1990年夏天,曾智中兄和我骑自行车去李劼人故居喝茶。故居名为菱窠,坐落于狮子山下,周遭农田菜畦,全然郊野风光。一圈竹篱围住几间土坯瓦屋,有院门,但不收门票,几个老头在老樟树下摆龙门阵,喝茶,玩鸟。屋里,李劼人倘若还活着,还在写小说,他心里一定是踏实的,隔窗望望,脸上也有会心微笑的。他小说的好,是弥漫了市声、烟火气。阳春白雪?这个他懂的。他去过巴黎,翻译过左拉,但他笔下的 The summer of 1990, Zeng Zhizhong brother and I ride to the former residence of Li Kui tea. Former residence named Ling Luo, is located in the Lion Rock, surrounded by farmland 畦, full of country scenery. A circle of bamboo fence surrounded by a few adobe tile house, a courtyard door, but do not accept tickets, a few old man in the old camphor Longmen array, drinking tea, playing birds. In the house, if Li Li is still alive and still writing novels, his heart must be pragmatic, looking across the window, his face is also knowing smile. The good of his novel is filled with the sound of the city, the smoke of fire. Spring snow? This he knows. He has been to Paris, translated Zola, but he wrote