傍晚时分,天已擦黑,想下雨又下不来雨的天空,有点闷。这个时候,只有父亲一个人闷闷坐在堂屋正间,也不开灯,他静如雕塑一般,端坐在椅子上,拉起了二胡。二胡的调子充满惆怅,充满悲怆,在近乎停滞的空气中蔓延开来。这时,我就坐在房檐下,也不出声,静静地望着院子里的洗手池、灶间门、院子大门,它们也和我一样,静静听父亲拉二胡,一 Evening, the sky has been black, rain and rain do not come under the sky, a little boring. This time, only his father was alone sitting in the hall room boring, do not turn on the lights, he was quiet as a sculpture, sitting in a chair, pulled up the erhu. Erhu’s tone filled with melancholy, full of sorrow, spread in the air almost stagnant. At this time, I sat under the eaves, did not say anything, quietly looking at the courtyard of the sink, kitchen door, yard door, they are like me, quietly listen to his father pull Erhu, a