或许是经过太多的审查和社会怀疑,我见到姑父时,他已学会把自己紧紧地包裹起来。街坊邻里,他从不和大人们交往,也没见他和大人们说社会上的流行话题,假期回来,无论住多久,他的朋友只是我们这些小孩子。他有水彩、彩色铅笔,没在受够了敌视和冷漠之后,在小小的山村里,姑父感受到一种透遍全身的温暖。这温暖来自那上上下下,方圆几十里仅有的十几户乡亲。 Perhaps after too much censorship and social suspicion, when I met my uncle, he had learned to pack himself tightly. Neighborhood neighborhood, he never dealings with adults, nor did he see adults and the popular social topics, the holidays come back, no matter how long he lives, his friends are just us children. He had watercolor and colored pencils, and after not enough hostility and coldness, his uncle felt a warmth throughout the whole body in a small mountain village. This warm from that up and down, a radius of dozens of only a dozen folks.