深夜,宁静的夜,安谧的夜。当我的笔尖写下《萧也牧之死》这个题目的时候,我久已淡漠的心又一次失去了平静。用不着回忆,也不必找寻记录,只要稍一闭目,十六年前的往事,马上就会涌现眼前。一切都那样清晰,那样真切,那样撕裂人的肺腑,那样震撼人的心弦。我仿佛看到了少年时读过的辛克莱笔下的屠场,但丁描写的地狱;仿佛看到黄世仁闯进杨白劳家肆虐;看到从黑非洲押送出来的鹄形垢面的奴隶队伍,而走在这支黑奴队伍最前面 Late at night, quiet night, quiet night. When I write down the tip of the “Death of Xiao Yemu,” I have long been indifferent heart once again lost their peace. Do not need memories, do not have to look for records, just a little blindfolded, 16 years ago, the past will emerge immediately. Everything is so clear, so real, so tear people’s heart, so shocking heart. I seem to have seen the slaughterhouse written by Sinclair in my youth and the hell written by Dante. It is as if I saw Huang Shih-ren breaking into the Yangbai workers’ house and saw the slaughtering of slaves escorted from Black Africa. At the front of this nigger team