday, Master Yan Jia came to Wang Qiyao to get an imported nutritional injection to prevent colds.
When she first saw Wang Qiyao, she was secretly surprised, she thought, this woman must have some origin.
Wang Qiyao's every move, every clothing and food, is telling her the secret, which is on the bustling market.
She regarded Wang Qiyao as approachable with just one glance.
Master Yan's mother always felt wronged in Ping'an. She lived here for the sake of cheap housing prices, because Mr. Yan is a diligent and thrifty person.
For this reason, she complained frequently, and Mr. Yan also made a thousand wishes on his pillow, and made all kinds of vows. Unexpectedly, the public-private partnership and the industry returned to the country. It is grace and grace to keep a private house, and the garden house will eventually come to nothing.
Ms. Yan's family always stands out in Ping'an. She looks at everyone else as a subordinate, and no one can be equal to her.
Now, on the 39th, living in a Wang Qiyao, she couldn't help being surprised and happy, and it made her feel pity for the same disease.
Regardless of whether Wang Qiyao agrees or not, she becomes her guest.
Master Yan Jia always came to Wang Qiyao after two o'clock in the afternoon, holding a sandalwood fan in her hand, and adding the powder on her body. People arrived before they saw the fragrance.
Most of the injections in the afternoon are at three or four o'clock. This hour is always empty, and only the two of them sit face to face.
The sleepy nap in the summer noon has not completely passed, and I can't help yawning and yawning.
They are so strong that they don't know what to say.
The cicadas on the parasol tree screamed repeatedly, and it was buzzing when they came in, and it was not clear.
Wang Qiyao scooped out the ebony soup she made for the guests, and she didn't know what to drink after a cup.
When the yawn passed, the person gradually woke up, the hot flashes in his chest subsided, and he felt better.
Generally speaking, the Yan family's mother said that Wang Qiyao listened, said and listened attentively.
The Yan family’s mother said to Wang Qiyao that she had been thinking about it for hundreds of years. It was like pouring beans from a bamboo tube. From her natal family to her husband’s family, she actually told herself.
Where is Wang Qiyao?
The Yan family's things that I heard in my ears became my own business when they fell into my heart. I listened to my own voice.
Sometimes, the Yan family's mother would ask about Wang Qiyao. Wang Qiyao just said in the usual answer, knowing that she may not believe it, so she can only ask her to guess by herself, and don't say it if she is right.
Although Master Yan Jia could guess a bit, she wanted to ask, as if to test Wang Qiyao's sincerity.
Wang Qiyao is not insincere, just can't say.
The two went in circles, you chased me to hide, and you planted grudge in your heart.
Fortunately, women and women are not afraid of planting grievances. The friendship between women is actually formed with grievances. The more grievances, the deeper the friendship.
Sometimes the two of them just broke up unhappily, but the next day they got together again, more intimate than the previous day.
On this day, the Yan family's mother wanted to be a matchmaker with Wang Qiyao, and Wang Qiyao smiled and said no.
Master Yan Jia asked why.
Wang Qiyao did not say the reason, but only described the scene of the fellow teacher watching the movie to her that day.
She laughed when she heard it, and after she laughed, she said seriously: I want to introduce to you, one does not teach, two is undefeated, and three does not have asthma. When it comes to this, the two can't help but laugh, and laugh. Up.
After the laugh, Master Yan did not mention matchmaking, and Wang Qiyao naturally did not mention it. It was tacit and smooth.
Both of them are smart people, and they are still young.
Although the difference was nearly ten years old, one was a few years old and the other was a few years old, and they happened to be together.
Friends on the way like them all have their own secrets. Don't look at the Yan family's master and pour the beans in a bamboo tube. They also have reservations that they don't know about. They don't know the roots of each other. It is enough to have some sympathy.
So even though the Yan family was somewhat dissatisfied, she still took it down and became a sincere friend.
The Yan family has plenty of time. Although there is Mr. Yan, she leaves early and returns late;
There are three children, the older one is older, the younger one is thrown to the nanny;
After all, the communication of wives in the industrial and commercial circles cannot go there every day.
As a result, Wang Qiyao's house became a good place, and I had to order a bite every day, and sometimes even the rice was eaten here with Wang Qiyao.
Wang Qiyao was going to fry two dishes, but she desperately stopped, saying what to eat.
They often eat soaked rice and yellow mud snails eat rice.
Wang Qiyao's simple life close to asceticism is indifferent and peaceful, which reminds people of the boudoir life, how far away it is.
When they were talking gossip, someone would come to get an injection, so Yan Jia's mother helped hold the chair, collect the money and receive the medicine, and hand it over.
The visitor actually regarded her as Wang Qiyao's younger sister in her gorgeous dress, and the Yan family's mother flushed with excitement, as if the child had been praised by an adult.
Afterwards, she must encourage Wang Qiyao to perm her hair and make clothes, with a spirit of self-sacrifice.
She was talking about the principles of being a woman, about the shortness and beauty of youth.
Thinking of youth, Wang Qiyao couldn't help but come from it.
She saw her twenty-five years old flowing in the pale morning and yellow twilight. She couldn't help it, and the water flowed even more with a knife.
The Yan family's attire is constantly changing, keeping up with fashion, and can only hold the tail of youth.
Some of her costumes shocked Wang Qiyao, but she was a little moved.
There is some innocence in her glamour, and some vicissitudes of life, mixed together, is the beauty of sadness.
Unable to withstand the words and deeds of Yan's mother, Wang Qiyao really permed her hair.
When I walked into the barber shop, the smell of shampoo and hair oil, with the smell of burnt hair, puffed my nose, and it was so cooked.
The appearance of a woman drying her hair, holding a comic strip in one hand and giving it to the barber with the other hand, is also familiar.
Shampoo, trimming, curling, perm, drying, styling, a series of procedures are unforgettable and unforgettable.
Wang Qiyao felt that he had just been here yesterday, and he was surrounded by familiar faces.
Finally, everything was in place. Wang Qiyao in the mirror was also yesterday. The three years in the middle were cut with a pair of scissors, and I don't know where to abandon it.
In the mirror, she saw the jaw-dropping expression of the Yan family's wife standing behind her, almost regretting instigating her to perm.
The hairdresser is tidying her temples, with her fingers touching her cheeks, which is the most careful care.
She turned her face slightly, avoiding the hot wind of the hair dryer, this slightly delicate posture was also yesterday.
