我站在广场的中央,这环形的破落的广大殿堂,张开嘴巴,竭力喊一个名字。所有的东西都从洞穴里跑出来了,它们有些很确定,很快就跃到我的面前了;有的探头探脑,像问,是我吗,你找我吗?还有一些,应该要出来的却没来,而没它份的,却高傲地占住一角。名字的玫瑰她的名字是露丝。但她是不是真的叫露丝呢,我并不肯定。这不是源于我对自己湮远记忆的不确定,而是关乎事情原初呈现的面貌、它的真实 I stood in the center of the square, this ring-shaped lobby of the vast, open mouth, trying to call a name. Everything ran out of the cave, and some of them were quite certain and soon jumped to my face; some probes looked like questions, were they me, did you find me? And some, should come out But did not come, but did not share it, but proud to occupy the corner. Name Rose Her name is Ruth. But she is not really called Ruth it, I am not sure. This is not the result of my uncertainty about my memory of oblivion, but about the original appearance of things, its truth