早晨,钟敲十下的时候,我沿着我们的小巷到学校去。
每天我都遇见那个小贩,他叫道:“镯子呀,亮晶晶的镯子!”
他没有什么事情急着要做,他没有哪条街一定要走,他没有什么地方一定要去,他没有什么规定的时间一定要回家。
我愿意我是一个小贩,在街上过日子,叫着:“镯子呀,亮晶晶的镯子!”
下午四点,我从学校里回家。
从一家门口,我看见一个园丁在那里掘地。
他用他的锄子,要怎么掘,便怎么掘,他被尘土污了衣裳,如果他被太阳晒黑了或是身上被打湿了,都没有人骂他。
我愿意我是一个园丁,在花园里掘地,谁也不来阻止我。
天色刚黑,妈妈就送我上床。
从开着的窗口,我看见更夫走来走去。
小巷又黑又冷清,路灯立在那里,像一个头上生着一只红眼睛的巨人。
更夫摇着他的提灯,跟他身边的影子一起走着,他一生一次都没有上床去过。
我愿意我是一个更夫,整夜在街上走,提了灯去追逐影子。
Mother, your baby is silly! She is so absurdly childish!
She does not know the difference between the lights in the streets and the stars.
When we play at eating with pebbles, she thinks they are real food, and tries to put them into her mouth.
When I open a book before her and ask her to learn her a, b, c, she tears the leaves with her hands and roars for joy at nothing; this is your baby’s way of doing her lesson.
When I shake my head at her in anger and scold her and call her naughty, she laughs and thinks it great fun.
Everybody knows that father is away, but, if in play I call aloud “Father,” she looks about her in excitement and thinks that father is near.
When I hold my class with the donkeys that our washerman brings to carry away the clothes and I warn her that I am the schoolmaster, she will scream for no reason and call me dada.
Your baby wants to catch the moon. She is so funny; she calls Ganesh Ganush.
Mother, your baby is silly, she is so absurdly childish!