和一拨半生不熟的文人们,在饭馆吃饭。刚刚落座,邻桌便哗啦一下子涌过来一群人,一个一个跟饿虎扑食般,坐下便嚷嚷着服务生快快拿菜单来。猜不出谁请客,但看每个中年男女的脸,都主人般豪放生猛,大有一种将饭馆当成自家客厅尽情吃喝的架势。相比起来,我们这一桌,则内敛文雅得多,酒倒入杯里,菜端上饭桌,大家彼此对视一眼,安静不语,皆等那请客的人举杯先发表祝酒词,才动筷夹菜。主人心事重重的样子,说话慢而谨慎,好像他引领我们要去的,是一个陷阱,或者一片沼泽,而不似隔壁饭桌上粗犷豪放之欢乐谷。 And a half-dozen unfamiliar literary people, eat in the restaurant. Just seated, next table will crash suddenly burst over a group of people, one by one with the hungry Tiger prey like, sit down and shouted the waiter quickly take the menu. Guess who treat, but to see each middle-aged man and woman’s face, are bold and generous master, there is a kind of restaurant as their own living room to eat and drink posture. In contrast, our table, the introverted and polite much wine poured into the cup, the dinner side of the table, we look at each other, quiet and silent, are waiting for that person toast toast to the first presentation to Moving chopsticks folder dishes. The master, with his heavy heart, speaks slowly and cautiously, as if he led us to go, a trap, or a swamp, not like the bold, bold, happy valley of the next table.