矫形室里铺的地砖像鹅卵石一样光滑。我跟着医生,小心地迈着步子,努力走得很潇洒。我可不愿出洋相,让人觉得我是个傻小子。可医生却一眼也不看我。他停在了一把像沙发床的长椅子旁,对我说: “躺下吧。”我并没有马上躺下。我开始打量这把椅子,打量是为了显出干练。这玩意儿已经有些破旧,中间的一条裂缝让里面的絮物争先恐后地涌出来,像溶化的巧克力里露出的榛子,这让我感到亲切。于是我心安理得地躺了下去。 The tiles laid in the orthopaedic chamber are as smooth as pebbles. I followed the doctor, carefully taking steps and trying to walk very smartly. I don’t want to be a foreigner. I feel like a stupid kid. But the doctor did not see me at first glance. He stopped by a bench like a sofa-bed and said to me: “Lie down.” I didn’t lie down right away. I began to look at this chair and looked at it to show it. This thing is already a bit worn out. The middle of the cracks makes the flocs inside rush out, like the hazelnuts in the melted chocolate, which makes me feel at home. So I lay down comfortably.