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自行车冲进了菜地
暑假第一件大事，是学会骑自行车。那辆车是表哥的，链条哗啦哗啦响，座垫晒得烫屁股。表哥说他在后面扶着，让我只管蹬。我蹬了半条巷子，风从耳朵边过去，心里想的就是一个字：飞。
拐过碾坊，路宽了。我喊：表哥你觉没觉得我骑得稳！后面没人应。我回头一看，表哥站在十几步开外，两只手叉着腰，笑得直不起腰。他早就松手了。我一慌，车把立刻跟着慌，往左一歪，我往右一扭，车头反而笔直地朝着路边的菜地去了。那一片西红柿架长得正好，架子之间的缝，像一个专门等我的门。
车真的进门了。前轮压断一根竹竿，哗啦，整架西红柿朝两边弯腰。我捏死刹车，前轮在泥里犁出一条沟，车停住了，我的下巴磕在车把上，整个人挂在上面，像一件晾在衣架上的衣服。最要命的是我右手边，一颗熟透的西红柿在我掌心里破了，温热的汁从指缝里往外冒。我保持着挂着的姿势，一动不敢动。
表哥追进来，先不是扶我，是先笑，笑到一半踩倒一棵茄子，笑声戛然而止。我们俩把车抬出来，链条掉了，脚踏板歪了。西红柿地里一排脚印，竹竿断头朝天戳着。表哥说：完了，看地的是刘大爷。话音没落，地头就传来一声吆喝：哪个伢儿！我们一人抓起车，往回骑的骑、推的推，刘大爷追出半里地，鞋都跑掉一只，最后他自己也笑场了，叉着腰站在路中间喘。
回家我等着挨训。结果爸爸检查完我的下巴，只问了一句：会骑了没有。我说会了，就是不会拐弯。爸爸点点头：会骑就行，拐弯的事，菜地已经教会你了。那天晚饭，奶奶做了一盘西红柿炒蛋，是刘大爷送来的，说是压坏的不能放。我吃着自家孙子赔回来的西红柿，味道的确比平时甜。
车在院子里修了三天，表哥借了工具，把脚踏板掰直，链条重新挂上。车架上留下一道被竹竿刮出的白印，表哥说别漆了，留着。后来我骑车再没进过任何一片地，可每年夏天路过西红柿架，我都要慢下来看一眼。掌心好像又碰到那颗温热的、破开的西红柿，耳朵边又响起刘大爷那声吆喝，和半条巷子的风。
The Bicycle That Charged into the Vegetable Patch
The first big event of summer vacation was learning to ride a bicycle. The bike belonged to my cousin; its chain clattered, and the seat was hot enough to sting in the sun. My cousin said he would hold it from behind and I should just pedal. I pedaled half an alley, wind sliding past my ears, and the only word in my head was: fly.
After the turn by the mill, the road widened. I shouted: cousin, do you feel how steady I am! Nobody answered behind me. I looked back, and my cousin stood fifteen steps away, hands on his hips, laughing so hard he could not straighten up. He had let go long ago. I panicked, and the handlebars panicked with me, tipping left; I twisted right, and the front wheel ended up pointing straight at the vegetable patch by the road. That row of tomato trellises stood at exactly the right height, and the gap between the frames looked like a door waiting just for me.
The bike really walked through the door. The front wheel snapped a bamboo pole, and with a crash the whole row of tomatoes bent to both sides. I squeezed the brake to death; the front wheel plowed a furrow in the mud and stopped. My chin knocked the handlebar, and I hung there on the bike like a shirt on a hanger. Worst of all, on my right hand a fully ripe tomato burst in my palm, warm juice oozing between my fingers. I stayed hanging there, not daring to move.
My cousin ran in, and instead of helping me he laughed first; halfway through the laugh he stepped on an eggplant plant, and the laugh stopped dead. We carried the bike out: chain off, pedal bent. The tomato patch held a row of footprints, broken bamboo tips poking at the sky. My cousin said: it is over, this is Old Man Lius patch. Before he finished, a shout came from the head of the field: which brat! We grabbed the bike and fled, one riding, one pushing. Old Man Liu chased half a mile, lost one shoe, and finally burst out laughing himself, standing in the middle of the road with hands on hips, out of breath.
At home I waited to be scolded. Dad examined my chin and asked only one question: can you ride now. I said yes, except I cannot turn. Dad nodded: riding is enough; turning, the vegetable patch already taught you. That evening, Grandma cooked a plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes, sent over by Old Man Liu, saying the bruised ones would not keep. I ate the tomatoes my own family had paid back for, and they really did taste sweeter than usual.
The bike took three days to fix in our yard. My cousin borrowed tools, straightened the pedal, and rehung the chain. A white scratch from the bamboo pole stayed on the frame; my cousin said do not paint over it, keep it. After that I never rode into any patch again, but every summer when I pass a tomato trellis I slow down for a look. My palm seems to touch that warm, burst tomato again, and Old Man Lius shout comes back over my ear, with the wind of half an alley.
知了没捉着，网兜先下了水
暑假的午后，蝉叫得整条巷子都在晃。小满举着网兜站在树底下，仰头看了十分钟，相中了一只大黑蝉。那蝉停在柳树最细的一根枝上，翅膀油亮，叫得理直气壮。小满回头冲我比了个手势：别出声。他踮起脚，把网兜往那根枝上送，一寸，又一寸。
网兜离蝉只有半尺了，蝉还在叫。我屏住气，连蝉的声音都听不见了，只听见自己的心跳。小满的手再往上送最后一寸，网口罩到蝉头顶的那一瞬，他脚底那片青苔滑了。他整个人往侧面一歪，胳膊本能地一甩，网兜脱手飞出去，在空中翻了个跟头，噗通一声，先蝉一步下了池塘。
蝉被那一声响惊动，慢悠悠地换了根树枝，背对着我们，继续叫，叫得比刚才还响。小满站在树根上，保持着举网的姿势没缓过来，半天说出一句：它是不是在笑我。
捞网兜成了下午的正事。网兜带着一根长竹柄，柄还露在岸边，我们俩蹲下去拽，拽不动，像是挂住了水底什么东西。小满脱了鞋卷起裤腿下去，脚一进水就嘶一声，石头缝里的水凉得咬人。他一步一挪走到网兜跟前，先捞的不是网，是一片大荷叶，扣在他自己头上。他顶着荷叶愣了两秒，我在岸上笑得坐下去。
网兜终于捞上来，兜底兜着两条指头长的小鱼和一撮水草。小满把鱼养在罐头瓶里，网兜晾在院墙上。蝉还在柳树上叫，一声比一声长，好像下午那件事没有发生过。小满重新举着网兜回到树下，冲我摆手：这次不踩树根了。
第二回他绕到柳树背面，从低枝一级一级往上爬，爬到一半，手够着网兜往蝉那边探。蝉这回离得更近，近到能看清它翅膀上细细的纹路。网口刚要扣，蝉忽然不叫了，翅膀一展，贴着网兜边沿飞走，绕着小满的头飞了一圈，落在更高的地方，重新开始叫。小满趴在树上，手还举着，回头看我，脸上的表情说不上是懊恼还是服气：它让了我一圈。
傍晚，我们收了网兜回家。罐头瓶里的两条小鱼放回了池塘，网兜靠在门后。蝉声从巷子口一直铺到家门口。我心想，捉蝉这件事，捉不着好像也不亏：一个跟头翻进池塘的网兜，一片扣在头上的荷叶，一只让了我一圈的蝉，这些都比一只装进袋子的蝉值钱。
夜里蝉不叫了，巷子安静下来。我把下午的事在心里又过了一遍，过到网兜翻跟头那一下，还是忍不住笑。暑假才刚开始，这样的下午，后面还多着呢。
No Cicada Caught, but the Net Went Swimming First
On a summer afternoon, the cicadas sang so loudly the whole alley seemed to tremble. Xiaoman stood under the tree holding a dip net, chin tilted up, watching for ten minutes before he set his heart on one big black cicada. The insect sat on the thinnest branch of the willow, wings glossy, singing as if it owned the afternoon. Xiaoman turned and signaled to me: not a sound. He rose on his toes and pushed the net toward that branch, inch by inch.
The net was half a foot from the cicada, which kept singing. I held my breath and could no longer hear even the cicada, only my own heart. Xiaoman pushed the last inch up. The instant the net covered the head of the cicada, the patch of moss under his foot slipped. His whole body tilted sideways, his arm swung by instinct, the net flew out of his hand, turned a somersault in the air, and with a splash went into the pond one step ahead of the cicada.
The cicada was startled by that sound, moved unhurriedly to another branch, turned its back to us, and kept singing, louder than before. Xiaoman stood on the tree root still holding the pose of raising the net, frozen a long while before he said one sentence: is it laughing at me.
Fishing the net out became the real business of the afternoon. The net had a long bamboo handle, and the end of the handle still stuck out near the bank. We squatted down and pulled, but it would not move, as if something at the bottom of the water had caught it. Xiaoman took off his shoes, rolled up his trouser legs, and stepped in. The moment his feet touched the water he hissed through his teeth, the water between the stones was cold enough to bite. He moved step by step to the net, and the first thing he lifted was not the net but a big lotus leaf, which he set on his own head. He stood there under the leaf, dazed for two seconds, and I laughed so hard I sat down on the bank.
The net came out at last. In its bottom were two finger-length fish and a handful of waterweed. Xiaoman kept the fish in a glass jar and hung the net on the yard wall to dry. The cicada went on singing in the willow, one call longer than the next, as if nothing had happened that afternoon. Xiaoman took the net back under the tree and waved at me: this time I will not step on the tree root.
For the second try he went around to the far side of the willow and climbed from branch to branch, and halfway up he reached the net toward the cicada. This time the insect was closer, close enough to see the fine lines on its wings. Just as the mouth of the net was about to close, the cicada stopped singing, spread its wings, slipped away along the edge of the net, circled once around Xiaomans head, landed higher up, and began to sing again. Xiaoman lay flat on the tree with his arm still raised, and looked back at me with a face half annoyed and half admiring: it gave me a lap.
At dusk we packed up the net and walked home. The two fish in the jar went back into the pond, and the net leaned behind the door. The sound of cicadas spread from the mouth of the alley all the way to our gate. I thought to myself that not catching the cicada was no loss: a net that turned a somersault into the pond, a lotus leaf on someones head, a cicada that gave me a lap, all of these are worth more than one cicada shut in a bag.
At night the cicadas fell silent and the alley grew quiet. I went over the afternoon once more in my mind, and at the part where the net turned its somersault I still could not help laughing. Summer vacation had only just begun, and afternoons like this were still waiting ahead.
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