与父亲冷战两周后,放寒假了。我低头走在回家的路上。父亲扛着我的被褥跟在后面。走了很久,突然失去了父亲的气息。那是种很奇妙的感觉:两个血脉相连的人之间系着一根无形的线,距离远了,一下子就能感觉到。我回过头看见父亲扛着包裹走在人群中。那包裹打得不好,总有一片布料打到父亲脸上。父亲用力把头偏向一边,额上暴起了青筋。阳光下,他的脸泛起一层油光,汗水顺着皮肤的沟壑流下。那一缕 Two weeks after the cold war with my father, winter vacation. I bow down on the way home. My father followed me with my bedding. Go for a long time, suddenly lost his father’s breath. That was a wonderful feeling: an invisible line was tied between two blood-stitched people and the distance was far enough to feel it. I turned to see my father carrying the package walk in the crowd. The parcel did not play well and there was always a piece of fabric hit the father’s face. Father forced his head to one side, the amount of violence over the veins. In the sunshine, his face floated, sweat streaming down the gully of the skin. That ray