love education

Chapter 33 April (3)
"Crossetti!" he said the teacher's name, "he was only 40 years old when he taught me, I can still imagine his face now, he is not tall, it seems that he was a little hunchback at that time. His eyes are bright, and he always dresses up neatly. He is serious, but not annoying. He always loves us like a father, tolerates us, and forgives our mistakes more than once. His parents were farmers, and he became a teacher by studying hard and living in poverty. He is a very nice person. My mother likes him very much, and my father treats him like his own. Like a friend. I can't figure out why he's spending the rest of his life in Candover, near Turin, he's sure not to recognize me now, but that's all right, because I do, 44 Years have passed, 44 years, Enrico, we will see him tomorrow."

Yesterday morning at nine o'clock we arrived at the Susa train station. I had wanted Galen to come with me, but he couldn't because his mother had just been ill.It was a lovely spring day, and the train galloped through green fields and hedgerows that were already sprouting, and we breathed a sweet-smelling air.My father was so happy that every few moments he would put his arms around my neck and talk to me as if he were a friend, but his eyes had already drifted out of the window, watching The beauty of that piece of countryside.

"Poor Crosetti," he said, "besides my father, he was the best thing to me in the world. He loved me so much, and always wanted me to learn. I never forgot how he treated me. Of course, I can't forget the scolding he used to give me. Those scoldings always made me go home with something stuck in my throat. His hands are big, but his fingers are short I can still picture him now, I can picture him walking into the classroom, setting up his cane cane in the corner, and then hanging his coat on a nail, the way he always does The same. His attitude towards work is always so single-minded, so dedicated, so focused, trying to make his students do better, as if for him, every day of work is like the first time Like walking up to a podium. I have him so clearly in my mind that I can almost feel him calling my name, 'Botney, um, Botney!' Hold the pen with your index and middle fingers Alas, he must have changed a lot in these 44 years."

When we got to Candover, we immediately started looking for where our old gardener's wife was staying.She lives in Gilley now and has a small stall in an alley and was with her children when we found her.She was very warm to us, and after a few polite words, she told us about her husband, who is going to return from Greece soon, and he has been working in Greece for three years, and she also mentioned her The eldest daughter now works in a school for the deaf in Turin.Then she showed us the street where my father's teacher lived, and everyone here knew him.After we left the town, we turned into a rough country road, which was protected by green fences on both sides.At this time, my father had stopped talking, and seemed to have fallen into a distant memory. From time to time, he would show a smile on his face, and then shook his head.He stopped suddenly and said to me:

"That's him, I bet it's him."

Looking along the path, a little old man was coming towards us. He had a white beard, a big hat on his head, and a cane in his hand.As he dragged his feet, his hands were trembling.

"That's him!" my father said again, picking up his pace and stopping when we got close to him.The old man stopped just like us, and looked at my father. His face was still rosy, and his eyes were still clear and lively.

"Are you," my father asked, raising his hat, "Vincenzo Crosetti? Teacher Vincenzo Crosetti?" The old man also raised his hat and answered me Father said:
"I am."

There was still a tremor in his voice, but it was loud.

"Then, all right." My father said, grabbing one of the old man's hands, "please allow your students to shake your hand, I really want to know how you are doing, I came from Turin to see Your."

The old man stared at him with surprise on his face and said:
"It's too much for you to say that. I can't remember clearly. Which class of my student are you? If possible, please tell me your name."

My father gave his name, and when and where he had been enrolled, and then said:
"It's very normal that you can't remember me, but I have a very deep impression on you."

The old man lowered his head, staring at the ground and struggling to recall, he still said my father’s name silently, repeating it three or four times, while my father kept smiling and looked at the old man intently.Suddenly, the old man raised his head, his eyes opened wide, and he said slowly:

"Albert Botney? Botney's son, the engineer's son? The one who lives in Plaza Consolata?"

"Exactly."

My father replied, holding out his hands to the old man.

"Then," said the old man, "do not refuse, my dear sir, allow me."

He walked towards my father and hugged him, his white hair still couldn't touch my father's shoulder, my father put his cheek on the old man's forehead.

"Oh, you have to come and see me."

Then he turned without saying anything, and walked towards the house where he lived.We walked for a few minutes and came to a small house.There is also a small garden in front of the house. There are two doors on the small house. The wall of one of the doors is a fragment of the wall painted with lime water. The old man opened the second door and led us in.The four walls of the room were all painted white. In one corner was a small cot covered with a blue and white plaid quilt. In the other corner stood a small table with a small bookshelf on it. There were four chairs around, an old map hung on the wall, and a fresh aroma of apples filled the room.The three of us sat down, and my father and the old man were silent for a few minutes.

"Botney!"

The old man was the first to speak, and his eyes fell on the square brick floor, which was transformed into a chessboard by the sunlight.

"Oh, I remember it very clearly. Your mother was a good person. Wait, let me think about it. In your first year of school, you sat on the window seat on the left. See if I remember correctly. , I seem to remember your curly hair."

After that, he thought about it for a while.

"You were a lively boy, very active, and you had strep throat in the third grade, and I remember when they sent you back to school, you were sick as hell, with a big scarf wrapped around you, which It's been 40 years in a flash, isn't it? It's not easy for you to remember your teacher, you know? Many of my former students have come here to look for me over the years. I remember a colonel visiting, and a few more Pastor, and some gentlemen." He asked what my father was doing now, and then he said:
"I am very happy, I am really happy for myself, I thank you, I haven't seen my former students for a long time, I really don't want you to be the last to see me, my dear sir .”

"Don't say that."

My father hurriedly said: "You are still in such good health and energetic, you must not say that."

"Oh, it's not like that!" replied the teacher, "Don't you see my hands are shaking?"

He then showed us his hands, "This is not a good sign. I got this disease three years ago when I was still teaching. At the beginning, I didn't pay much attention to it. I thought it would take a long time. It was fine. But instead of getting better, my condition got worse. One day I couldn’t even write. That was the first time I left a drop of ink on a student’s copybook. This is just poking me in the heart, my dear sir, I really don't want to leave what I have done all my life, and I am really using up the last of my efforts. I have been a schoolteacher for sixty years I ended up having to leave my school, my students, and the job I love. It was hard, I think you can understand, it was hard, the last time I taught students, all The kids came home with me and they spoke highly of me, but I couldn't help but feel sad and at that moment I knew my life was meaningless. I lost my wife and my only one last year Son, I have two grandchildren in the country. Now I live on a pension of several hundred yuan. I can’t do anything anymore. The days seem to never end to me. Look through my textbooks that have already been shattered, or those school magazines, and a few books that others gave me, I put them there."

As he spoke, pointing to his little library, he said:

"These books are all my memories, recording my entire past life, and they are the only thing I have in this world."

The old man's voice suddenly became cheerful again, "I want to give you a surprise, Mr. Botney."

He stood up, walked to his desk, and opened a long box, which was filled with countless small paper packages, all tied up with thin threads, and marked with four kinds of characters respectively. date.The old man rummaged through the long box carefully, and opened one of the small paper packets. After flipping through a few papers, he took out a yellow paper and handed it to my father.This was an assignment my father had done 40 years ago, and at the top of the paper was written: "Albert Portney, Dictation, April [-]rd, [-]." My father immediately He recognized his own childhood bold, naive, childish handwriting.With a smile on his face, he began to read the words written on it, but in just a moment, tears came to his eyes. I stood up and asked him what was wrong. I pulled him over and said:

"Look at this piece of paper, do you see it? It's a correction made by my lovely mother who always helps me draw the l's and t's a bit more clearly, and she wrote the last few lines , she also learned to trace my handwriting, and when I was too sleepy, she helped me with my homework, my loving mother!"

(End of this chapter)