1赵玉兰杵在自家门楼前嗅着光儿里的清寂,她两只手插进袄袖子,嘴半张,鼻子耸着。阳光太好,巷子太静,有一瞬儿,她感觉一辈子太长了。阳光仿佛一块块玻璃,无形的,隔音的,她望着巷子口的街道,街景被光儿一层层隔开,寂静也由远及近一重重变得浓密。巷子拐进街的地儿,一道光打在倾斜着的砖墙上,曲折的光儿红彤彤的,让赵玉兰想起了电视机遥控器上的静音键。她的老伴马长啸到底没能捱过上个冬天。一个雨夹雪的傍晚,几声惊心动魄的干咳后,他便咽气了。外出打 1 Zhao Yulan pestle in front of their own house sniffing the silence of light children, her hands into the jacket sleeves, mouth half, his nose towering. The sun is too good, the alley is too quiet, there is a moment, she felt too long a lifetime. The sun is like a piece of glass, invisible, soundproof, she looked at the mouth of the alley street, streetscapes separated by a layer of light children, the silence from far and near a heavier becomes thick. Alley into the street to children, a light hit the sloped brick wall, twists and turns red glow, so that Zhao Yulan remembered the mute button on the TV remote control. Ma Hsiao-tsun, her husband, did not survive last winter. A sleet in the evening, a few breathtaking dry cough, he will breathe. Go out to fight