1980年,农历腊月十三,黄昏,雪落巴寨。老刀蹲在火坑边,双目紧闭,口中喃喃自语,如一尊得道的佛。一件硕大的帆布棉大衣,将他死死地包裹,一颗头就好像凭空生出一般。一张大黑脸,在火苗的映衬下,黑里透着暗红。老刀喉咙蠕动几下,哗的吐出一大口鲜血来,老刀咧嘴笑,一排黄牙像有豁口的齿轮。他慢吞吞地往怀里摸去,窸窸窣窣声音很是好听, In 1980, thirteenth lunar month of the twelfth lunar month, at dusk, snow fell into the village. Old knife squatted fire pit, eyes closed, muttering his mouth, such as a respectable Buddha. A gigantic canvas cotton coat, wrapped him tightly, a head as if born out of thin air. A big black face, against the background of the flames, dark red reveals dark red. Old knife throat creep a few times, wow spit out a large mouth of blood, old knife grinning, a row of yellow teeth like a gap gear. He slowly touched his arms, 窸 窸 窣 窣 sound is very nice,