donna's little garden

On Sunday morning, after returning from our project in the woods, my sister and I were playing basketball on the court in front of the office of the battalion headquarters. Jialin came out of the office and walked toward us. I threw a ball at her, but she didn't catch it and instead dodged away in fright. When she saw my sister roll up her pants and sleeves like a boy preparing for an intense game, she smiled and said to my sister, "That is wild. Who would dare to marry you in the future?" My sister was upset by the comment and ran away.

Jialin handed me a piece of paper and said, "It's well written, with a good idea, and the leaders will like it. I've changed a little wording. You can return it to me after you approve it, and I'll send it to the broadcasting studio for the broadcast." I had written a small story describing the enthusiasm and hardships of the lumberjacks in the mountains. I scanned a few lines and handed it back to Jialin. A few of her changes showed her writing skills, and I couldn't help but admire her: "Jialin, you are as good as my high school teacher!"

At this time, Siyan walked up to us with one arm tucked at his waist. Something was hidden under his coat, and there was a smell of alcohol on his body. His other hand suddenly grabbed the paper in Jialin's hand, "Let me see, you can't write it up as is!" He read a few lines, sighed with relief, and added, "It's terrific. I see no problem."

Jialin withdrew the manuscript from his hand, frowned, and said to the Siyan: "Poet, don't drink too much!"

After Jialin walked away, Siyan told me that I should be careful in writing about naked stuff.

He took out a book wrapped in a newspaper from under his coat and gave it to me. The book was called How the Steel Was Tempered. He said, "This is a revolutionary novel about the Soviet Union during the Great Patriotic War. However, there are some descriptions of love in it, so it is considered a banned book. Read it quietly, and return it to me quietly after."

I got home and hid in the kitchen, quickly attracted by Pavel and Tonia's first love. I wanted to know what that love in adversity would be like, so I began reading as soon as possible.

There was a noise outside, and I immediately hid the book under the chair's seat cushion and went out to see what was going on. It turned out that the brothers next door were picking mangoes. The oldest brother, who was about eleven or twelve years old, climbed on a tree several feet high and hit the mangoes with a long bamboo pole, while his younger brother, about six, picked them up from the ground. I was about to leave when I saw the bamboo pole suddenly slip down from the tree and lurch toward the little boy's head. The younger brother took a half step back, and the bamboo pole slid across his thigh and landed on the ground. There was a cut on his leg several inches long, and his white flesh was quickly covered in blood. I hurriedly picked him up and ran to the infirmary. More and more people saw and followed me along the way. I couldn't run anymore, so others took their turn carrying him.

I walked back and passed Dr. Fang's house. I heard the sound of a guitar coming from the backyard. Curious, I walked to the bamboo hedge on the side and saw Donna sitting on a stone bench in the vegetable garden, holding a guitar in her arms, practicing. The vegetable garden was on a slight slope extending into a small river. There were sparse bamboo sheets on both sides, covered with melon and bean vines and a reddish-purple wall-climbing grass. In the corners of the garden, flowers of red, yellow, blue, white, and purple were flourishing. The garden was connected to a small hut that served as a kitchen, where I used to peep through to see the family.

Donna was attentively playing a song I had never heard before, and the graceful, light tune was like a local folk song. I wanted to call her, but I was afraid that there would be someone in her house, so I picked up a rock and threw it into the river in front of her. There were bamboo walls, papaya trees, plantain trees, and bean racks between her and me.

She looked around, saw me beckoning, ran to me excitedly, and asked me with a smile, "You're not here to steal papaya, are you?"

"I saw you at the well in the morning. I thought you would wait for me. How did you go?" I asked.

"Why should I be waiting for you?" She stopped smiling and looked away. I stared at her beautiful look in the sun. The breeze was tugging at a strand of hair on her forehead. The two long braids were woven with red and blue ribbons, like peacock feathers, better than gold and silver jewelry. The guitar was hanging diagonally on her chest, like a hugging lover. I wanted to say, "long time no see, just want to take a look," or "I want to tell you a story of a dream." I didn't know how to answer, so I just asked her, "Can I come in?"

"The family will be back soon," she hesitated.

"Just a few minutes while you practice?" I forgot my mother's admonition - stay away from this girl.

"Okay, just for a while," she ripped a crack in the fence and let me slip through.

She handed me a bucket. I turned the bucket over, sat down beside her, and waited for her to continue practicing. She lowered her head, sliding her left hand on the strings at will and plucking the strings with her right fingers. Her mind seemed not to be on the guitar.

She wasn't as cheerful as she used to be, and I asked her, "What's the matter?"

She took off the strap on her shoulders, put the guitar on her lap, thought about it, and said, "Please don't come to me, okay?"

"Are you afraid of what others will say?"

"I'm afraid of the adults."

I looked at her. She was only a sixteen-year-old girl.

"I got it. I won't bother you," I understood Donna's concern and stood up to say goodbye. Ever since my mom had talked to her, I thought she was avoiding me on purpose.

"Since you promised me, you don't have to go in a hurry. I'll play the tune that I just learned if we meet again in ten years." Donna picked up the guitar and was just about to start when suddenly a voice came from the kitchen: the cry of her second sister, "Sister, where are you?" She nervously snapped at the strings.

I was about to get out from where I was, but it was too late. While Donna was going to her sister, I jumped into the river and sneaked out.

I was lying in bed that night, reminiscing about Donna and her beautiful, tiny backyard. I had an urge to take a pen and draw it, like Dashang.

The next day, I went to Dashang's dormitory to find him. He pulled out a lot of sketches for me to look at. Although I didn't know how to paint, I could feel that there was always something touching about his portraits or landscape drawings. I asked how he did it.

He said profoundly: "Anyone - old, small, beautiful, ugly - has their shining point, the painter must capture it with his heart. If he catches it, the painting will have a soul and give people a sense of beauty. The same is true for painting scenery. It is necessary to believe that nature has an aura, connect with people, and try to present the life of the scenery. Then it could blend with you and move you. This skill of a painter requires hard work and practice and, more importantly, it's about seeing the world with the heart, not the eyes."

Seeing that I was stunned, he mocked himself and said, "Actually, I'm also half-bottled. My father is a real painter. If there is a chance, let him tell you about it."

"Where is your father?"

"He can't paint but works in agriculture at the May-Seventh Cadres School."

Dashang took out a small drawing board, a sketch paper pack, and a few pencils. He handed them to me, saying that it was a gift from the master to the student. So, my art lessons began from then on.