人生百味
作者：Michael Mount
The trigger and the ring around the trigger were 1）rubbed down into the deeper skin of brass, where the oil of the hands was still built in waves. The sight down the groove of the barrels was still perfect and still straight. I put it into her hands and they bent under the weight of it.
"Are they always this heavy?" she asked.
"This one is bigger," I said. "It's old and they made it when they liked bigger guns."
She put it against her shoulder and the wooden 2）stock 3）dangled loose and low, like a long branch on a small tree. Her hair fell 4）in sheets in front of her eyes and she knocked it away and the gun slipped and she did it all over again.
"I'll be lucky if I can even hit a tree," she said.
I rubbed my finger along the ridges of brass, now turning golden. She had the bag of shells
5）slung over shoulder and it rattled with her steps. We came out of the shadow of the woods and onto the green carpet of meadow. The sunlight brushed over everything like warm butter. I stopped and she stopped and the only sound was the slight stir of 6）critters in the leaves.
"Where are they?" she said.
"At the marsh down there," I said, and I pointed to the edge of the meadow where the slight green feathers stirred in the grass like puppets. I showed her how to break the barrel and put shells in.
"Just keep it high and don't shoot me," I said.