小說《The lover》裏的精彩段落， 美的像一幅絕世的油畫。。
。。。
I can't really remember the days. The light of the sun
blurred and annihilated all color. But the nights, I
remember them. The blue was more distant than the sky,
beyond all depths, covering the bounds of the world. The
sky, for me, was the stretch of pure brilliance crossing the
blue, that cold coalescence beyond all color. Sometimes, it
was in Vinh Long, when my mother was sad she'd order
the gig and we'd drive out into the country to see the nights
it was in the dry season. I had that good fortune- those
nights, that mother. The light fell from the sky in cataracts
of pure transparency, in torrents of silence and immobility.
The air was blue, you could hold it in your hand. Blue. The
sky was the continual throbbing of the brilliance of the
light. The night lit up everything, all the country on either
bank of the river as far as the eye could reach. Every night
was different, each one had a name as long as it lasted.
Their sound was that of the dogs, the country dogs baying
at mystery. They answered on another from village to
village, until the time and space of the night were utterly
consumed.
