夜夜幕低垂。就像有时低头沉思一样,夜幕紧紧地闭合起来。四周睡的都是人。一个小小的花招,一种毫无道理的自我欺骗:他们睡在屋子里,睡在牢固的床上,睡在坚实的屋顶下,或伸或蜷睡在床垫上,睡在床单上,睡在被窝里。实际上他们是聚在一个荒凉的地区,以前曾有一次,以后将还会这样,一个露天营地,一望无边的人群,一支大军,一个民族,头顶冰冷的天,脚踏冰冷的地。在站立的地方就地卧倒,额头枕在胳膊上,脸冲着地,静静地呼吸着。你醒着,你是哨兵之一,你从身旁的枯枝堆中抽出一根燃烧的木棍,晃动着它找到离你最近的人。你为什么醒着?必须要有一个人醒着,这就是回答。必须要有一个人。 Night falls. Just like sometimes meditating, the night is closed tightly. People are sleeping all around. A small trick, an unjustifiable self-deceit: they sleep in the house, sleep in a firm bed, sleep under a solid roof, or stretch or sleep on mattresses, sleep on sheets, and sleep In bed. In fact, they were gathered in a desolate area. There was one time before and it will be the same in the future. An open-air camp, an endless crowd of people, a large army, a nation, cold days on the top of the head, and foot-cold land. Standing on the ground, lying down, his forehead resting on his arm, his face darting to the ground, breathing quietly. You are awake, and you are one of the sentries. You pull a burning stick from the pile of dry beside you and shake it to find the person closest to you. Why are you awake? There must be someone who is awake. This is the answer. There must be one person.