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失窃的孩子|The Stolen Child

第18章|Chapter 18

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 凯斯-唐纳胡] 阅读：[13516]
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尽管我们谨慎筹划，还是铸成了大错。那一系列的噩运和错误造成了他的死亡，我在其中的作用虽然微乎其微，但我至今耿耿于怀。我更难过的是，六月的那两天中发生的改变，一连好几年，我们都因此心生彷徨。我们都不想干坏事。我们都为自己的行为负责，要不是我们遗漏或忽略了一些步骤，事故也不会发生。回想起来，也许我们的计划做过头了。他们可以潜入拉甫家中，把睡梦中的奥斯卡抓走，然后不慌不忙地把伊格尔塞到被子里。那个孩子每次总是在外面独自玩耍几个小时，我们可以在光天化日之下把他擒住，然后把伊格尔换回去吃饭。或者我们也可以跳过水中净化的步骤。谁现在还相信那个古老的神话呢? 这事不该以如此伤心的结局收场。

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一个六月的晚上，奥斯卡·拉甫出来玩，穿着蓝色的短裤和胸口有字的衬衫。

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他趿着拖鞋，脚趾间夹着泥块，在草地上把球踢来踢去。鲁契克和我爬到一棵无花果树上，在树枝上坐了约摸几个小时，看着他随意玩耍，想把他诱入森林。我们发出五花八门的叫声：小狗的汪汪声、小猫的喵喵声、小鸟的悲鸣、一只聪明的老猫头鹰的叫声，还有母牛、马、猪、鸡、鸭的叫声。但他对我们模仿的叫声置若罔闻。

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鲁契克学着婴儿的啼声，我假扮女孩的声音，接着又扮男孩。奥斯卡充耳不闻，只顾听他自己脑海中的音乐。我们叫他名字，答应要给他一个惊喜，说我们是圣诞老人。我们无计可施，只好从树上下来，鲁契克突然冒出个好主意，他唱起了歌，孩子立刻跟着歌声进了森林。

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只要歌声不停，他就寻找声源，好奇心把他迷得晕头转向。我心中知道，童话故事不该如此，这样会有不快的结局。

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溪边的树丛后，大家埋下了伏兵，鲁契克把孩子引到林子深处。

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奥斯卡站在河边望着水流和石头，音乐停下后，他发现自己迷路了。

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他开始眨巴眼睛，强忍要呜咽的冲动。

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“看看他，安尼戴，”鲁契克从藏身处对我说，“他让我想起我们最近一个成为换生灵的人。他有点问题。”

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“你说‘问题’是什么意思? ”

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“看他的眼睛。好像他并不真的在那里似的。”

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我细看了一下孩子的面庞，他确实看起来和环境脱节。他一动不动地站着，低头对着水面，仿佛惊愕于自己的倒影。他们一声呼哨，从灌木丛中冲出来。鸟儿被突如其来的大动作惊起，鸣叫着展翅飞走。躲在蕨草中的野兔惊慌逃窜，棉尾兔一闪而没。但奥斯卡无动于衷地站着，神思恍惚，直到仙灵们快扑到身上时才反应过来。他捂住嘴发出一声尖叫，他们跳上前来，手脚利落地把他按倒在地。他顿时淹没在挥舞的细胳膊大腿、狂野的目光和龇出的牙齿中。若不是先前说好是要抓他，我会以为他们要把他杀了。特别是伊格尔，简直就是袭击，用膝盖把男孩顶在地上，把一块布头塞进他嘴里堵住他的哭喊，还用一条葡萄藤在孩子腰间捆了一道，把他的双手绑到背后。伊格尔拖着奥斯卡，带着我们从小路回营了。

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多年以后，卡维素芮对我说，伊格尔的行为有多么失常。按理说，换生灵应该在绑架孩子之前就把自己变成孩子的模样，但伊格尔却让孩子看到他的样子。他没有立刻变身，而是玩弄孩子。赞扎拉把孩子绑在树上，拔掉他嘴里的布头。也许是吓得说不出话来，奥斯卡只是眼睁睁地看着发生的这一切，湿漉漉的黑眼睛盯着折磨他的人。伊格尔把自己的脸折腾得和孩子一个模样。我受不了看那脸部痛苦的扭曲，也受不了听软骨爆裂、骨头弯折的声音。我到树后去大吐特吐，再也不去多看一眼，直到伊格尔把自己塑造成男孩的翻版。

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“你明白吗，奥斯卡? ”伊格尔和他面对面站着，戏弄他。“我是你，我就要取代你的位置了，而你要和他们待在这里。”

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孩子直瞪着他，好像照镜子时认不得自己的影像。我忍住冲动没有过去好言好语地安慰他。斯帕克走到我身边，呸了一声：“这太残忍了。”

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伊格尔从他的受害者身边走开，对我们发话说：“伙计们，姑娘们，我和你们相处了太长的时间，现在要走了。我在这个地狱里的日子结束了，你们还得过下去。

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你们的天堂正在消失。每天早晨，我都听见汽车震耳欲聋的声音，感到头顶上飞机的颤动。空气里有煤灰，水里有泥土，所有的鸟雀一去不返。世界在变，你们能走就走。我不高兴和这个低能儿交换，但总比留在这里好。”他向树林和星空挥舞了一下手臂，“因为这些很快就会没有了。”

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伊格尔走到奥斯卡身前，给他松绑，握着他的手。他们完全一样，说不出谁是真货，谁又是盗版。“现在我要到地道里去，给这个可怜的傻瓜讲个故事。我会拿走他的衣服和这双难看的鞋子，接着你们就能执行洁净仪式。他要去洗个澡。我会从另一头爬出去。再见了。来吧，人类的孩子。”

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他在前面走了，奥斯卡回头看了一眼，目光没有透露半分情绪。

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很快，仙灵们去地道入口把奥斯卡剥光的身体拉出来。他们把他裹在一张葡萄藤和蜘蛛丝做的网里。整个过程中他都泰然白若，但目光越发警惕，好像他故意要做出平静的样子。我们把他举到肩头就跑，踏过灌木丛跑向河边。一直跑到水边，我才发现斯帕克没有跟上来。我们的新领袖贝卡念起咒语，我们则把包裹高高地举起，投了下去。半空中，那个躯体弯了过来，头朝下栽进水中．。一半人追了过去，要取回这个身体，这也是仪式要求的。像他们多年前对我做过的那样，也正如我们都经历过的那样，得把这个躯体拉上岸。我站在那里，决定帮那个男孩一把，我会在他的过渡期给予万分理解和耐心。

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这些希望都落空了。回收者们等在岸边，准备把躯体从水里捞上来，但它没有浮起来。虽然斯茂拉赫和卡维素芮都非常害怕水淹，但他们还是蹬进了河里。不一会儿，所有的仙灵都进了齐腰深的河水，疯狂地寻找我们的包裹。奥尼恩斯一次次潜入水中，弄得筋疲力尽，气都喘不过来，差点爬不上岸。贝卡顺着水流跑到浅水区去查看，躯体有可能搁浅在那里。但还是找不到奥斯卡。我们从晚上守到天亮，检查了每块石头、每根树枝，看看他的身体是否挂在了哪里，我们寻拔所有的迹象，但河水没有泄露丁点的秘密。孩子消失了。

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到了中午，一条狗在山谷中狂吠。齐维和布鲁玛被派去侦察入侵者。

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半小时后，她们脸红气急地回来了，把我们从河岸的各个地方召集回来。

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“他们来了，”布鲁玛说，“带着两条侦探犬。”

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“消防队员和警察。”齐维说。

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“他们会找到我们的营寨。”

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“伊格尔把孩子的气味带到我们家里来了。”

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狗叫声在山岭间回响。救援队越来越近了。贝卡刚上任就赶上了第一起紧急情况，他叫我们听他说话，“快，回营寨。把所有的东西都藏好。我们待在地道里直到他们离开。”

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齐维对我们其他人大声说道：“来的人太多了。”

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“那些狗，”布鲁玛补充说，“它们会跟到地下去，在地道入口遮盖树叶这种小把戏骗不倒它们。”

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贝卡面露为难之色，他开始踱步，拳头紧握在身后，前额上青筋跳动，“我说我们躲起来等着。”

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“我们要逃跑。”斯茂拉赫平静地说道，声音里透着权威。我们大多数人都站到他那边，“我这辈子这么多年，他们从来没有这样接近过我们。”

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鲁契克跨前一步，对贝卡说：“这群强盗已经深入树林，比以前任何一个人类都进得深。你这样想是锚误的……”

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贝卡抬起手要打他，奥尼恩斯抓住他的手，“但那个男孩怎么办? ”

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我们的新领袖背过身宣布说：“奥斯卡走了。伊格尔也走了。该做的已经做了，我们得自救。把你们能带的都带上，剩下的藏好。但要快，我们得比他们跑得快。”

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我们对留在水中的奥斯卡弃之不顾，自己冲回家。别人都在藏有用的东西——埋藏罐子和刀具，罐头食品和衣服——我却收拾我的纸张，并做了个袋子把它们装起来。我有几件东西安全地留在图书馆下面，但还有日记和一堆铅笔头，画着我的家人和梦中红衣女子的画，以及一些宝贝( 斯帕克送的礼物) 。我很快准备好了，急忙去找她。

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“你去哪里了? ”我问，“你为什么不去河边? ”

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“发生了什么事? ”

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“我们没找到他。伊格尔怎么样了? ”

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“他一爬出来就哭。”

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“他哭? ”我帮她把枝叶堆到地道入口处。

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“像个小孩子似的，”她说，“他昏昏沉沉地爬出来，看到我留在后面，就跑走了。他可能还躲在附近。”

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我们收拾好东西，跟大家爬上山岭，如今是一帮难民。山下的空地上一无所有，这样或许可以骗过人，但骗不了狗。

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“我们永远不会回来了。”斯帕克说。

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贝卡嗅了嗅空气，“狗。人。我们走。”

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现在我们是十一个人了，我们逃跑了。侦探犬凄厉的叫声在山中回响，越来越近。我们闻到它们正在接近，听到人们激动的声音。

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血红的太阳悬在地平线上，搜寻者已经进入我们的视线范围，两个健壮的年轻人拉着拴狗皮带，气喘吁吁地跟着狗跑。劳格诺在路上跌了一跤，包裹掉了，里面的东西在碎叶上撒了一地。我回过身看着他把自己的铁锹捡起来，这时我见到一顶红帽子在他身后一闪，那人没有看到我们。赞扎拉伸手一把拉起劳格诺，我们飞快地赶上了大家，把细微的线索留在了那里。

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我们跑了几小时，像被追赶的狐狸一样渡过溪流，掩盖我们的气味，最后，在一丛荨麻里躲了起来。太阳落到了树梢下面，人和狗的声音渐去渐远。他们回去了。

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我们在那里露营过夜，放下包裹，稍事放松。我刚刚藏好自己的纸，贝卡就大步走到我面前，挺着胸膛准备发号施令。

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“回去看看，什么时候才能安全回去。”

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“我自己去? ”

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“叫上一个和你同去，”他扫视了一遍手下，不怀好意地看着我，“带上斯帕克。”

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我们蹬过蜿蜒的小溪，向我们的追踪者走去，时而停步倾听，张望是否有危险。

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走到水中央时，斯帕克猛地一跃，跳上一块大石头。

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“安尼戴，你还想离开吗? ”

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“离开? 去哪儿? ”

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“就是离开，现在。我们能走。我不知道。往西走，去加利福尼亚看深蓝色的大海。”

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水中发出一个声音，我们停下说话。可能是一个人的蹬水声，也可能是狗渡过溪流的泼刺声，或者是鹿晚上来喝水。

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“你不会走的，是吗，斯帕克? ”

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“你听到了吗? ”她问。

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我们静下来凝神倾听，爬过灌木丛，小心翼翼地探查着那个声音。一百码外的下游有种非常奇特的气味——既非人类也非动物，而是一种兼而有之的东西。我俩沿着河岸移动时，我觉得胃痛了起来。转了个弯，在树叶间微弱的光线下，我们快接近他了，但还没看到这个人。

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“谁在那里? ”那人说，接着一猫腰想要藏起来。

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“斯帕克，”我低声说，“那是我父亲。”

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斯帕克踮起脚尖，朝那个蹲伏的人窥视了一眼，接着把手指放在嘴唇上。她翕动着鼻翼，做了个深呼吸。她拉住我的手，像只狐狸一样带我悄悄溜走了。

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Mistakes were made, despite our careful planning. I am troubled to this day by my part, however minor, in the series of misfortunes and errors that led to his death. I am even more sorry about the changes wrought by those two days in June, which consequences confounded us for years. That none of us intended any harm matters not at all. We are responsible for our actions, even when accidents occur, if only for the steps we omitted or neglected. In retrospect, perhaps we overplanned. They could have sneaked into the Loves’ house, snatched Oscar while he slept, and innocently tucked Igel under the covers. The boy always was left alone to play for hours at a time. We could have grabbed him in broad daylight and sent in a changed Igel for dinner. Or we could have skipped the purification by water. Who still believes in that old myth? It did not have to end in such a heartbreaking way.

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Oscar Love came out to play on a June evening, dressed in blue shorts and a shirt with writing across the chest. He wore sandals, dirt caked between his toes, and kicked a ball back and forth across the lawn. Luchóg and I had climbed a sycamore and sat in the branches for what felt like hours, watching his mindless game and trying to attract him into the woods. We broadcast a menagerie of sounds: a puppy, a mewing kitten, birds in distress, a wise old owl, a cow, a horse, a pig, a chicken, a duck. But he took scant notice of our imitations. Luchóg cried like a baby; I threw my voice, disguised as a girl’s, then a boy’s. Oscar was deaf to all that, hearing instead the music in his mind. We called out his name, promised him a surprise, pretended to be Santa Claus. Stumped, we descended, and Luchóg had the bright idea to sing, and the boy immediately followed the melody into the forest. As long as the song continued, he sought its source, dazed by curiosity. In my heart, I knew that this is not the way fairytales should be, bound for an unhappy ending.

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Hidden behind trees by a creek, the gang lay in ambush, and Luchóg lured the boy deeper into the woods. Oscar stood on the bank considering the water and the stones, and when the music stopped he realized how lost he was, for he began to blink his eyelids, fighting back the urge to weep.

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"Look at him, Aniday," Luchóg said from our hideaway. "He reminds me of the last one of us to become a changeling. Something wrong with him."

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"What do you mean, ’wrong’?"

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"Look in his eyes. It’s as if he’s not really all there."

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I studied the boy’s face, and indeed he seemed detached from his situation. He stood motionless, head bowed to the water, as if stunned by his own reflection. A whistle signaled the others, and they rushed from the bushes. Birds, alarmed by the sudden violence, cried out and took wing. Hidden among the ferns, a rabbit panicked and bounded away, cottontail flashing. But Oscar stood impassive and entranced and did not react until the faeries were nearly upon him. He brought his hand up to his mouth to cover his scream, and they pounced on him, tackling him to the ground with swift ferocity. He all but disappeared in the swirl of flailing limbs, wild eyes, and bared teeth. Had the capture not been explained beforehand, I would have thought they were killing him. Igel, in particular, relished the assault, pinning the boy to the ground with his knees and cramming a cloth in his mouth to muffle his cries. With a vine, he cinched the boy around the middle, pinning his arms to his sides. Pulling Oscar down the trail, Igel led us all back to camp.

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Years later, Chavisory explained to me how out of the ordinary Igel’s behavior had been. The changeling was supposed to model his own body and features to match the child before the kidnapping. But Igel let the boy see him as he was. Rather than making the switch immediately, he taunted the child. Zanzera tied Oscar to a tree and removed the gag from the boy’s mouth. Per-haps the shock silenced him, for all Oscar could do was watch in dumb amazement the happening before him, his dark eyes moist yet fixed on his tormentors. Igel tortured his own face into a replica. I could not bear the painful grimaces, could not stomach the cracking cartilage, the wrenching bone. I vomited behind a tree and stayed away until Igel had finished molding himself into a copy of the boy.

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"Do you understand, Oscar?" Igel taunted him, standing nose-to-nose. "I am you and will take your place, and you will stay here with them."

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The child stared at him, as if looking in the mirror yet not recognizing his own reflection. I fought back the urge to go to Oscar, to offer kindness and reassurance. Speck sidled up to me and spat out, "This is cruel."

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Stepping away from his victim, Igel addressed us: "Boys and girls. I have been with you for too long and now take my leave. My time in this hell is done, and you may have it. Your paradise is vanishing. Every morning, I hear the encroaching roar of cars, feel the shudder of planes overhead. There’s soot in the air, dirt in the water, and all the birds fly away and never come back. The world is changing, and you must go while you can. I am not pleased to be trading places with this imbecile, but better that than to remain here." He swept his arms to the trees and the star-filled skies. "For this will soon be gone."

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Igel walked over to Oscar and untied him and held his hand. They were identical; it was impossible to tell who was real and who was the spit and image. "I’m going down below to the tunnel now to tell a story to this poor idiot. I’ll take his clothes and those disgusting shoes, then you may perform the ablution. He could do with a bath. I will crawl out on the other side. Adieu. Come away, human child."

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As he was being led off, Oscar looked back once more, his gaze disguising all emotion. Soon after, the faeries went to the tunnel entry to pluck out Oscar’s naked body. They wrapped him in a caul of spider’s silk and vines. He remained placid during the process, but his eyes appeared more alert, as if he deliberately was trying to be calm. Hoisting him atop our shoulders, we ran, crashing through the undergrowth toward the river. Until we reached the edge of the water, I did not notice that Speck had stayed behind. Béka, our new leader, proclaimed the incantation as we lifted our package high into the air and threw it. In midair, the body jack-knifed and fell headfirst into the water. Half of the group split off to chase and retrieve the body, as the ceremony required. They were expected to pull it ashore, as they had done with me years before, as had been done with us all. I stood there, determined to be helpful to the boy, to be understanding and patient as he made the transition.

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All such hopes were washed away. The retrievers waited ashore, ready to fish the body from the water, but it never floated to the surface. Despite their severe fear of drowning, Smaolach and Chavisory waded into the river. Soon all of the faeries were in waist-deep, frantically searching for our bundle. Onions dived again and again, until, exhausted and gasping for breath, she could barely climb to the riverbank. Béka charged downstream to a ford where the body would most likely be snagged in the shallows. But Oscar could not be found. We kept vigil there all night and well into the morning, examining the stones and tree limbs where his body might have been caught, looking for any sign, but the water did not yield its secrets. The boy was gone. Around midday, below in the valley, a dog yowled with excitement. Kivi and Blomma were sent to look out for the intruders. Red-faced and panting, they came back a half hour later, collecting us from our scattered posts along the riverbank.

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"They’re coming," said Blomma, "with a pair of bloodhounds."

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"The firemen and policemen," said Kivi.

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"They’ll find our camp."

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"Igel brought the boy’s scent to our home."

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The sound of baying dogs echoed in the hills. The rescuers drew near. In his first crisis as our new leader, Béka commanded our attention. "Quick, back to camp. Hide everything. We’ll stay in the tunnels until they leave."

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Kivi spoke sharply to the rest of us. "There’s too many coming."

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"The dogs," Blomma added. "They’ve gone to ground and won’t be tricked by a few sticks of brush thrown over the tunnels’ entrances."

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Béka looked perplexed and began to pace, fists clenched behind his hack, a vein of anger throbbing on his forehead. "I say we hide and wait."

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"We need to run." Smaolach spoke with quiet authority. Most of us fell in behind him. "They have never been this close in all my years."

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Luchóg stepped up and confronted Béka. "That mob is already deeper into the woods than any human has come. You’re wrong to think—"

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Béka raised his arm to strike him, but Onions grabbed his hand. "But what about the boy?"

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Our new leader turned from the crowd and announced, "Oscar is gone. Igel is gone. What’s done is done, and we must save ourselves. Gather what you can carry and hide the rest. But be quick, for we will have to outrun them."

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Abandoning Oscar’s body to the waters, we raced home. While others stashed useful items—burying pots or knives, caching food and clothing—I gathered my papers and fashioned a sack to put them in. While a few of my possessions were safe beneath the library, I still had my journal and collection of pencil stubs, my drawing of my family and the dream lady in the red coat, and some treasures—gifts from Speck. I was ready quickly and hurried to find her.

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"Where were you?" I asked. "Why didn’t you come to the river?"

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"What happened?"

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"We never found it. What happened with Igel?"

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"He crawled out and started to cry."

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"He cried?" I began helping her pile brush over the tunnel openings.

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"Like a baby," she said. "He crawled out dazed, and when he saw that I had stayed behind, he ran off. He may be hiding nearby still."

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We gathered our belongings and joined the others, climbing the ridge, now a band of refugees. Below us lay a simple clearing that might fool the men, if not the dogs.

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"We will never come back," Speck said.

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Béka sniffed the air. "Dogs. Humans. Let’s go."

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Now eleven in number, we raced away, the mournful bays of the bloodhounds echoing through the hills, drawing nearer and nearer. We could smell them approaching and heard the excited voices of the men. As the sun set bloodred on the horizon, the searchers came close enough for us to make out two burly fellows, straining at the leashes, gasping to keep up with the dogs. Stumbling on the trail, Ragno dropped his pack and scattered his possessions in the leafy debris. I turned to watch him gathering up his garden spade and saw a red cap flash behind him, the man oblivious to our presence. Zanzara reached out and grabbed Ragno by the hand, and off we sped to the others, leaving behind those few clues.

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We ran for hours, crossing a creek like a hunted fox to mask our scent, cloaking ourselves at last behind a tangle of nettles. The sun dipped below the treeline as the sound of the men and dogs faded. They were circling back. We bivouacked there for the night, laying down our burdens, taking up our anxieties. No sooner had I stashed my papers than Béka strode up to me, his chest puffed out, ready to command.

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"Go back to check when it is safe to return."

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"By myself?"

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Please sign in to unlock the rest

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"Leave? Where would I go?"

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"Just leave, right now. We could go. I don’t know. West to California and stare at the deep blue sea."

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