Memorable Persimmon

This morning, my daughter and I went to the market to buy vegetables. We saw a 60-year-old man, about 1.7 meters old, thin, with sunken eyes and a long black dress, carrying a bunch of bright red persimmon, as big as a fist. Seeing this, my daughter asked curiously: Dad! What is that, the color is so fresh, so red? Hearing this sentence, I felt at a loss. When I was a child, my favorite fruit unexpectedly came up and asked: Old man! How do you sell this Persimmon? Eight yuan per jin, the old man replied. I bowed down and picked up the persimmon, holding a larger Persimmon, soft. This feeling, the old man’s dress, pulled me back to an afternoon more than 30 years ago. That year, I was still studying in Guihua Primary School. After school, several of our friends went home together. All the people who should go home left. Only we were left behind, and the noisy sheep-sausage trail at this time every day, very quiet. In a family named Xiao not far from the school, an old couple of more than 60 years old often wore black clothes, tall figure, very thin, like a dry stick and walking stick. I often sit under the persimmon tree which is so thick at the mouth of the bowl in front of my house, watching the yellow ripe persimmon, watching the immature faces carrying schoolbags playing and playing from home to school. When Persimmon is yellow and ripe, passing by under the tree, a feeling of sour, sweet and astringent sprays to the corners of the mouth. Especially in the late autumn, Persimmon leaves fell down, and the persimmon trees were hanging on the trees like small lanterns one by one, which were bright and delicious, dazzling, and not attractive. This season is also the most careful time for the old to watch Persimmon. It happened that there was an accident this day. Several of us came to the persimmon tree quietly, and looked inside from the window to see no one at home. We discussed secretly that people who could climb trees would pick persimmon and leave one to watch the wind under the tree. I am the least brave, not able to climb trees, helplessly looking at the wind under the tree. Everyone climbed up the tree as quickly as monkeys, picking up the Persimmon while eating the persimmon. Looking at this scene, I swallowed the water directly below. Suddenly, my heart was pounding, as if I heard the sound of hurried footsteps, and then the cry: Grand Duke, someone hit your Persimmon. This voice sounded like the voice of my classmate. I thought secretly that it was his eldest brother’s family? Before I came back to my mind, several partners on the tree answered in unison: Yes! The Grand Duke is here! Then, laughter came from the tree. The sound hung on the tree full of red lanterns also spread to the silent wooden house. The door crept and broke the silence. I saw two old men shouting with wooden poles in their hands: beating robbers and robbers. Hearing this, all the friends in panic jumped down the tree, and the Persimmon on the tree was washed and knocked on the tiles like raindrops. On the ground, the bodies of the partners and the faces of the old. What’s more, it slips on the ground and is covered with Persimmon paste, which is as yellow as the heart of an egg. The old man shouted to the sky, scolding the Sky: it was cut to pieces and scattered by the sky. It was reserved for my granddaughter. Well, the surface of the black clothes was colorful, and the whole body was wet like yellow mud soup. Now I also step into the year of no confusion, recalling the events of that year, looking at the bright persimmon in front of me, sour and astringent. Ah, it really shouldn’t be.

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