山沟沟里,天亮得晚。二蛋数到鸡叫第三遍的时候,屋子里仍然是黏稠稠的夜。他伸手在大腿上胡乱挠几下,撑着身子爬起来,用两只脚尖摸索,找着炕底下的鞋,随后地上就被拖出一串唰唰的响声。他在窗台上摸到火柴盒,抽出一根火柴,划着,点燃了一盏锈满油污的煤油灯。那火苗先是极弱小的一点儿,忽地蹿上来,屋里顿时就明亮了。这是一间很小的屋子,一具褪了色的木柜,两张没上过漆的小板凳,剩下就是炕了。 Ravine ditch, the dawn too late. The number of two eggs to the chicken when the third time, the house is still thick viscous night. He stretched his hand over his thighs and scratched a few times, holding himself up and crawling with two toes, looking for the shoes under the kang, then the ground was dragged out a string of sizzling sounds. He touched the matchbox on the windowsill, pulled a match, paddled and lit a kerosene lamp full of oil. It was a very weak flame that first, suddenly come up, the house suddenly bright. This is a small house, a faded wooden cabinet, two small, unpainted benches, and the rest is a kang.