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小饭馆烟熏火燎的棚壁显得格外昏暗,坐在我对面的老人大概有70岁,头顶一层银亮的白发,像覆盖着一层薄雪。双眼如同擦亮的冰道,闪出锐利的光芒。“有些人很蠢,”他说着摇了摇脑袋,使我感到即刻会有雪花从他头上飘下来。“他们以为幸福是熏肠,可以每天切下一片!”“是啊,”我说,“幸福当然不是熏肠,尽管……”“尽管?”“尽管看起来,正像您家廊道里挂着的火腿一样,您的幸福可以随时拿来享用。”“我是个例外。”他呷了一口酒,说:“我是例外,因为我始终保留着一个愿望……”他的目光落在我的脸上审视
The smoky shed wall of the small restaurant is particularly dim, and the old man sitting opposite me is about 70 years old and has a silvery white hair on top of his head, covered with a thin layer of snow. Eyes like polished ice, flashing sharp light. “Some people are stupid,” he said, shaking his head and making me feel that there was snow falling from his head at once. “They think that happiness is smoked and they can cut it off every day!” “Yeah,” I said, “happiness is certainly not smoked, though...” “Although?” “Although it looks like it is hanging in your corridor.” Like a ham, your happiness can be enjoyed at any time.“ ”I’m an exception.“ He took a sip and said: ”I’m the exception because I always have a wish..." His eyes fell on me. Face look