在圣诞晚会上,一位老者为我们讲述战争的辛酸与苦难。他回忆起晨雾中令人恨之入骨的山谷密林、那些诱惑厌战士兵并把他们淹死的雨水暗坑、像纺织品中复杂针脚般纵横交错的战壕。还有遍布灰暗无人区的死尸,他们仍保持用胳膊遮着脸的姿势。还有那些逐渐隆起的弹壳小丘,乍看上去像一堆狗罐头。他回想起自己深陷的眼窝、拂晓时分上刺刀时 At the Christmas party, an old man told us about the bitterness and misery of the war. He recalled the hated valley jungles of the morning fog, the rain pits that lured war-torn soldiers and drowned them, like the complicated pins and needles in the textile. There were dead bodies all over the dark, uncrowded areas, and they kept their faces covered with arms. There are those bulging shells hill, at first glance looks like a pile of dogs canned. He remembered his deep sockets, dawn when the bayonets