我小心地走近那扇门,门里尘封着我小时候的记忆和味道。门已经很旧了,木板斑驳。我轻轻地推开这扇门,它发出沉闷的“吱呀”声,香烛的味道扑面而来。“为什么太太已经走了这么久,你还保留着每天在她房间里烧香的习惯呢?”我反手把门关上,问进来倒水的外婆。“烧香?”外婆一怔,然后反问我,“你莫不是觉得香烛的味道很呛人?”“那倒不是。”我用力嗅了嗅空气中弥漫开的熟悉的香烛味,不假思索地回答。小时候,父母一有空就把我丢到老家来住两天。那时太太还健 I approached the door with care, and the memory and taste of my childhood had been sealed in the door. The door is very old and the planks are mottled. I gently pushed the door open, it issued a boring “bubble” sound, the smell of incense blowing. “Why did the wife have been gone for so long. Do you still retain the habit of burning incense in her room every day?” “I closed the door with my backhand and asked the grandmother who was pouring water.” “Burn incense?” My grandmother gave me a look and then asked me, “Do you think that the smell of incense is very awkward?” “I don’t think so.” I tried to sniff out the smell of familiar incense from the air. , answer without thinking. When I was young, my parents left me for two days when they were free. At that time my wife was still healthy