依然记得小时候拔萝卜的事情。土地里,萝卜整齐地排列着,一个有着一个据守的位置。我模仿父亲的姿势,一双手绕过那些锯齿形的、使皮肤刺痒的叶子,贴近泥土紧紧地揪住,然后用力往上拔。我几乎使尽了浑身力气,才将萝卜拔出来,湿湿的黝黑的泥地里,只留下一个坑,空空的,赫然醒目。我却丝毫没有在 Still remember pulling things as a child. Land, radishes neatly arranged, one has a defensive position. I imitate the father’s posture, a pair of hands around the serrated, itchy leaves, close to the soil tightly grip, and then forced upward. I almost did my best to pull the radish out, wet dark mud, leaving only a pit, empty, impressively eye-catching. I’m not here at all