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荞麦的男人死了。荞麦嫁到平顶山的第二年夏天,男人拉麦捆子时连牛车带人一起滚了洼,摔死了。当时,荞麦正在地里割麦子。队长派人喊她回来,看到摔得血肉模糊的男人躺在红柳条编的抬把子上,哀嚎一声,扑在男人身上,哭死过去。荞麦男人个子小,头小脖子短,像个旱老鼠。人也长得粗,粗手大脚,手像蒲扇,手指头又粗又壮,伸出来像一排小棒槌。荞麦头一次见她男人,心里就咯噔一下,咋是个武大郎?可男人能唱一口委婉动人的小曲子,会吼乱弹。每当男人呜呜咽咽,咿咿呀呀,蒲扇似的手
Man with buckwheat is dead. The second year of buckwheat marrying in Pingdingshan, the man pulled the bark of sheep with a cart when the man rolled the depression together and fell to the ground. At the time, buckwheat was cutting wheat in the field. The captain sent someone to call her back and saw the bloody man lying in the wickerwork’s handgrip, whistling, fluttering over the man and crying over. Small buckwheat man, head small neck short, like a dry mouse. People also grow thick, crude, hand-like Pushan, fingers thick and strong, stretched out like a row of small clubs. Buckwheat head to see her man once, and my heart a little bit, what is a Wu Dalang? Men can sing a gentle euphemism little song, will shout chaos. Whenever a man whining, swaddled, Po-fan-like hand