鱼那个男孩子把衣服脱光了,向着退潮后留在平坦的礁石里的那些水坑走去,他脚底下正在变干的石灰石是热烘烘的,午后的微风象绸子一样拂着他的皮肤。他拔起一节长了海葡萄的野草,在头上挥舞,高兴得尖声大叫,冰凉的小水珠溅得一身都是。 “别靠边走,老弟,”那个大人从他的装鱼食的洋铁罐上抬起头来,警告说。 The fish, the boy, took off his clothes and walked toward the puddles left in the flat reef after low tide. The limestone drying under his feet was hot and dry. The afternoon breeze brushed his skin like silk. He pulled up a weed of sea grapes, waved his head, shouting with delight, and all the cold water splashes. “Do not go by, brother,” the man looked up from his tin can and warned.