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1990年仲春,我从乡中心校调到老家的村小学任教已经半年了。这是个阴雨连绵的日子,几间低矮的校舍打半个圈建造在一座陈姓祠堂的周围,视野里是淅淅沥沥的雨丝、潮湿和泥泞。春寒砭骨,道路难行,邮差已经有二十多天不来了。问题不知道出在哪一个环节上,我的信件经常丢失, 寄一篇稿也得翻山越岭到十里外的乡邮电所去。特别是放学后,学校于片刻间冷清下来,我常常站在小屋的窗口发很长时间的呆。本来,读书、写作, 为的就是能走出这僻远的小山村,谁想刚迈出一
In mid-spring of 1990, I had been teaching for 6 years in a village primary school that was transferred from my hometown school to my hometown. This is a rainy day, a few low school building a half circle built around an ancestral hall surnamed Chen, in the field of vision is a lush rain, wet and muddy. Spring cold tarsus, the road difficult line, the postman has not come more than twenty days. Questions do not know which link, my letters are often lost, send an article also have to cross the mountains to miles outside the township post office. Especially after school, the school deserted in a matter of moments, and I often stood in the hut’s window for a long time to stay. Originally, reading, writing, in order to be able to walk out of this remote village, who would like to just take a