我已经好久没有再见到那个老妇人了。也许她早就老死了,就葬在那个烈士陵园的边上,或者只是化成骨灰撒在小河里。也许她还是会在旧帆布包里放一块糖,等待下一位扫墓人的到来,听她讲述“土包子”的故事。“它就死在我的怀里,是我亲手把它砍死的。”我又想起老妇人孤零零地坐在基地旁的小平顶屋下,这样对我说道,大概她总是会这样说吧。她坐着,眼睛微眯,很安详,仿佛可以让人感受到点点浮动的微光,就像燃尽的木柴旁飞舞的火星一样。她平 I haven’t seen the old lady for a long time. Maybe she was already old and dead. He was buried on the edge of the martyrs’ cemetery, or just ashes were thrown into the river. Perhaps she would still put a piece of candy in her old canvas bag, wait for the arrival of the next grave-sweeper, and listen to her story about the “bunny dumplings.” “It just died in my arms. I personally hacked it.” I remembered the old woman sitting alone under the small flat roof next to the base. She said to me, probably she would always Say this. She sat, her eyes slightly open and serene, as if she could feel a little floating light, just like burning Mars flying near the firewood. She is flat