The night was so dark. We held vigils near the metal woklike two chopsticks that Mother did not get to washno longer able to pick up any foodWhen a person departs, how much does the person take awayI calculate the particles on my stomach liningthe big ones are called pain, so are the small onesAt noon, we buried the biggest potato in the worldFrom then on, there would be no more naggingWhat she said has already become leaf buds, the hoe she used isrusty, and the fire she had builtalready extinguished. When I reignited the fire, hands trembling, italready moved from the stove to the incense altarThere will be no one to sleep so close to youIn such a dark and vast country night, you will never sleepas deeply as you used to. We kept up the vigil till early morningI said, father, let me lie down with you one more timeAt these words, I fell down into the placeyou freed up for meI carefully caressed your big scrawny footfrom the toe upward, to your ankle and then kneeonly to return to my own chestThere, my heart beat quicker and quicker. I heardbarking outside the window, as if the dog recognized hersulkily, mournfully, it sniffedCaught in the world’s rutI stretched my trembling hands toward you, only to realizeyou were already sitting up against the headboard. So many dark apparitionsglided past the plastic film-covered windowyet no more what’s familiar to you but strange to methe sound of wok scraping 与父亲同眠夜晚如此漆黑。我们守在这口铁锅中像还没有来得及被母亲洗干净的两支筷子再也夹不起任何食物一个人走了，究竟能带走多少？我细算着黏附在胃壁里的粉末大的叫痛苦，小的依旧是中午时分，我们埋葬了世上最大的那颗土豆从此，再也不会有人来唠叨了她说过的话已变成了叶芽，她用过的锄头已经生锈，还有她生过的火灭了，当我哆嗦着再次点燃，火已经从灶膛里转移到了香案上再也不会有人挨你这么近睡觉了在漆黑而广阔的乡村夜色中，再也不会睡得那么沉。我们坚持到了凌晨我说父亲，让我再陪你一觉吧话音刚落，就倒在了你腾给我的空白中我小心触摸着你瘦骨嶙峋的大脚从你的脚趾上移，依次是你的脚踝和膝盖最后又返回到自己的胸口那里，一颗心越跳越快，我听见狗在窗外狂叫，接着好像认出了来人悻悻地，哀鸣着，嗅着她无力拔出人世的脚窝我又一次颤抖着将手伸向你，却发现你已经披衣坐在床头。多少漆黑的斑块从蒙着塑料薄膜的窗口一晃而过再也没有你熟悉的，再也没有我陌生的刮锅底的声音