十年前的春天,我第一次来到重庆,第一次看到了在西南重镇上的他们。他们走来了。他们三五成群,五七结党,闹市间喧哗而过。他们每个人肩头上搂着一支悠荡着绳套的竹杠,竹杠滑下肩顺在地上时约与使用者齐眉,甩到肩上时便长长短短,因人而异。竹杠一律茶杯粗细,被肩膀和手掌摩挲得光滑油润,被积年的汗水蚀得在正午的骄阳下反着绸缎一样的柔光,仿佛酽茶浓透了的颜色。 Ten years ago in the spring, I first came to Chongqing, for the first time I saw them in the southwest of the town. They are coming. Thirty-five flocks of them, the party of five or seven, busy downtown noise. Each of them had a bamboo arm covered with a sling over his shoulder, and the bamboo bar slipped down and shouldered his shoulders and jerked about with the user, throwing it on his shoulder for a long, short time, varying from person to person. The thickness of the bamboo is the same as that of the teacup. It is smooth and moist by the shoulders and the palm of your hand. It is swept by the sweat of the year to the same softness as satin under the midday sun.