王爷爷去世了,他是前几天在交税的路上,由于心脏病突发昏倒的。他的遗嘱只有一个字:“税”。下葬时没有熙熙攘攘的致哀人群,也没有如繁星般的花圈,只有绵绵的春雨沙沙地下着。 王爷爷和我家住在同一个小院,七十多岁了,他曾参加过抗美援朝战争,并且还任过连长,在一次美军的空袭中,为保护小司号员,被炸掉了一条腿。后来,战斗胜利回国后,他就住进了这小院。无儿无女的他早些年在一家街办小厂上班,后来 Wang Grandpa died, he was on the road a few days ago in the tax, due to heart disease sudden collapsed. His testament is only one word: “tax.” There was no bustling crowd of sorrows at the time of the funeral, nor the wreaths of stars, but the endless rain of spring. Grandpa and my family lived in the same courtyard, more than seventies, he had participated in the war to resist the war on America and aid the DPRK, and also served as commander in a US air attack, in order to protect the small division staff, was blown off a leg. Later, after returning from the battle, he settled into the small courtyard. He was working in a street small factory earlier and later without a child