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母亲的棺材是长一尺七、宽八寸的座棺,同城市里常见的细长的白木寝棺相比,显得十分寒酸。砍削的四分厚的榉木板,简单地钉在一起,粗劣得很。棺材用红、黄、蓝三种颜色的纸旗和假花装饰起来,停放在玩具一般带有木栅栏的古老的棺台上。这棺台是村里的公有物,这里不知停放过多少死者,无数的岁月刻印在栅栏和杠棒的木纹上。天刚放亮,人们就深一脚浅一脚跌跌撞撞将母亲的棺材从廊缘上向外抬。变化不定的天空,这阵子又阴沉得像黑锅底,下起大雪来了。我抬的是棺材的后杠,
The mother’s coffin is a one-seven-foot, eight-inch-wide coffin that looks rather shabby compared to the slender white wooden coffin in the city. Chopped quarters thick beech boards, simply nailed together, very bad. The coffins are decorated with paper flags and fake flowers in red, yellow and blue colors and parked on ancient coffins with wooden fences. This coffin is the village’s public property, where I do not know how many dead parked, countless years engraved on the fence and bar wooden grain. As soon as the sky was clear, people stumble deep into the depths of the foot and lift the coffin of the mother out from the corridor edge. Varied sky, this time gloomy as black pot, snow came. I carried the coffin rear bumper,