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在上午雾蒙蒙的阳光下,病员们在草坪上散步。鲁道夫站在二楼的一扇窗前,吸着新鲜空气。他还没忘记这春天的气息,只是想不起这记忆从何而来。他也没忘记刮脸、谈话、阅读等等实际的事情。但除此之外,脑子里只是一些前后毫不相关的零星片断的大杂烩,搅在一起,一片茫然——就像这乡间的静谧中偶尔飘过的些微私语。花园的篱笆外,一片缓缓倾斜的土地构成一带斜坡向上伸延,坡顶的一排白杨树屏障将背后公路上川流的车辆截成一片片忽隐忽现的色彩。那些树标志了他这一生活天地的边界。自他几周前来这儿登记之后,就从未走出过这家精神病院一步——虽然他同其他病员一样来去都是自由的。
In the misty morning sun, the sick people walked on the lawn. Rudolph stood in front of a window on the second floor, inhaling fresh air. He still has not forgotten the atmosphere of spring, just can not remember where this memory comes from. He also did not forget the real thing of shaving, talking, reading and so on. But apart from that, my mind is just a hodgepodge of splintered pieces that are irrelevant to me, confused and dazed - like the occasional whispers of quietness in this country. Outside the fence of the garden, a slowly sloping land stretches upward along the slope. A row of poplar barriers at the top of the hill cut back the flickering colors of the vehicles on the back of the highway. Those trees mark the boundaries of his world of life. He has never been out of this mental hospital ever since he registered here a few weeks - although he is free to go and go with other patients.