每次航海归来总有故事要说奇怪的是我已经忘了岛的名字。或者我从来就不曾记住过它叫什么。在我的眼前它一直是朦胧而真实的,一如最初和最终见它时的样子。当然我很明白,在太平洋那个灿烂的赤道黄昏,我在船甲板上焦躁地转来转去时,心里满怀着的,并不是看清楚它抑或到它上面饱览的期待。我期待了一个似乎随时就要发生点什么的白天。至少在这个夜的序幕中,我没耐心再说服自己象那几个垂钓的水手般冷 Every sailing return always have a story to say weird is that I have forgotten the name of the island. Or I never remember what it called. It has always been hazy and real before my eyes, as it was when I first and finally met it. Of course I understand very well that in the glorious equatorial evening of the Pacific Ocean, when I was anxiously turning around on the deck of a ship, I was full of hope, not looking at it or looking forward to it. I look forward to a daylight that seems to happen at any time. At least for the night, I was impatient to persuade myself to be as cold as those fishing sailors