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十三年前,十七岁的我当兵到了云南河口紧挨中越边境一个偏远的边防连队,那里山峦叠嶂,终年气候炎热。连队周围稀稀落落散居着数十户人家,大多是当地的瑶族。因为交通不便,信息闭塞,他们几乎过着与世隔绝的生活。刚从内地来到边疆的我,常被生活的单调乏味和思乡情绪所困扰,闲暇时多以写家信、打双抠打发光阴。不久,这一切就有了改变,我认识了阿英。那是一个周六的下午,连队安排我们班上山砍芭蕉杆做猪饲料。受领任务后,我便提着工兵锹哼着小曲,朝远方山梁上一片茂密的芭蕉林走去。正当我扬锹砍得起劲时,耳边传来清脆而又急促的叫喊:“砍不得!砍不得!”我回头一看,一个裹着红头巾、穿黑色粗布对襟的瑶族姑
Thirteen years ago, I was a soldier at the age of 17 and arrived at a remote border company in the mouth of the Yunnan River next to the Sino-Vietnamese border, where the mountains overlap and the weather is hot throughout the year. Ties scattered around the company with dozens of families, mostly local Yao. Because of the traffic inconvenience, the information is blocked, they almost lived a secluded life. I just came to the frontier from the Mainland, often boring life of dull and homesick emotions, more time to write a letter, playing double pull play time. Soon, all this has changed, I know Ah Ying. It was a Saturday afternoon, and the company arranged for us to go up the hill and cut the banana sticks to make pig feed. Receiving the task, I will carry the spade hummer opera, toward the distant mountain beam on a dense plantain walked. Just as I shovel shoveling vigorously, the ears came crisp and rapid shouting: “I can not cut it! ” I looked back, wrapped in a red scarf, wearing a black calico lapel Yao Yao