我伸手覆盖在一只像扭曲了的竹签似的手上,一层黄土地颜色的皮肤,长着几个像癞蛤蟆背一样凹凸不平的茧,这就是我外婆的手。凸起的筋一直爬向骨瘦如柴的手臂,最后爬进袖子里,生怕别人看见了它一样。虽然外婆老了,可是却也捏得我的手好几分生疼,全是老茧。我知道不该这么早就说那句话。外婆拉着我的手紧紧不放,我手心儿里全是汗,有点滑腻腻的。 I stretched out my hand over a twisted, bamboo-like hand, a layer of yellow earthy skin with several cocoon-like bumps like toad’s back, my grandmother’s hand. Raised tendons have been crawling to the skinny arm, and finally climbed into the sleeve, for fear that others saw it the same. Although grandmother is old, but also squeezed my hand somewhat painful, full of cocoon. I know that sentence should not be said so long ago. My grandmother took my hand tightly, my palms full of sweat, a bit slippery and greasy.