在我住的地方,曾有位老人。老人丧夫多年,惟一的儿子在千里之外的地方工作。老人不识字,儿子来了信,便找我念,我念信时,老人弓着背坐在凳子上,垂头听着,一言不发。听完了信,老人又蹒跚着脚步,取出针线、布料,还有老花镜,老人开始做鞋了。我问老人要不要写封回信,老人总是摇头。 Where I live, there was an old man. The old man had lost his son for many years, and the only son was working thousands of miles away. The old man was illiterate. When his son had come to the letter, he came to read me. When I read the letter, the old man bowed back to sit on the stool, listening to his head and saying nothing. After listening to the letter, the old man took another step and took out needlework, fabric, and reading glasses. The old man started to make shoes. I asked the old man whether or not to write a letter, and the old man always shakes his head.