First, the old flower farmer

He was fascinated by this big pot of bright phoenix chrysanthemum.

This chrysanthemum gushed out from a flower stand more than one person's height, shining with brilliant bright spots, and fell all the way to the ground, just like a gorgeous and moving phoenix tail, a long skirt shining with stage lights, a waterfall-a quiet, quiet and fragrant waterfall, unrestrained, just like girls' washed hair, falling casually. Those slender branches covered with flowers hang down in disorder, which has a mountain forest flavor and game. In the world of flowers, only the phoenix chrysanthemum has such a strange realm. He likes this kind of flowers.

The beauty of nature made him prostrate himself on the ground. Unconsciously, he habitually and subconsciously took out a large walnut carving pipe from his pocket with one hand, inserted it in the corner of his mouth, lit it, and then smoked a few mouthfuls. Suddenly, he realized that smoking was not allowed in the greenhouse. He hurried to find a place to knock off the fireworks and looked around to see if he was seen by the keeper of the greenhouse.

It was quiet in the greenhouse, but fortunately there was no one else, and he was very happy. But at this moment, I suddenly saw a dark old man's face facing him among several dense green canna leaves beside me. This face looks strange, which surprised him. Obviously, this is the greenhouse man. I don't know when he stood here without saying a word, as if hiding behind the leaves and watching him. A pair of small gray eyes stared at the pipe in his mouth and were smoking. He was about to come forward to admit and explain his mistake. Unexpectedly, the old man waved to him and said kindly:

"Never mind, come and smoke!"

He hesitated for a moment, then got in under some banana leaves in front of him. The old man turned around, led him a few steps and stopped; This is a corner of the greenhouse.

Here, against the wall is a brick heatable adobe sleeping platform, the bedding on it is rolled into a roll, and only a reed mat is laid on the kang; There are a pile of short-handled pointed hoes, long-handled scissors, watering pots, buckets, hemp ropes and thin bamboo sticks beside the kang. The wet yellow mud in front of the kang was swept away. There is a short square table in the middle, only a foot high, like a kang table; There are two small chairs across the table-actually stools, but there is a small backrest, just like the small chairs used by kindergarten children. The tables and chairs were not painted, and the bare wooden legs absorbed water from the ground, with half wet marks. An old newspaper is spread out on the desktop, and several brown tobacco leaves are hung ... It seems that the old man who looks at the greenhouse is still an old flower farmer who washes flowers! He has been here several times before, and there seems to be such a person in his impression, but he has never noticed it.

"Help yourself, it's breathable here."

The old gardener pointed to a small open window on the bed and asked him to sit down. He poured a bowl of hot water and put it in front of him respectfully. This made him very uneasy. He didn't understand why the old man treated him like this.

Later, the old gardener sat opposite him, took out a small tobacco pouch and a round tin cigarette case from his waist, opened the lid of the cigarette case and began to pack tobacco leaves, but his hand trembled convulsively and packed it for a while. He lit a fire and smoked, but he didn't speak. He just kept smiling at him and looking at the pipe in his mouth. It is difficult for him to see what this means from the strange face of the old flower farmer. Do you laugh at his mistakes in good faith or do you like him? Do you have any good feelings to attract others? He was confused, but the old florist spoke:

"Mr. Tang, do you still paint?"

He was shocked. "How do you know my name is Tang? Also know that I paint? " He asked.

"What?" Reading glasses clothes are crooked on the right ear.

He said it out loud again.

The wrinkles on the old flower farmer's cheeks are all symmetrically bent into a semicircle curve, and smiling said:

"Before, you brought students here to draw flowers. Why didn't you know? Your appearance has not changed ... "

Mr. Tang thought about it and remembered that it was before the "Cultural Revolution" in the mid-1960s. Because the flowers here are blooming well, he once took his students to a sketch class, and it was when his favorite phoenix chrysanthemum was in full bloom. After six or seven years, the old florist still remembers. Especially the sudden changes in recent years, the past seems to him like a lifetime ago, and it is far away. A great painter like him, like a glittering chandelier hanging high, is now knocked down by a stick and smashed to pieces. Those colorful and radiant glass sheets were trampled underfoot and nobody cared. He was poor, forgotten and neglected. It used to be crowded all day, but now it is "there are fewer and fewer cars and horses at her door"; All the celebrities, VIPs, reporters, editors, proteges, admirers and arty boring guests who have been around him all day are gone. He is just a stamped stamp, which is useless. And now it is actually collected by this old man in the book of memory. He couldn't help feeling a bitter and warm microwave. "You remember me, good memory! But I, I ... don't paint very often now. " His voice was deep with excitement.

"What?" The old gardener leans too far to the right ear.

"Not often."

"I understand, I understand." The old gardener nodded knowingly like a bosom friend. Then he said with emphasis, "However, it's time to draw, it's time to draw. You draw very beautifully, very beautifully ... "

"Me? But you haven't seen my painting! " He wanted to give his students a sketch class here, but he didn't start painting. For an instant, he felt that the old gardener was being polite to himself and bringing the distance closer.

"no!" The old florist said, "Your painting has been printed. I've seen them. How beautiful they are! "

The old florist's praise tone is sincere, as if recalling a particularly delicious fish he had eaten. It seems that the old man not only knows himself in the greenhouse, but also pays attention to his works and has heard of his reputation. Is there a bosom friend hidden in these exotic flowers and plants and in this world of flowers and flowers? Like Zhong Ziqi between mountains and valleys? He looked at each other in surprise. When his eyes turned twice on the strange face of the old flower farmer, all these bizarre conjectures flew away-

Who can find the shadow of wisdom and beautiful knowledge from this old flower farmer's face and grotesque facial features? Look, he is wearing a pair of wrinkled black trousers, covered with stains, and his knees and neckline are polished; Wrap your legs like an old farmer and wear a pair of cotton shoes on your feet; The face is very black, and the dark part of the backlight is as black as the bottom of the pot. This color is in harmony with the clothes: the deep wrinkles on the face are linked with the wrinkles of the clothes. He is short and a little hunched; Bowed legs, obviously bent inward. Sitting there, huddled together, looks like a big black pottery furnace in the Han Dynasty, and only people in the Han Dynasty have that strange imagination, shaping the artifacts so strangely-his forehead protrudes outward into a ball; Below the ball, there are two eyebrows that ordinary apes can raise, and there are few eyebrows; Small eyes, red eyes, gray eyes, a fading old man's eyes. The lower part of the face is almost completely covered by a messy short beard. Those ears seem to be fake, or they seem to be trying to open for fear of not hearing clearly. In particular, the right ear that is always crooked seems to be bigger ... Such an old man gives people a feeling of stretching, stubbornness and easy to stick to prejudice, just like an old mountaineer who rarely walks out of the ravine all his life. He is not open and uneducated, and I am afraid he can't even write his own name; Moreover, I am old, hard of hearing and slow to move. He filled his tobacco bag with tobacco leaves, but he lost half of it without picking it up. If you drop too much, you will drop a black, thick and rough hand, pinch up the soil residue on the ground and press it in the smoking pot, regardless. The untidiness in his old age made him look a little stupid. Because of the language barrier, his paintings of Mr. Tang are not only "beautiful, beautiful!" There seems to be nothing else to say. Mr. Tang rarely hears people praise paintings with the word "beauty". The word itself contains a deep content, especially in the mouth of such a black old man, which is very special, discordant and incredible. This is "beautiful, beautiful!" What does this mean? What is this? Is it a heartfelt feeling for your own art? Mr. Tang thought, maybe the old man heard his name and occasionally saw his masterpiece printed matter, and happened to have a temporary interest, but this is just an intuitive love, which has nothing to do with his understanding of art. Even if this love is justified, it is out of ignorance and naive misinterpretation of art. It seems that we are euphemistic when listening to birdsong, but we have no idea what birdsong is saying. Two birds may get angry and abuse each other, but we think they are calling or singing affectionately. ...

They sat for a while. The old gardener seemed to have nothing to say and smoked silently. The old flower farmer is a heavy smoker, and the copper cigarette holder has never left his lips. Where is Mr. Tang? There is nothing more to say. However, he is no longer as uneasy and embarrassed as just now-because he broke the rules of the greenhouse. Feeling very comfortable, I smoked my pipe with relish. But he found that the old gardener looked at the pipe in his mouth from time to time. He doesn't know why. "Do you want to try my pipe silk?" He asked.

"no!" The old flower farmer said with a smile. He smiled kindly and uglily. "I think your pipe is quite special ..."

His pipe is bigger than usual. There is a fat owl carved on it, perched on a thick bald branch, and the whole figure is embossed, highlighting the surface; Behind it is a full moon carved with lines. It's actually a big circle, but it's very polished. In contrast to the relief part, the picture is very unique and novel. He knocked out his pipe and handed it to the old florist.

"I carved this pipe myself." He said.

The old gardener took the pipe, fiddled with it with his hand, stared at it intently, and then raised his face to praise Mr. Tang: "beauty, beauty, beauty!" " His small gray eyes showed real admiration and he was deeply moved. This pipe is a spiritual product he is proud of! But then he firmly believed that the wonderful deformation and interesting lines on the pipe would never be understood by the old gardener. At this point, his mind also flashed a suspicion that the old flower farmer was not kind. He suspected that the old gardener respected and praised him so much because he liked his pipe and wanted it. He looked at the old flower shop's pipe and said,

"If you like this pipe, I'll give it to you!"

Unexpectedly, the old flower farmer listened to Zheng's words and his face became solemn and serious. She quickly held the pipe in her hand and said:

"No, no, I want it, I want it!"

"You take it to play! Where else is my home! "

"What you have is yours. I can't have it! "

The old gardener stubbornly shook his head and refused to accept it. He was polite again and again, and the old gardener was a little worried. His face is ugly, his dark chin is trembling, as if he were mistaken for something that loves others, and his self-esteem can't stand it. The old florist stood up excitedly and put the pipe back into Mr. Tang's hand. Mr. Tang had to give up, put his pipe on it, put it back at the corner of his mouth and lit it.

In this way, Mr. Tang's understanding of this grotesque old flower farmer has taken another step forward. In addition to feeling that he is stubborn, he also feels that he is simple and honest. Respect for yourself is sincere, without any greedy impurities. Although he still believes that the old gardener knows nothing about art, he only comes from a layman's way of appreciation and has nothing in common with himself. However, due to his long-term discrimination and bitter taste of indifference and rejection, the respect he received here is very precious to him. In particular, this simple, gentle and natural human feeling is as rare as the flowers on the wasteland burned by wild fires and the green leaves blown by the cold wind.

Since then, although the greenhouse is not too close to his home, he often visits it, especially when the phoenix chrysanthemum is in full bloom. When he came to see these flowers, he sat opposite the old flower farmer. Two bowls of boiling water are steaming, and two smoking pots are smoking white smoke. Surrounded by a sea of colorful flowers, quietly spitting fragrance. There is no wind, but I can smell the fragrance of peony, and then there is a fragrance of orchids sneaking in. They seldom talk and often sit silently in the dusk. The window is quite bright, the greenhouse is already very dark, and there are fuzzy color blocks everywhere, and only a hazy figure can be seen opposite. At this time, the old flower farmer completely turned into a big black pottery stove. Only in the flickering fireworks, the strange face flashed faintly.

From a few accidental words, he learned that the old florist surnamed Fan was from the northern county of Tangshan and had been a flower farmer for generations. Since he was in his thirties, he has been working in this small flower house belonging to the suburban commune, adding color to the venues of various organs in the urban area and embellishing the beauty of life for many families. His wife died a long time ago, and he has a son who builds canals on a nearby farm. This little greenhouse full of sunshine, flowers and damp earth smells is his home. I don't know the rest. Looks like the old gardener has nothing to say. The two men sat silently, not embarrassed because they had nothing to say. On the contrary, they felt a sense of satisfaction from each other. As for what the old florist is satisfied with, it is hard for him to know. But from the smiling eyes of the old gardener and the pipe in his mouth, he has clearly felt that the old gardener really understands his art, but he is not good at expressing it. No, no. At present, this carving tube has an unimaginable position in his life and in his spiritual land.

Second, the painter

Some poor painters in Paris, because they couldn't afford canvases and paints, or were tortured by hunger, went to draw a golden moon on the wall of a bar in exchange for some sweet wine, pickles, bread and linen, and ran home. While the food in their stomachs was still undigested, they quickly drew a beautiful image they were eager to express on the canvas.

Our Mr. Tang is not. Now all the painters are sidelined, with no classes to teach and nothing to do at home. He can get enough salary from the financial office of the painting academy every month 15. Stuffed every day, like a solid ball; More energy, more time to release. Addiction to painting always makes him feel as uncomfortable as an itchy bug, but he is afraid to touch the pen.

This was the distress of our literary and art workers at that time. The literary world is covered with electrified barbed wire, and the painting world is mined everywhere; The pen container is like a firing pin in a bomb. If you don't play with it properly, you will be killed.

After a long time, the sticky color in the tin tube hardens into powder, like a dead grasshopper in an entomologist's specimen box; The canvas is covered with dust; There is shiny spider silk in the middle of the long and short brushes in the pen container. ...

He has nothing to do all day and seldom has visitors as before, so he is bored. He misses the past and everything he lost, including all kinds of things that he was proud of in the prosperous years. He won't have to look for it then. Good things will come to you, or ask him to accept them. Now only loneliness accompanies him. But he can't immerse himself in memories, he must get rid of them. He once learned to fish and played chess and cards with others to kill time; However, he found himself impatient, and his ability of calculation, reasoning and abstract understanding was extremely poor. No matter how hard he tries, he can't keep these hobbies. He also studied carpentry for a while. Although he is over fifty years old, his body is still quite strong, and there is still a lot of strength in his strong muscles and bones. He can pull a big saw and push a big plane. His furniture was copied a lot in the big storm in previous years. It's also good to make some application furniture yourself. After hard work, he learned how to make a table or a cupboard roughly, but none of the furniture could be finished. It is always well designed and almost uninteresting. Rough assembly, painting once; Often there is only a drawer handle left here, and a glass cupboard door is not installed, so it is thrown aside, like a semi-finished product, standing around the room listlessly ... He can't draw, just like a lovelorn person, who can't lift his spirits for a while.

Once, he sat there with a big pipe in his mouth. Inadvertently, my eyes met a round, smooth, crimson pipe. He suddenly felt that the dark wood grain on it vaguely resembled the flying figures in Dunhuang murals; He had a brainwave, found a woodcut knife, carved it according to the shape, and then hooked it with gold paint again, which actually received unexpected results. The sky is flying, clothes are flying, and nepotism is floating and spinning, just like flying leisurely in infinite space and shining brilliantly at the sun. When I looked up at the Mogao grottoes, I really had a wonderful feeling. The lines carved by those knives still contain a strong and unique interest that he has never felt before. In this way, an ordinary pipe became a work of art. Suddenly, he found a new world between an embarrassed prisoner and a clear spring in a thirsty desert. It's like a child suddenly picking up a wooden wheel that can give full play to his imagination and playing with it with great interest.

He got under the bed, dug out some old pipes from a broken basket and carved them all in a few days. Some are carved with a large group of sailboats; Some carved a chirping, lifelike and furry chicken; Some only drew a few waterlines blown by the spring breeze and a few faint stars; Others imitate the covered chariots in Han paintings, and the lines vividly imitate the muddy taste on the rubbings of Han paintings. When the ready-made pipe was made, he found some hard wood, dry roots and horns to make his own pipe. The carving technology is becoming more and more sophisticated, from line carving to relief and high relief, and some still punch holes in the surface. Plus cooking, polishing, waxing and painting, it is exquisite. It is very different from the pipes carved by ordinary craftsmen. The craftsman relies on almost flashy technology, the style is the same, and the graphics also have prescribed procedures. Strictly speaking, it is just a thing, not a work of art, which is the same as Mr. Tang's pipe, shape, pattern, image, production method and even style. He regards each pipe as a creation, devotes his efforts and manages it with heart. On each cylinder two or three centimeters high, he pursues a kind of interest, a kind of realm ... He fills a glass bookcase with his carved tube-the books inside have been copied for a long time, and the original is empty-this is simply a dazzling and beautiful art treasure. Here, you can see grotesque human figures on bronzes before the century, simple patterns unique to painted pottery culture, Roman architecture, Mona Lisa, samurai in Japanese ukiyo-e, Buddha statues in the Northern Wei Dynasty, six horses in Zhaoling, the Arc de Triomphe, stone carvings in Infinite Temple, horses in Han Dynasty, cows in Xu Dynasty, bamboo, and cartoon characters in Egypt. These characters kept their original artistic style and interest, and were not distorted by imitation. Some of them are originally large-scale systems, which are reduced by one thousandth on the pipe without losing the charm, momentum and richness of the original. There are also some pipes carved from the roots of strange-looking old trees, carved into rugged rocks, ancient ding or animal heads, waves or flying clouds. The treasures of the civilized world and the myriad scenes in the world are all his subjects. His transformation is bold and novel. In order to convey the spirit, we often give up the outline of an accurately grasped object; He has always opposed simply recording images on the retina in art; On the palette, he advocates the tone that blends in with inner feelings. At this time, he realized all these artistic ideals.

He sometimes works all day, just like when he really works. In the middle of the night, I couldn't help jumping out of bed and picking up a meat cleaver as soon as I had an idea. When you are proud, you have to wake up your wife to enjoy it. His wife graduated from an art school with him thirty years ago. Have the same ideals and talents, and there is little difference. After marriage, his wife tidied up his personal ambitions for him, or joined them all. Thin shoulders bear the burden of life, but take pleasure in his success and silently share the joy of honor and career harvest with him. When someone announced that his future had been destroyed, his wife seemed to care less than him, but her heart was heavier and more depressed than him. Now, his wife is deeply comforted to see that he has found spiritual sustenance from years of depression. In any case, in the eyes of others, the pipe is just a plaything, which is not noticed. What's the trouble with not drawing? Sometimes, his wife can't help crying secretly when she sees that he actually gets so much happiness from such a small matter!

Think about it, the old florist doesn't know all this! If the old flower farmer is his bosom friend, I'm afraid he is looking for comfort! However, what artists need is not family recognition, but social recognition. Perhaps it is because there is silence around Mr. Tang, no one appreciates him, no one applauds him, no one answers him, and he is too lonely; The lonely and dumb echo from the old flower farmer here has enriched him more or less.

Third, luck turns.

When the autumn wind blows, the flat green of nature instantly turns yellow and purple mottled. This is also a beautiful appearance and a good time to enjoy chrysanthemums. But Mr. Tang didn't go to the small flower room far from home. He hasn't been there for more than half a year.

Half a year ago, his policy was implemented, and the laurels of famous painters were put back on his head. There are more and more guests at home. The withered branches seem to bloom again, attracting swarms of bees, butterflies and insects. Editors come for manuscripts, journalists come for interviews, and celebrities shuttle. A pupil who disappeared a few years ago came to ask for advice again. There is an endless stream of people asking for paintings. He welcomes in and sends out all day, opening and closing the door, and he is very busy. Sometimes a group of people break in and fill a room, making his studio look like a newly opened restaurant. He is entangled in these people and can do nothing. Others simply come to kill time and sit for half a day. They wouldn't have left if they weren't tired of sitting by themselves! He is especially helpless to these ignorant people. Sometimes he doesn't speak and tries to send visitors away coldly, but such people are not good at reading and reading. Someone even said to him, "You have too many guests and take up all your time. How can you draw? " ? Can't you just ignore them? "The speaker often excludes himself, which makes him laugh and cry.

However, he was held in the middle by so many people, like holding the stars of the moon, and he was still very happy after all. This is a witness of a person's status, fame, honor and value. The honor lost a few years ago, like an escaped bird, flew back with a series of loud songs. All day, joy whirled around her mouth like a pair of small whirlpools, and even stopped at her mouth and turned slowly when she slept. Therefore, people come and go, making him proud, satisfied and proud. At this time, he was so busy that he forgot the insignificant old flower farmer.

Where is the pipe, but it must be carved. Because visitors couldn't get his paintings, they all tried to get a pipe. Generally speaking, few people who want a pipe really understand the wonderful language he entrusted to this little thing, and they don't like it very much (although they pretend to be as precious as crazy), but because it is a pipe carved by the famous Mr. Tang. For example, if someone borrows a book from a great writer, he may not turn it over when he takes it back. What he wants is the author's autograph on the title page-but he has to deal with this kind of thing. Within a few months, most of the pipes in his glass bookcase were taken away. He still takes time to carve something new, but he doesn't carve it wholeheartedly, so people still rush to do it. Unless the other party is an expert or a big shot in art, he is very careful and particular about conception, conception and engraving.

He can draw, but he can't. He has no time. At that time, his pipe was more famous than his paintings. He is about to become a master of wind management.

One day, early in the morning is the wedding. A stout man is a famous writer who knows some common sense of painting; The other two are about the same height and wear round glasses. If it's not a long face and a small face, it's a couple. These two are more qualified editors of the publishing house; There is also a tall, thin, long-legged man who looks like a stork. He is a painter. It is naturally a compliment for everyone to discuss his painting style in front of him. Long-legged painter used to be Mr. Tang's painting friend. He visited at home for many years and recently became a guest. At the moment, I actually spoke in the tone of Mr. Tang's self-esteem and confidant.

Although Mr. Tang is very comfortable, he wants to paint and doesn't want these people to sit still all the time. Last night, he checked a sketch and wanted to finish it today, but the guests filed in early in the morning, and he was not good at thanking the guests, so he had to sit with him. At this point, everyone has finished smoking a pack of cigarettes with filters, and the smoke is full of room, with no intention of leaving. Is helpless, and someone knocked at the door outside. He said wearily, "Here comes another one. Reimbursed today! " Then open the door.

When I opened the door, my eyes lit up. In front of me, there is a big basin of dazzling phoenix chrysanthemum. A person holding this potted flower has flowers all over his face. He is at a loss. Who sent flowers to himself? Such beautiful flowers!

"Who? Please come in! "

Without saying a word, the bearer came in slowly and put the flowers on the ground. The visitor straightened up and saw that it was an old flower farmer who had not seen for more than half a year. It was he who sent his favorite flowers home.

"Hey, LaoFan, it's you! How did you get here? Did you bring it? "

The stout old gardener stood in front of him with a smile on his face. He walked a long way with this potted flower in his arms. I was so tired that the sweat glistened on my forehead, panting slightly, unable to speak, but nodding frequently.

The guests all stood up and admired the pot of phoenix chrysanthemum on the ground, which meant to entertain the host.

Mr. Tang asked the old gardener to sit down and have a rest. The old gardener leaned forward and wanted to sit on the sofa chair with armrests next to him, but he hesitated and didn't sit, as if his clothes were too dirty. He saw Xiao on the wooden bench in front of the bookcase in the corner, so he squatted down and sat on the wooden bench. Mr. Tang didn't polite to him, gave up his seat, poured him a cup of hot water, and asked:

"What's the matter, busy?"

"What?" The old gardener still leans on his right ear like that.

"I asked you if you were busy?" Mr. Tang turned up the volume and asked again.

"Oh, it's nothing busy. Haven't seen you for half a year. Don't you love phoenix chrysanthemum? If you don't come, the flowers will fade. I'll bring you a pot after work today, and you can watch it at home! "

Said the old florist, beating his waist and taking out a small tobacco pouch and a round tin cigarette case. Open the lid and put it on the ground, put the cigarette powder on it, light the fire and smoke.

The guests looked at the flowers and then returned to their seats. Mr. Tang also sat back in his soft-backed chair and continued to talk. No one takes this black old man squatting on the side with flowers seriously. Nobody talked to him, and nobody asked him anything. Mr. Tang didn't respond to him, let him smoke and drink water, just smiled at him solemnly and nodded occasionally. The old gardener doesn't blame these people for ignoring him at all. He listened to these people talking about the sky and the sky with relish. In order to hear these people clearly, he twisted his right ear and sometimes frowned, as if puzzled; Sometimes I pull a long face and seem to appreciate the mystery in these people's words. He sat there quietly, with a satisfied expression on his dark face, as if enjoying something, just like the satisfaction he showed when he sat opposite Mr. Tang and smoked silently in the greenhouse.

Later, he found the glass cabinet behind him and stood up to face the cabinet. He was shocked to see so many strange tubes carved with flowers. And it is too close to the glass surface of the cupboard door, as if to squeeze into the cupboard. The hot air exhaled from the mouth stained the cupboard door and kept wiping it with hands. He couldn't help but exclaim-it was unique and special for him: "beauty, beauty, beauty ..."

Several guests in the room heard the sound, but they didn't agree. They think this stupid and strange old black man is ridiculous. This makes Mr. Tang very embarrassed to know such an ignorant strange old man. So, I didn't dare to talk to the old flower farmer. I'm afraid to lead him to say more ignorant and ridiculous things and plant my own face. He tried to say something to distract the guests from the old flower shop, but in his heart, he hoped that the old flower shop would leave and go back soon.

Nobody talks to the old gardener. After a while, the old gardener said goodbye to Mr. Tang and went back. Mr. Tang showed him to the door while being polite to him.

"Thank you for your talk." The old gardener said sorry and embarrassed.

"Which word! You sent me flowers and ran so far. " He said some kind words.

"Why didn't you come? The Phoenix Chrysanthemum is in good bloom this year. You are very busy! "

As soon as Mr. Tang heard this, he immediately thought that if he said "not busy", maybe the old flower farmer would come when he had nothing to do, so he said, "Not only busy, but busy as a bee! These people do nothing all day and come here to kill time, which makes me have no time at all. They also asked me to draw. Where did I get the time to draw? ! In the past six months, I have only painted four pictures, mostly at night. At this rate, I have to run to the deep mountains to hide, or I can't do anything! " He looked depressed, but at the same time he showed a smug look.

"ah! You can't do it without drawing! That painting, that painting ... "The old flower shop seems to be more worried than Mr. Tang. After a while, he said sincerely and seriously, "Otherwise, you can draw in my greenhouse!" " "

"No, no ... I, I can't leave here. Sometimes, when someone comes to me, it's really something. Don't worry about me, I'll find another way myself. "

Hearing this, the old gardener was dazed and said, "Then I'll go. You still have guests here! " Then he turned and walked slowly.

Since then, the old flower shop sent flowers twice, but he didn't show up or even knock at the door. Instead, he quietly put the flowers at the door and left quietly. Both times, Mr. Tang sent the guests out, found the flowers and put them by the door. He knew it was from the old flower shop. He understood the meaning of presbyopia and was already moved in his heart. I wanted to see the old flower farmer, but the constant stream of tourists and more important things washed away these thoughts.

On one occasion, he saw off several visitors and was opening the window to put cigarettes in the room. Suddenly I heard a bang outside the door, as if someone had put a heavy thing on the ground. He hurried to the door and opened it, only to find a beautiful flower under the steps outside. The back of a stout old man in black trousers and jacket is walking away from here. A look at those slightly hunched, slow-paced arched legs immediately recognized the old flower farmer. He greeted: "Lao Fan!" Then catch up.

He invited the old gardener to sit at home, but the old gardener refused to say anything. He shook his hand and said, "No, no, don't waste your time."

"No one in the house. Sit down and catch your breath before you go. "