一夜越来越黑。山藏起来,湖也躲起来。亮着的,是天边静着的一钩残月,岸上动着的是万堆篝火。田野间,一道一道手电光,一闪一灭,在打秘密联络的暗语。本主庙前,打霸王鞭的、敲金钱鼔的,一齐消失在夜色间。人,挤成东一堆西一堆,在听男人女人对调子。女的声音一律尖尖的,男的也变得细声细气,像在掏心掏肝说话。湖边树多,树影间,男人女人相互呼唤的声音,压得很低。我和汤走散了,走到湖边一丛芦苇边。我看到一条小船在波浪中剧烈起伏。明明没有风,小船却颠来簸去,像一条上了钩拼命挣扎的鱼。 Darker and darker night. Hill hide, the lake also hid. Lit, is a hook on the horizon of the moon, the shore is moving million piles of bonfire. Field, a flashlight together, twinkling of an eye, in the secret language of contact. The main temple front, hit the king Whip, knocking money 鼔, all disappeared in the night. People, squeezed into a pile of West a bunch of listening to men and women in tune. Women’s voices are all sharp, the men have become thin and delicate gas, like digging heart dig liver. The tree by the lake, tree shadow, men and women call each other’s voice, low pressure. I and the soup separated, walked to the edge of the lake reeds. I saw a small boat fluctuating in the waves. Obviously no wind, the boat is uprooting, like a hook struggling fish.