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1六月中旬的星期天午后,西弥坐在南窗的藤椅上。他左手倚着窗框,右手拿着串铝制钥匙敲打着写字台面。事实上,西弥的心思完全不在这里。穿过零零落落的雨水和发白的水汽,西弥的眼神,始终绕着对岸的河廊打转。那里,除去整排的黑漆廊柱,只有旧得发暗的老房。隔着不太宽的河道望去,淅沥的檐水背后,依稀可见几个行走的人影。从昨晚开始,西弥有意无意地翻阅床头柜上那本潮得发黏的杂志。杂志印得很粗糙,看上去像是地摊货,可西弥不明白的是,父亲为什么老爱看这类书,这类书上一定有让人想入非非的东西。母
On the Sunday afternoon in mid-June, Xiyi sat on a wicker chair in the south window. His left hand leans on the window frame, his right hand holding a string of aluminum keys tapping the writing desk. In fact, Xi Mi’s mind is completely out of here. Through the rain and pale water vapor, Xiyi eyes, always around the other side of the river corridor spin. There, except for the entire row of black lacquer pillars, only the dark old room. Looking across the not too wide of the river, behind the brim of the eaves, a few walking figure can be seen vaguely. From last night, Xi Mi deliberately or unconsciously read the tide sticky magazine on the nightstand. The magazine printed very rough, looks like a spread of goods, but West Mi does not understand is why his father always love to see such books, such books must have something people and things. mother