沒有人能真正把雨的聲音研究徹底。事實上雨就像鋼琴一樣沉默。你只能等待雨。全世界最被動的鋼琴家不過如此。雨會選擇你。或選擇紙張。鐵皮加蓋。人工湖。流浪狗。或許專挑黑色的。等待那粒鋼琴向目標砸來——。唯有接觸才能知道它的天分。那天雨下得特別慷慨，彷彿是由某位天才瘋狂的作曲家負責工程，好比說，二十六歲的舒曼。雨像C大調幻想曲那樣全面地覆蓋，看不見的他，在那天看見城市完整的天際線。

沒有人能真正把雨的聲音研究徹底。杜爾仰頭看著灰色的天空。從一片髒兮兮的地方，翻出一張口袋，很快地又縮了回去。從裡頭掉出的碎珠子，開始向下墜，由0拉長到1，打中杜爾的額頭，分裂成其它八個數字。杜爾穿起雨衣，刻意保持距離。他感覺自己暫時躲進地底下。數字在幾毫米外低音量加減乘除。杜爾彷彿聽見蘑菇從土裡冒出頭的聲音。

No one has ever thoroughly studied the sounds of rain. In fact, the rain is as silent as the piano. You can only wait for the rain. The most passive pianist in the world also waits like that. The rain chooses you. Or paper. A tin-sheet cover. A man-made lake. A stray dog. Or maybe it chooses anything black. You wait for the piano to strike the target real hard——. You know its talent only by the touch. The rain fell with exceptional generosity that day, as if it were the work of a certain mad genius composer. Let’s say, it’s Schumann, aged twenty-six. The rain shrouded everything like a Fantasia in C major, and he, who was blind, saw the city’s complete skyline that day.

No one has ever thoroughly studied the sounds of rain. Durr looked at the gray sky. He pulled out a pocket from a filthy place and quickly put it back into place. The broken beads that fell out began to fall, stretching from 0 to 1, hitting Durr’s forehead, then splitting into the other eight numbers. Durr put on his raincoat, and deliberately kept his distance. He felt that he was hiding underground, but it wouldn’t be long. The numbers added, subtracted, multiplied and divided among themselves at a low volume just a few millimeters away. Durr seemed to hear the sound of mushrooms bulging from the soil.