昨天夜里他又回来晚了,进门时又没有尽力做到不出声音,好像我本人的睡眠无关紧要似的。他的脚步在空荡荡的套间里长时间地发出回声。他让走廊的灯开着,无休无止地乱翻着报纸。最后,他静了下来。我又费力地返回到老年人的那动辄即醒、模模糊糊的睡眠中去。然后,又是雨水。有三个星期了,雨老是下个不停,片状的雨水嘎嘎作响,从窗格子上落了下来。 Last night he came back late, did not try to silence the door, as if my own sleep does not matter. His steps echoes in the empty suite for a long time. He let the corridor lights on, endlessly chaos flip newspaper. Finally, he is still. I went back to the old man’s awkward, vaguely sleepless sleep. Then there is rain again. For three weeks, the rain kept moving, the sheet of rain rattled and fell from the windowpane.