At the end of 20 17, at the 60th anniversary celebration of a literary magazine, I really wanted to go out for a walk alone at a busy time. One morning, I was free. After breakfast, I went straight to Sichuan North Road and visited the tomb of Mr. Lu Xun in Hongkou Park.
The weather is fine. On weekends, many people do morning exercises in the garden. There is a fruit stand at the door, with fragrant tassels such as apples, oranges and strawberries. They are all crocheted, and even decorate the world literary giant square. Men and women shuttled through it, stepping on a warm beat and dancing uniformly. It's very hot, so most people take off their coats. I tried to avoid the dancers and walked into the square. Bronze statues of literary masters are full-length portraits, sitting or standing. Tolstoy's cane is in his right hand. At this time, a bodybuilder's bag hung on his crutch, making him look like a lonely fugitive. Shakespeare and Dickens held quill pens, which became natural hooks and were decorated with colorful light down jackets. Only Balzac, whose sleeves are "hidden" tightly, makes it difficult to attach, so the statue becomes a smooth poem.
Walking out of the world literary giant square, there is a restaurant selling breakfast in front, and the waiting people line up from the room to the door. Thinking that Xiao Hong was in this area many years ago, one day she bought breakfast and found that the paper wrapped in fried dough sticks was actually a translated manuscript of Mr. Lu Xun. Xiao Hong told Lu Xun in dismay, but Mr. Wang was indifferent, and quipped, "I am satisfied, and I can even make fried dough sticks, so it is still useful." I don't know what fried dough sticks are used in breakfast shops here now, but can they also wrap beautiful things like clouds and sunshine?
After a walk around the restaurant, it was even more crowded. The sounds from all walks of life are very noisy and drown out the natural birdsong. When the long-axis picture of secular life gradually opened, I also enjoyed the plant scenery in the background. Maple is in its most beautiful season. Leaves in red, yellow and Huang San colors are covered with branches, which are glittering and translucent by sunlight and look full of passion. Cold-tolerant azaleas are in full bloom, and the red and pink flowers are undoubtedly the spring day when the calendar card is torn by the heavy snow in Harbin1February, revealing the news of spring.
Lu Xun's tomb is easy to find. In the northwest corner of the park, no matter which aisle, there are signs leading there. The square in front of the tomb is relatively open. The first thing I saw was the statue of Lu Xun standing on the rectangular lawn. He sat on a cane chair, with a book in his left hand and an armrest in his right hand, silently watching the crowds coming and going. The statue has a high pedestal, and the grass is surrounded by dense holly trees as a natural fence, so the cemetery looks solemn. But the pedestal is too high, and the statue sitting on it is like the shadow in front of Lu Xun's grave. In other words, whether Lu Xun likes it or not, he has to face his tall figure every day.
On the roadside on both sides of the cemetery, camphor trees, magnolia grandiflora and pine and cypress are planted, and the trees are tall and dense. I picked a leaf of Magnolia grandiflora, took it to the last resting place of Mr. Lu Xun, and gently placed it on the fence in front of the grave as a flower. In my reading impression, Lu Xun wrote few flowers. In "From a Hundred Herbs Garden to a Three-Pond Moon" and "Autumn Night", he wrote about flowers such as Chimonanthus praecox, or he couldn't even name the flowers he described. The most intense thing he wrote was the red, white and nameless wreath in front of the tomb of Medicine Powder.
Compared with Lu Xun's essays, I prefer his novels, especially The New Story. One of them, Casting Sword, is thrilling. I think this short story is a history book. Lu Xun is a superb figure sculptor. The characters in his novels, like forged bronze, will have a deep echo when knocked. And these characters are filled with touching light-sad poetic light, such as Kong Yiji, the true story of Ah Q, the storm, medicine, and the teacher who never forgets the past, all of which are classic chapters. They are pure ghosts scattered in the fog when spring night writers use their own blood-dipped pens to resolve obstacles in their hearts. They are full of symbolic bones and muscles. If those sculptures on the World Literary Plaza in Luxun Park were replaced by Ah Q, Kong Yiji, Sister-in-law of Yamadera, Old Lady of 9 Jin, Eyebrow ruler, and Lu-who are these people who are not load-bearing masters?
Lu Xun's tomb is inlaid with fine granite, which looks like an old gray book, half buried and half unearthed. Because it is the only grave in the garden, it looks grand and lonely. In fact, both Zhu An, Lu Xun's original wife, and Xiao Hong, who greatly admired Lu Xun, expressed the idea of being buried next to Lu Xun in their last words. Unfortunately, they failed to do so-how could they do so? Lu Xun once explained in his article that the aftermath should be "quickly collected, buried and forgotten", and also said in "Miscellaneous Talks after Illness" that he did not like being mourned and elegiac. If he has spare money to buy paper, ink and white cloth, he might as well choose some books printed by unofficial history in Ming and Qing Dynasties. These are by no means pretending to be detached, which is in line with his temper.
Lu Xun's tomb is not quiet. On the left and right sides of the stone pole flower gallery, two men are practicing fighting and fighting each other. On the other side are three aunts, saying something. I took off my hat, bowed deeply to this deserted grave for a long time, and then turned to leave. I think Lu Xun is buried in this downtown garden. Even though there are green trees and fragrant grass, spring flowers and autumn moon set each other off, wind and rain beat, and lightning calendar, after all, no one should enjoy the peace most after going, so I don't know if he really rests in peace.
When I left the cemetery, suddenly the wind blew hard, stirring up the fallen leaves and dust on the ground and flying in the air. All the trees in the park became drummers at this time, listening to the wind, making a tidal roar and drowning out the noisy sound. Looking around, the magnolia leaves I dedicated to Mr. Lu Xun have disappeared, and I seem to hear his slightly sarcastic laughter: admiration and nostalgia are just a gust of wind, let it go!