一个男人坐在路边。他的手中拿着一把木工锯条和一个小提琴弓。他像拿着小提琴一般握住锯条,琴弓上响起了响亮的乐声,一半像是弦乐,一半像是管弦乐,然而此时的氛围以及安静本身似乎就是怪异的,让人难以欣赏:停止拉动琴弓,随意拨弄——原始的音阶弹奏出一首轻快的普罗旺斯曲子,不知怎么的,曲子隐约间掺杂了军乐。让·巴斯蒂特一动不动地倚靠在黑暗的通道里,感受着黑暗从他身边流走,流到街道上;他看着安静的屋顶,它们将天 A man sat by the road. He had a woodworking saw blade and a violin bow in his hand. He holds a saw blade like a violin, a loud sound on the bow, half in the shape of a string, and half in the orchestra, but the atmosphere and the quietness at this moment seem to be weird and unpleasant: stop Pulling the bows at random - The original scale played a brisk Provence tunes, somehow dulled the military music. Jean Bastit leaned back and forth in the darkness of the channel, feeling the darkness flow from him and flowing down the street; he looked at the quiet roof,