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失窃的孩子|The Stolen Child

第22章|Chapter 22

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 凯斯-唐纳胡] 阅读：[13523]
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我们都担心还会再发生什么事。在贝卡的带领下，我们在森林中漂泊，从来没有在一个地方连续待过三个夜晚。为了等待贝卡的指示，贝卡还给我们带来了混乱。

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我们争夺食物和水，还有休息的地方。劳格诺和赞扎拉不顾最起码的形象，头发像葡萄藤似的缠结，皮肤上裹着一层土，人变得黑糊糊的。卡维素芮、布鲁玛和齐维生着闷气，有时一连数日不开口。鲁契克因为缺烟和无聊变得无比焦躁，为鸡毛蒜皮的小事都能暴跳如雷，若不是斯茂拉赫脾气温和，他们早就打了起来。我经常看到斯茂拉赫在吵架过后两眼望地，一把一把地拔着青草。斯帕克更加不合群了，退居到自己的想像中去，每当她提出要和我单独待一会儿时，我就很乐意和她一道离开大伙儿。

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秋老虎那段时日，白昼渐短，但天气仍然暖和。小阳春里，野玫瑰和别的花儿再度欣欣向荣，莓果也长出来了。在这场意外的康慨恩赐中，蜜蜂和其他昆虫延长了生命，热烈地追逐甜香。鸟群推迟了南迁。就连树木也延缓了落叶，从黯淡的色调一转变得绿意盎然。

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“安尼戴，”她说，“听。它们来了。”

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我们坐在一块空地边上，什么都不做，只是沐浴着不同寻常的阳光。斯帕克抬起头，倾听天空中翅膀的拍击声。鸦群降落后，张着尾巴在野覆盆子丛中迈步，跳到嫩芽堆里大快朵颐。山谷中回荡着它们的唧唧喳喳声。她的手环过我的背，放在我肩膀上，头也靠在我身上。树叶经了轻风，摇碎了一地阳光。

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“看那只。”她指着一只落单的乌鸦，柔声说道。一条弯弯曲曲的茎的顶端长着一颗饱满的红草莓，它正费力地朝它扑过去。这只坚持不懈的鸟儿把茎扯到地上，用尖而弯的脚踏住，然后飞快地三口就啄掉了草莓。饱餐后，这只鸟儿唱起了歌，随后就飞走了，翅膀在斑驳的光线中扇动，接着鸦群也飞走了，在十月初的下午远去。

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“我刚来时，”我对她坦白说，“我害怕这些乌鸦，它们每天晚上回到我们家周围的树上。”

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“你以前哭得像个婴儿，”她轻声地缓缓说道，“我想知道把一个婴儿抱在怀里是什么感觉，觉得就像一个成年女人，而不是瘦得一把骨头。我记得你母亲，她在某些想不到的地方非常柔软，又圆又厚实，比看上去更加强壮。”

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“跟我说说他们是什么样子，我的家人。我又发生了什么事? ”

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“你还是个小孩时，”她开始说了，“我就观察着你。你是我的任务。我认得你母亲：她喜欢把你抱在膝上，给你读爱尔兰的古老故事，还把你叫做她的‘小家伙’。你可是个自私的孩子，老是想要更多，母亲对你的妹妹们稍加关心，你就急得不行。”

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“妹妹们? ”我问道，完全记不得了。

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“双胞胎。女婴。”

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她确认了我原来有两个妹妹，我为此心生感激。

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“你讨厌帮助她们，为你的时间不是用来做你想做的事生气。

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哦，就是这样的小子。你母亲照顾着双胞胎，替你父亲担心，没有人帮她忙。

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她都累坏了，你却因此更加生气。一个不快乐的小孩……”

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她的话音停了一刻，手搭在我胳膊上。

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“他就像只狐狸一样在池塘边候着你，在农场里到处捣蛋——撞坏篱笆啦，偷走母鸡啦，撕破晾晒的床单啦。他想要你的生活，而轮到哪个是毋庸置疑的。每双眼睛都盯着你好几个月，期待着你闹脾气。后来，你离家出走了。”

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斯帕克把我拉近了些，手指抚摸着我的头发，把我的头靠在她的颈窝里。

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“她让你早饭后去给婴儿们洗脸，这样她就能很快地洗个澡，但你把她们留在屋子里，想想看吧。‘待在这里玩你们的娃娃。妈妈在浴室里，我要出去，所以别惹麻烦。’你出门去了，在明亮的黄色天空下抛着球玩，看着草坪上在你奔跑的步伐前逃开的蚱蜢。我想和你一起玩，但是得有人去看着小娃娃。我溜进去，蹲在厨房的台案下，希望她们不会注意到我，也不会弄伤她们自己。她们正处在好奇的年龄，会去打开厨门，玩漂白粉和家具清洁剂，把手指伸进毒鼠药里，或者打开餐具抽屉玩刀子，或者拿到了酒，把威士忌喝个精光。她裹上浴袍，边唱歌边吹干头发时，她们正处于危险之中。

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“这时候，你溜达到了森林边，想要发现一个惊喜。干燥的落叶和树枝的阴影间有什么大家伙在动，在黯淡的光线里跑过去，枝条咔嗒作响。一只兔子? 也许是只狗或小鹿吧? 你的母亲走下阶梯，平静地呼唤你，然后发现女孩们独自在桌子上跳舞。你在光影斑驳的小路上探头探脑。你身后一双有力的手抓住你的肩膀，把你扳过去。

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你母亲站在那里，头发还在滴水，脸上带着怒气。

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一你怎能就这样走开了? ’她问道，你看见双胞胎在草地上蹒跚而行，她一只手紧握着一把木勺，你知道大事不妙，就跑开了，她赶在后面，边追边笑。你无路可逃，她拉住你的胳膊，狠狠地打你的屁股，木勺断成两截。”

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斯帕克把我搂得更紧。

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“但你一直是个淘气鬼。你屁股痛，还露给她看。她做好了午饭，你连碰都不碰，一句话也不说。她把娃娃抱去睡觉时，微笑了一下，你就怒目而视。后来你用手帕包了点吃的，放在口袋里，一声不响地溜出门去。整个下午我都跟着你。”

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“我一个人的时候害怕吗? ”

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“要我说的话，你很好奇。马路边上有条几百米长的干涸的小溪，弯弯曲曲地伸进森林，你跟着水道走，听着一两声鸟叫，看着花栗鼠在干草上闪过。我听见伊格尔和贝卡打信号，贝卡又和我们的首领打了个唿哨。你坐在青草岸边，吃着一块饼干和剩下来的冷蛋，他们就过来捉你了。”

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“每次树叶一动，”我对她说，“就有一只魔鬼出来捉我。”

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“在这条小溪的东边，有一棵老栗树，树干裂开，从根部枯死了。

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一只动物在里面挖了个大洞，你爬进去看个究竟。里面阴暗潮湿，仿马上睡着了。我一直站在外面，搜寻人员一来我就躲起来，他们差点绊到你身上。飞掠的手电筒光带领着他们黑暗的形体，他们磕磕绊绊的，就像鬼魂穿过沉重的空气似的，手电筒光扫来扫去，引着他们黑暗的身影往前走。他们过去了，不久喊声在远方渐渐消失，然后安静了。

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“人们离开不久，仙灵从四面八方跳出来，站在我面前，我是树前的哨兵。那个换生灵喘着气。他和你长得那么像，我屏住气想叫出来。他爬到洞里，抓住你光光的脚踝，拖了出来。”

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她抱着我，吻了我的额头。

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“如果我换回去了，”我问她，“我还能再见到你吗? ”

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尽管我问了很多问题，她认为我不该知道的事，就不多说了，过了一会了，我们去采莓果。虽然天气还有点仲夏的样子，但地球正毫不停息地离太阳远去。夜晚转眼间到来。夜幕中浮现着行星和恒星，苍白的月亮渐渐升起，我们在满天星月下往回走。回去时，他们朝我们淡淡一笑，我奇怪为什么这些在我们临时住所里的瘦孩子不去看乌鸦，不去做他们自己的梦。粥在火上咕咕冒泡，大家用木勺在木碗里吃，碗勺都舔得干干净净。我们把衬衫下摆兜着的覆盆子果儿倒出来，虽然这些撞伤的果子已经不再可口，他们还是纷纷往嘴里塞，边笑边嚼，嘴唇染得通红，像巧克力糖果似的。

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第二天，贝卡宣布他找到了我们的新家。“除了最勇猛的人，别的都到不了那儿，我们在那里藏身很安全。”他带领我们走上一座陡峭、荒寂的山，板岩和页岩一碰就松动，地表风化，一个典型不适合居住的地方。没有生命的迹象，没有任何种类的树木花草，除了从碎石里探出来的几株害草。没有鸟儿降落在那里，甚至停下来歇一歇的也没有，也没有任何飞虫，不过我们后来发现了蝙蝠。除了我们首领的足迹，也没有别的脚印。极目空无一物，除了我们这帮疲惫的旅人。爬山时，我奇怪贝卡怎么会想要找到这样一块地方，更别提把它当做家了。任何其他人只要看一眼这种寸草不生的地方，都会耸耸肩膀走开。景象像月球一样的荒芜，让人毫无感觉，快走到时，我才看到岩石里的缝隙。我的伙伴们一个接一个地挤过岩缝，被石头吞没了。从秋老虎的晴热天气一下子进入黑暗的过道，感觉就像潜入了冰冷的池塘。我的瞳孔在黑暗中张大了，甚至没看清我问的是谁：“我们在哪里? ”

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“这是个矿井，”斯帕克说，“一个早就被遗弃的矿井，他们以前在这里挖煤。”

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前面刚点燃的火把闪耀出黯淡的光芒。贝卡做了个怪相，脸上有种古怪而不自然的阴影。他龇牙一笑，嘶哑着喉咙对我们说：“欢迎到家。”

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We were afraid of what might happen next. Under Béka’s direction, we roamed the woods, never camping in the same place for more than three nights in a row. Waiting for some decision from Béka brewed a disease among us. We fought over food, water, the best resting places. Ragno and Zanzara neglected the most basic grooming; their hair tangled in vinelike riots, and their skin darkened beneath a film of dirt. Chavisory, Blomma, and Kivi suffered an angry silence, sometimes not speaking for days on end. Desperate without his smokes and distractions, Luchóg snapped over the tiniest provocation and would have come to blows with Smaolach if not for his friends gentle disposition. I would often find Smaolach after their arguments, staring at the ground, pulling handfuls of grass from the earth. Speck grew more distant, withdrawn into her own imagination, and when she suggested a moment alone together, I gladly joined her away from the others.

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In that Indian summer, the days stayed warm despite the waning of the light, and a second spring brought not only a renewed blossoming of wild roses and other flowers but another crop of berries. With such unexpected bounty, the bees and other insects extended their lives and mad pursuit of sweets. The birds put off their southern migration. Even the trees slowed down their leaving, going from dark saturated hues to paler shades of green.

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"Aniday," she said, "listen. Here they come."

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We were sitting at the edge of a clearing, doing nothing, soaking in the manual sunshine. Speck lifted her head skyward to gather in the shadow of wings beating through the air. When they had all landed, the blackbirds fanned out their tails as they paraded to the wild raspberries, hopping to a tangle of shoots to gorge themselves. The glen echoed with their chatter. She reached ground my back and put her hand on my far shoulder, then rested her head against me. The sunlight danced in patterns on the ground thrown by leaves blowing in the breeze.

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"Look at that one." She spoke softly, pointing her finger at a lone blackbird, struggling to reach a plump red berry at the end of a flexing cane. It persisted, pinned the cane to the ground, impaling the stalk with its sharp hooked feet, then attacked the berry in three quick bites. After its meal, the bird began to sing, then flew away, wings flashing in the dappled light, and then the flock took off and followed into the early October afternoon.

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"When I first came here," I confessed to her, "I was afraid of the crows that returned each night to the trees around our home."

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"You used to cry like a baby." Her voice softened and slowed. "I wonder what it is like to hold a baby in my arms, feel like a grown-up woman instead of sticks and bones. I remember my mother, so soft in unexpected places— rounder, fuller, deeper. Stronger than you’d expect by looking."

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"Tell me what they were like, my family. What happened to me?"

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"When you were a boy," she began, "I watched over you. You were my charge. I knew your mother; she loved to nestle you on her lap as she read to you old Irish tales and called you her ’little man.’ But you were a selfish boy, constantly wanting more and desperate over any attention shown to your little sisters."

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"Sisters?" I asked, not remembering.

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"Twins. Baby girls."

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I was grateful that she could confirm there were two.

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"You resented helping with them, angry that your time was not yours to do with what you pleased. Oh, such a brat. Your mother was taking care of the twins, worrying over your father, with no one to help her. She was worn out by it all, and that made you angrier still. An unhappy child ..." Her voice trailed off for a moment, and she laid her hand on my arm;

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"He waited for you like a fox at the edge of a pond, and he made all sorts of mischief around the farm—a knocked-over fence, a missing hen, the drying sheets torn from the line. He wanted your life, and the one whose turn it is brooks no argument. Every eye was upon you for months, anticipating a moment of petulance. Then, you ran away from home."

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Speck drew me closer, ran her fingers through my hair, laid my head in the crook of her nape.

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"She asked you to wash up the babies after breakfast, so that she might have a quick bath, but you left them all alone in the house, imagine that. ’Now stay here and play with your dollies. Mom’s in the tub, and I’ll be right outside, I so don’t make any trouble.’ And out you stepped to toss a ball into the bright yellow sky and watch the grasshoppers scatter across the lawn before your racing feet. I wanted to come play with you, but someone had to watch the toddlers. I slipped inside, crouched on the kitchen countertop, hoping they wouldn’t notice me or do themselves a harm. They were at the curious stage and could have been opening cupboards, toying with bleach and furniture polish, fingering rat poison, or opening cutlery drawers to juggle with knives, or getting into the liquor and drinking up all the whiskey. They were in danger, while she was wrapping herself in her robe and singing as she dried her hair.

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"Meanwhile, you trolled the woods’ edge, hoping to uncover a surprise. Something large stirred among the dried carpet of leaves and shadow of branches, snapping twigs as it ran through the half-light. A rabbit? Perhaps a dog or a small deer? Your mother descended the staircase, calmly calling, and discovered the girls dancing on the tabletop quite alone. You stood blinking into the dappled trails. From behind, a strong hand gripped your shoulder and wheeled you around. Your mother stood there, hair dripping wet, her face a mask of anger.

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"’How could you disappear like that?’ she asked, behind her, you could see the twins toddling across the lawn. In one clenched fist, she held a wooden spoon, and knowing the trouble ahead, you ran, and she gave chase, laughing all the way. At the edge of your world, she pulled you by the arm and smacked you on the bottom so hard, the spoon split in half."

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Speck held me tighter still.

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"But you have always been an imp. Your bottom hurt, and you’d show her. She fixed lunch, which you refused to touch. Nothing but stony silence. As she carried her babies off for their nap, she smiled and you scowled. Then you wrapped up some food in a handkerchief, stuffed it in your pocket, and slipped out of the house without a sound. I followed you the whole afternoon."

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"Was I scared to be alone?"

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"Curious, I’d say. A dry creek paralleled the road for a few hundred yards before meandering off into the forest, and you followed its path, listening for the occasional chatter of the birds, watching for the chipmunks skittering through the litter. I could hear Igel signal to Béka, who whistled to our leader. As you sat on the grassy bank, eating one of the biscuits and the rest of the cold eggs, they were gathering to come take you."

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"Every time the leaves moved," I told her, "a monster was out to get me."

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"East of the creekbed, there was an old chestnut, cracked and dying from the bottom up. An animal had scooped out a large hollow den, and you had to climb inside and see. The humidity and the darkness must have put you right to sleep. I stood outside the whole time, hidden when the searchers almost stumbled upon you. Skittering flashlights led their dark forms as they shuffled like ghosts through the heavy air. They passed by, and soon their calls receded into the distance and then into silence.

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"Not long after the people faded away, the faeries ran in from all directions and stopped before me, the sentinel at the tree. The changeling panted. He looked so much like you that I held my breath and wanted to cry. He scrambled partway into the hole, grabbed you around your bare ankle, and pulled."

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She hugged me and kissed me on the top of my head.

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"If I changed back," I asked her, "would I ever see you again?"

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Despite my questions, she would not tell me more than she thought I should know, and after a while, we set to picking berries. Although the days bore traits of midsummer, there’s no stopping the tilt of the globe away from the sun. Night came like a sudden clap. We walked back beneath the emerging planets and stars, the pale ascending moon. Half-smiles greeted our return, and I wondered why the thin children of our temporary quarters were not themselves out watching blackbirds, and dreaming their dreams. Porridge bubbled on the fire, and the troupe ate from wooden bowls with wooden spoons, which they sucked clean. We dumped quarts of raspberries from our shirttails, ambrosia escaping from the bruised fruit, and the others scooped them into their mouths, smiling and chewing, staining their lips red as kisses.

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The next day, Béka announced he had found our new home, "a place inaccessible to all but the most intrepid humans, a shelter where we would be safe." He led us up a steep and desolate hill, scrabbling slate and shale from its loose, decaying face, as inhospitable a heap as you’d like to find. No sign of life, no trees or plants of any kind other than a few noxious weeds poking through the rubble. No bird landed there, not even for a moment’s rest, nor any flying insect of any sort, though we would soon find out about the bats. No footprints except our leader’s. Scant purchase for anything larger than our weary band. As we climbed, I wondered what had possessed Béka to scout out this place, let alone proclaim it home. Anyone else would have taken one look at such devastation and passed by with a shudder. Barren as the moon, the landscape lacked all feeling, and I did not see, until we were nearly upon it, the fissure in the rock. One by one, my cohorts squeezed through the crack and were swallowed up in stone. Moving from the bright heat of Indian summer into the dankness of the entranceway felt as sudden as a dive into a cold pool. A. my pupils dilated in the dimness, I did not even realize to whom I addressed my question: "Where are we?"

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"It’s a mine," Speck said. "An old abandoned mineshaft where they dug for coal."

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A pale glow sparked forth from a newly lit torch. His face a grimace of odd, unnatural shadows, Béka grinned and croaked to us all, "Welcome home."

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