1马老汉在冷风中颤抖着站起身,搬起小马扎,掸了掸旧棉袄上的沙尘,就像掸去岁月这把刻刀在他身上留下的所有痕迹。西边天际的余晖斜映在脸上,令他觉得有些刺眼。他望了一眼身后拖出的那道佝偻的身影,拄着拐杖,往家的方向挪去。包裹又该来了,他想,今年是第十年了吧。这是一个冬日的黄昏,一切都是那么平淡而寻常,一如往日。学生放学了,大人也零星下班了,马老汉知道,如果再不回家,他此刻所在的社区广场和家之间将会涌起一道道钢铁洪流。他知道自己无力逾越,虽然那距离不过区区几百米。一如往日,他离开了遍布圣诞树的广场,这里不久将会涌入一群跳舞的大妈。 A horse trembled in the cold wind and stood up, lifting the colt, dusted the dust on the old jacket, like all traces of the years that the graver left on him. The glow of the horizon west of his face reflected in the face, making him feel a bit dazzling. He glanced at the grim figure dragged out of his back, leaning on his cane and moving toward his home. The package should come again, he thought, this year is the tenth year. This is a winter dusk, everything is so plain and unusual, as in the past. After school, adults also sporadically off work, Ma old man knows that if you do not go home, he now where the community square and home will be filled with a stream of steel torrent. He knew he was beyond power, though it was a few hundred meters away. As always, he left the square covered with Christmas trees, where a group of dancing aunt will soon be pouring in.