阅读理解
A
The lights go out—another power failure.“Get the candles，” Mom says, and I do.My younger brother and I search every room to collect the tall candles and votives (烛台) spaced around the house.I hurry from shelf to shelf gathering wax(蜡) sticks in my arms and place them in the living room, a few candles in each corner except for a small red votive.That one I keep.It is the one I will take to the coffee table to use to read.I slide my book, Things Fall Apart, beside the candle holder, determined to finish the last three chapters, but lacking determination.So the book remains closed.A sigh escapes my brother’s lips.
“This is boring，” he says.A drop of wax falls on my book.“I know，” I say, but really, I am enjoying the stillness.I like to watch the candle burn and feel that life is simple.I like to look out of the window into an immediate darkness unspoiled by unpleasant light.I love these silent moments when I feel as if I can live the way they lived, the people of the past—the Egyptians，the Pilgrims(朝圣者), the Greeks—anyone who ever lived to see the black color I’m seeing，anyone who lived to see a yellow flame and depended on it.I feel at once with a secret, ancient age.I’m convinced that night, in this disturbed state, is the closest a person can get to experiencing the past.
