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父亲去世那天,一个从未谋面的陌生男人在灵堂前哭得有声有泪,那副悲痛欲绝的腔调赛过了所有的孝子贤孙。起初我并不以为然,他大概是先父生前的好友或者某个远房亲戚吧。我常年在外,跟乡亲们以及许多远房亲戚都疏于往来。弟弟告诉我说,我们屯子里有一个专门哭丧的人,可能就是他。把哭丧作为一种职业,我在城里早有耳闻,只是不想会在这穷乡僻壤遇上。老人去世是白喜,来者皆是客,我没理由赶他走。我仔细地打量了他一番,五官还算端正,人也白,只是个子不高,至多1.5米多一点,脑门上有四五道细
On the day his father passed away, a strange man who had never met before was crying in tears at the front of the hall. The grief-stricken tune-up passed all his filial virtues. At first I was not convinced that he was probably a friend or a distant relative of his father’s lifetime. I am out of my year, with folks and many distant relatives are neglected. My brother told me that there is a man in our village dedicated to crying, probably he. As a kind of career crying, I have long heard of in the city, but do not want to meet in the backcountry. The elderly died Bai Xi, who are all off, I have no reason to catch him away. I carefully looked at him some, facial features fairly correct, white people, but not tall, at least 1.5 meters a little more, there are four or five thin