An old husband and wife

They quarreled again. An old couple in their late seventies, who have lived together for more than forty years. Big and small fights, no one can remember how many times. But no matter how loud it gets, it won't take more than two hours to patch things up. They are like two glasses of water poured together, quarrel is like a row on the water, no matter how deep the row, the blink of an eye even a trace will not leave.

But today's quarrel was the worst it had ever been, and its cause was very ordinary -- it began, as most couples do in their daily quarrels, in trivial matters -- but the old woman had cooked the supper, and the old man was bending over the table to blow out his cigarette holder, and there were pieces of paper, pieces of cloth, pieces of paper with soot on them, all over the table. The old woman urged him to clear the table, but the old man refused to move. The old woman began to murmur, as old ladies usually do. The chatter of the old ladies was the fuse that led to the liver of the old man, and soon set him on fire. They talked back to each other, bringing up a lot of old quarrels, and the more they talked, the harder they talked. The old woman was so angry that she grabbed the cigarette holder and put it in her pocket. The old man was so angry that she threw the cigarette box on the ground. The old woman, still more insistent, cried in her hoarse, dry voice:

"You fall! You have to drop the teapot!"

When the old man heard this, he sprang up from his seat like a dolphin, picked up the large China pot on the table, which was filled with hot tea, and slammed it to the ground. The old woman gave a shriek of fear, and looking at the broken China and the water stains everywhere, she shouted to the old man:

"Divorce! Divorce immediately!"

It was a phrase she used to shout at the height of every argument they had when they were both young. The first few times this remark had deflated the other's fire, and then failed because it was never fulfilled. She stopped saying that after she was sixty. Today she cried out again, and it was clear that she was furious.

The same anger rose in the old man's heart. He was whirling round and round in the middle of the room, with the sound of a train's jet coming out of his mouth. He turned twice, stopped, turned twice the other way round, then dashed to the door, flung it open and ran out, pulling it as if he were never coming back.

The old woman, still angry, stood in her place, facing the empty room, and continued to scold him. After scolding for a while, she became tired and leaned on the bed, a feeling of sadness and grievance creeping up on her heart. She thought she would have had children if she hadn't had that illness when she was young. When she had children, she could live with them. Why should she be angry with an old bastard who was getting old? But now I had to spend all my time with him, waiting on him, waiting on him, watching him be angry with me... Her heart ached at the thought, and a few tears flowed from her eyes, which were lined with fine lines.

After a long time, the clock on the wall rang and it was eight o 'clock. Exactly two hours passed. I don't know why, every two hours after their quarrel, her mood would change very precisely, as if the ice on the frozen river would melt once the solar term entered the Seventh Nine day. Just set off big waves of mood gradually calm down, become shallow water lines. "Divorce! Divorce immediately!" This struck her as absurd and ridiculous. What kind of married couple in their late 70s gets divorced? She chuckled out loud. With that smile, the creases in her heart disappeared, as did all the anger, complaints and grievances she had felt before. She began to feel that the room was empty, and that there was a strange quietness like a battlefield after a battle, an awkward, empty, unmoving stillness. Then regret crept into her heart. Is a little thing like that worth fighting about? "She thought of it every time she calmed down after an argument. But... The old man should be back, too. They had fights before, and he'd run away, but he'd always sneak back in an hour or so. But it's been two hours and he's still not back. It was snowing heavily outside, the old man didn't eat dinner, didn't wear a hat, didn't wear a scarf ran out, the ground is slippery, look at his angry appearance when he went out, won't slip and break it? At this thought, she could not stay in the room any longer. She rubbed her wrinkled eyelids with the back of her hand, put on her coat, took off the old man's scarf and cotton hat from the hook behind the door, and walked out of the house.

The snow is coming down hard. The night was not too dark. The snow was the contrasting color of the night, as if someone had dipped white into it with a large pen, and caught all the branches again, making the shadowy trees appear white, far and near, high in folds, on the night. Then the world, so ordinary and so accustomed to it, suddenly became strong, quiet, noble, and full of life.

At the sight of the snow, she suddenly remembered a distant past between herself and the old man.

Fifty years ago, they were in the same student theater group. Her dancing is outstanding. Every time he came home late from rehearsals, he would drop her off. They had always been on speaking terms, but gradually felt that they were talking and laughing in public, and had nothing to say on their way home. They walked in silence, the road appeared to be separated, only footsteps, what a sweet embarrassment!

She remembered that it was snowing heavily that day, too, and that it was nearly eight o 'clock in the evening, and she had a fearful and expectant presentiment of what he was going to say that day. Suddenly, on that quiet road by the river, he seemed to pull her irresistibly into his arms. She flung him away, picking up the snow by the handfuls and hurling it at him. What about him? Even like a fool motionless, let her snow hit the body, straight hit him like a snowman. Suddenly she stopped, stared at him for a moment, and flung herself upon him. She felt a burning passion pass through his thick snow to her. And so their love affair began -- with a strange battle.

For years it had been lodged in her heart, as clearly and beautifully as a picture. Once upon a time, on snowy days, she could not help thinking of this enchanted past. When she was young, she had thought of it almost at the sight of snow; In middle age, she only happened to think of it and mention it to him, and he always smiled knowingly, and then they were both silent for a moment, as if they were reliving old dreams; They had thought little of it, even on snowy days, since they were in their twilight years. But why had it suddenly come to her again today, and struck her heart so fresh and powerful?

Now she is old. Her legs, once bouncy and strong, were stiff and weak. Years of rheumatism had bent her knees forward, and they ached in rain and snow; Now, in the snow, every step was shaky, every step was hard to lift. Accidentally, she slipped and fell, thanks to the thick soft snow on the ground. She put her hands into the snow, supported herself on the ground, and struggled to get up. At that moment another memory came to her --

Ah! They had just gotten married, and one night they went to see Chaplin's Modern Times at the Ping An Cinema. When we came out it was white and snow was falling. At that time they were basking in the joy of their marriage. Look at the snowflakes flying in the wind, it seems to cheer them up. The snow on the ground is as pure and bright as their mood. They walked, talking and laughing, and then ran happily. But she slipped and fell in the snow. He ran up to her and offered her a hand to pull her up. But she struck his hand:

"Go, who wants you to pull!"

But now how she wished to have a hand by her side, to have the old man by her side! Although the old man was too old and weak to lift her with one hand, it took two hands to lift her. That's good! It's better than being alone. She thought of her upstairs neighbor, Li, whose wife had been tortured to death in the early years of the Cultural Revolution. Although he had a daughter who still lived with him after marriage, Li was left alone when his daughter and son-in-law went to work. On Sunday, my daughter and son-in-law went out to play with their children. Li was still alone at home -- there was always a distance between the young and the old. Young people should play with young people, and old people should have old company.

What luck! She's so old and she has a husband. For more than 40 years, the two were inseparable. In spite of his impatience and obstinacy, his lack of hygiene and his carelessness of heart, the old man was a decent man, and had never done anything unashamed in his life. He did not abandon his principles in those morally bankrupt years. She liked the old man's character, too -- the real manliness, the straight-forwardness, the insensitivity to bear grudges. The bold lines made him more masculine... The more she thought about it, the lovelier the old man seemed. What would she be like without him in her life? For many years, although the old man's thunderous snoring often woke her up at night, but as long as the old man was away on business without snoring, she could not sleep, as if the world was half empty...

She walked in the snow for more than an hour. It was nearly ten o 'clock. The streets were deserted, the old man was still gone, and the snow was thinning. Her feet hurt in the snow, her knees hurt more, and she could hardly walk. She had to go back to see if the old man had gone home.

She walked home. As she neared home, she saw her own light burning in the distance, two orange Windows shining on the snow outside. Her heart gave a swift beat:

'Is the old man back?

She wondered if she had forgotten to turn off the light just before leaving the house in a panic, or had the old man turned it on when he got home?

As she reached her door, she noticed a clear trail of footprints coming from the west, leading up to the front steps of her house. Is this the old man's?

She went up to it and bent down to examine it, but could not tell whether it was the old man's.

'Good heavens! "How silly of me," she thought, "to live with him all my life, and not even recognize his footprints?"

She shook her head and went up the steps to open the door. As she was about to open the door, she said to herself, "May my old man be in the house!" It's a feeling that only happened when they dated 50 years ago.

The door opened. Ah! The old man was sitting at the table smoking. The tiles on the floor were swept clean. The fire had evidently been prodded by the old man, and was burning high. A sweet, warm smell gripped her stiff, frozen body. She saw two cups of tea on the table, one in front of the old man, one on the other side of the table, for her, of course... The old man looked up at her as she came in, and then meekly lowered his eyelids.

There was a shy, embarrassed, apologetic look between the movements of the eyelids. It gave her an indescribable comfort.

She stood, as if thinking of something, and reached into her pocket for the cigarette holder she had taken from her, went to it, and laid it before the old man. Without saying anything, he hurried to warm up the old man with an empty stomach and fry two eggs...