Chapter 53

I slept all morning. I was roused by anxiety. That tide of food, water and rest that flowed through my weakened system, bringing me a new lease on life, also brought me the strength to see how desperate my situation was. I awoke to the reality of Richard Parker. There was a tiger in the lifeboat. I could hardly believe it, yet I knew I had to. And I had to save myself.

I considered jumping overboard and swimming away, but my body refused to move. I was hundreds of miles from landfall, if not over a thousand miles. I couldn't swim such a distance, even with a lifebuoy. What would I eat? What would I drink? How would I keep the sharks away? How would I keep warm? How would I know which way to go? There was not a shadow of doubt about the matter: to leave the lifeboat meant certain death. But what was staying aboard? He would come at me like a typical cat, without a sound. Before I knew it he would seize the back of my neck or my throat and I would be pierced by fang-holes. I wouldn't be able to speak. The lifeblood would flow out of me unmarked by a final utterance. Or he would kill me by clubbing me with one of his great paws, breaking my neck.

"I'm going to die," I blubbered through quivering lips.

Oncoming death is terrible enough, but worse still is oncoming death with time to spare, time in which all the happiness that was yours and all the happiness that might have been yours becomes clear to you. You see with utter lucidity all that you are losing. The sight brings on an oppressive sadness that no car about to hit you or water about to drown you can match. The feeling is truly unbearable. The words Father, Mother, Ravi, India, Winnipeg struck me with searing poignancy.

I was giving up. I would have given up-if a voice hadn't made itself heard in my heart. The voice said, "I will not die. I refuse it. I will make it through this nightmare. I will beat the odds, as great as they are. I have survived so far, miraculously. Now I will turn miracle into routine. The amazing will be seen every day. I will put in all the hard work necessary. Yes, so long as God is with me, I will not die. Amen."

My face set to a grim and determined expression. I speak in all modesty as I say this, but I discovered at that moment that I have a fierce will to live. It's not something evident, in my experience. Some of us give up on life with only a resigned sigh. Others fight a little, then lose hope. Still others-and I am one of those-never give up. We fight and fight and fight. We fight no matter the cost of battle, the losses we take, the improbability of success. We fight to the very end. It's not a question of courage. It's something constitutional, an inability to let go. It may be nothing more than life-hungry stupidity.

Richard Parker started growling that very instant, as if he had been waiting for me to become a worthy opponent. My chest became tight with fear.

"Quick, man, quick," I wheezed. I had to organize my survival. Not a second to waste. I needed shelter and right away. I thought of the prow I had made with an oar. But now the tarpaulin was unrolled at the bow; there was nothing to hold the oar in place. And I had no proof that hanging at the end of an oar provided real safety from Richard Parker. He might easily reach and nab me. I had to find something else. My mind worked fast.

I built a raft. The oars, if you remember, floated. And I had life jackets and a sturdy lifebuoy.

With bated breath I closed the locker and reached beneath the tarpaulin for the extra oars on the side benches. Richard Parker noticed. I could see him through the life jackets. As I dragged each oar out-you can imagine how carefully-he stirred in reaction. But he did not turn. I pulled out three oars. A fourth was already resting crosswise on the tarpaulin. I raised the locker lid to close the opening onto Richard Parker's den.

I had four buoyant oars. I set them on the tarpaulin around the lifebuoy. The lifebuoy was now squared by the oars. My raft looked like a game of tic-tac-toe with an O in the centre as the first move.

Now came the dangerous part. I needed the life jackets. Richard Parker's growling was now a deep rumble that shook the air. The hyena responded with a whine, a wavering, high-pitched whine, a sure sign that trouble was on the way.

I had no choice. I had to act. I lowered the lid again. The life jackets were at hand's reach. Some were right against Richard Parker. The hyena broke into a scream.

I reached for the closest life jacket. I had difficulty grasping it, my hand was trembling so much. I pulled the jacket out. Richard Parker did not seem to notice. I pulled another one out. And another. I was feeling faint with fear. I was having great difficulty breathing. If need be, I told myself, I could throw myself overboard with these life jackets. I pulled a last one out. I had four life jackets.

Pulling the oars in one after the next, I worked them through the armholes of the life jackets-in one armhole, out the other-so that the life jackets became secured to the four corners of the raft. I tied each one shut.

I found one of the buoyant ropes in the locker. With the knife, I cut four segments. I tightly lashed the four oars where they met. Ah, to have had a practical education in knots! At each corner I made ten knots and still I worried that the oars would come apart. I worked feverishly, all the while cursing my stupidity. A tiger aboard and I had waited three days and three nights to save my life!

I cut four more segments of the buoyant rope and tied the lifebuoy to each side of the square. I wove the lifebuoy's rope through the life jackets, around the oars, in and out of the lifebuoy-all round the raft-as yet another precaution against the raft breaking into pieces.

The hyena was now screaming at top pitch.

One last thing to do. "God, give me the time," I implored. I took the rest of the buoyant line. There was a hole that went through the stem of the boat, near the top. I brought the buoyant rope through it and hitched it. I only had to hitch the other end of the rope to the raft and I might be saved.

The hyena fell silent. My heart stopped and then beat triple speed. I turned.

"Jesus, Mary, Muhammad and Vishnu!"

I saw a sight that will stay with me for the rest of my days. Richard Parker had risen and emerged. He was not fifteen feet from me. Oh, the size of him! The hyena's end had come, and mine. I stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed, in thrall to the action before my eyes. My brief experience with the relations of unconfined wild animals in lifeboats had made me expect great noise and protest when the time came for bloodshed. But it happened practically in silence. The hyena died neither whining nor whimpering, and Richard Parker killed without a sound. The flame-coloured carnivore emerged from beneath the tarpaulin and made for the hyena. The hyena was leaning against the stern bench, behind the zebra's carcass, transfixed. It did not put up a fight. Instead it shrank to the floor, lifting a forepaw in a futile gesture of defence. The look on its face was of terror. A massive paw landed on its shoulders. Richard Parker's jaws closed on the side of the hyena's neck. Its glazed eyes widened. There was a noise of organic crunching as windpipe and spinal cord were crushed. The hyena shook. Its eyes went dull. It was over.

Richard Parker let go and growled. But a quiet growl, private and half-hearted, it seemed. He was panting, his tongue hanging from his mouth. He licked his chops. He shook his head. He sniffed the dead hyena. He raised his head high and smelled the air. He placed his forepaws on the stern bench and lifted himself. His feet were wide apart. The rolling of the boat, though gentle, was visibly not to his liking. He looked beyond the gunnel at the open seas. He put out a low, mean snarl. He smelled the air again. He slowly turned his head. It turned-turned-turned full round-till he was looking straight at me.

I wish I could describe what happened next, not as I saw it, which I might manage, but as I felt it. I beheld Richard Parker from the angle that showed him off to greatest effect: from the back, half-raised, with his head turned. The stance had something of a pose to it, as if it were an intentional, even affected, display of mighty art. And what art, what might. His presence was overwhelming, yet equally evident was the lithesome grace of it. He was incredibly muscular, yet his haunches were thin and his glossy coat hung loosely on his frame. His body, bright brownish orange streaked with black vertical stripes, was incomparably beautiful, matched with a tailor's eye for harmony by his pure white chest and underside and the black rings of his long tail. His head was large and round, displaying formidable sideburns, a stylish goatee and some of the finest whiskers of the cat world, thick, long and white. Atop the head were small, expressive ears shaped like perfect arches. His carrot orange face had a broad bridge and a pink nose, and it was made up with brazen flair. Wavy dabs of black circled the face in a pattern that was striking yet subtle, for it brought less attention to itself than it did to the one part of the face left untouched by it, the bridge, whose rufous lustre shone nearly with a radiance. The patches of white above the eyes, on the cheeks and around the mouth came off as finishing touches worthy of a Kathakali dancer. The result was a face that looked like the wings of a butterfly and bore an expression vaguely old and Chinese. But when Richard Parker's amber eyes met mine, the stare was intense, cold and unflinching, not flighty or friendly, and spoke of self-possession on the point of exploding with rage. His ears twitched and then swivelled right around. One of his lips began to rise and fall. The yellow canine thus coyly revealed was as long as my longest finger.

Every hair on me was standing up, shrieking with fear.

That's when the rat appeared. Out of nowhere, a scrawny brown rat materialized on the side bench, nervous and breathless. Richard Parker looked as astonished as I was. The rat leapt onto the tarpaulin and raced my way. At the sight, in shock and surprise, my legs gave way beneath me and I practically fell into the locker. Before my incredulous eyes the rodent hopped over the various parts of the raft, jumped onto me and climbed to the top of my head, where I felt its little claws clamping down on my scalp, holding on for dear life.

Richard Parker's eyes had followed the rat. They were now fixed on my head.

He completed the turn of his head with a slow turn of his body, moving his forepaws sideways along the side bench. He dropped to the floor of the boat with ponderous ease. I could see the top of his head, his back and his long, curled tail. His ears lay flat against his skull. In three paces he was at the middle of the boat. Without effort the front half of his body rose in the air and his forepaws came to rest on the rolled-up edge of the tarpaulin.

He was less than ten feet away. His head, his chest, his paws-so big! so big! His teeth-an entire army battalion in a mouth. He was making to jump onto the tarpaulin. I was about to die.

But the tarpaulin's strange softness bothered him. He pressed at it tentatively. He looked up anxiously-the exposure to so much light and open space did not please him either. And the rolling motion of the boat continued to unsettle him. For a brief moment, Richard Parker was hesitating.

I grabbed the rat and threw it his way. I can still see it in my mind as it sailed through the air-its outstretched claws and erect tail, its tiny elongated scrotum and pinpoint anus. Richard Parker opened his maw and the squealing rat disappeared into it like a baseball into a catcher's mitt. Its hairless tail vanished like a spaghetti noodle sucked into a mouth.

He seemed satisfied with the offering. He backed down and returned beneath the tarpaulin. My legs instantly became functional again. I leapt up and raised the locker lid again to block the open space between bow bench and tarpaulin.

I heard loud sniffing and the noise of a body being dragged. His shifting weight made the boat rock a little. I began hearing the sound of a mouth eating. I peeked beneath the tarpaulin. He was in the middle of the boat. He was eating the hyena by great chunks, voraciously. This chance would not come again. I reached and retrieved the remaining life jackets-six in all-and the last oar. They would go to improving the raft. I noticed in passing a smell. It was not the sharp smell of cat piss. It was vomit. There was a patch of it on the floor of the boat. It must have come from Richard Parker. So he was indeed seasick.

I hitched the long rope to the raft. Lifeboat and raft were now tethered. Next I attached a life jacket to each side of the raft, on its underside. Another life jacket I strapped across the hole of the lifebuoy to act as a seat. I turned the last oar into a footrest, lashing it on one side of the raft, about two feet from the lifebuoy, and tying the remaining life jacket to it. My fingers trembled as I worked, and my breath was short and strained. I checked and rechecked all my knots.

I looked about the sea. Only great, gentle swells. No whitecaps. The wind was low and constant. I looked down. There were fish-big fish with protruding foreheads and very long dorsal fins, dorados they are called, and smaller fish, lean and long, unknown to me, and smaller ones still-and there were sharks.

I eased the raft off the lifeboat. If for some reason it did not float, I was as good as dead. It took to the water beautifully. In fact, the buoyancy of the life jackets was such that they pushed the oars and the lifebuoy right out of the water. But my heart sank. As soon as the raft touched the water, the fish scattered-except for the sharks. They remained. Three or four of them. One swam directly beneath the raft. Richard Parker growled.

I felt like a prisoner being pushed off a plank by pirates.

I brought the raft as close to the lifeboat as the protruding tips of the oars would allow. I leaned out and lay my hands on the lifebuoy. Through the "cracks" in the floor of the raft-yawning crevasses would be more accurate-I looked directly into the bottomless depths of the sea. I heard Richard Parker again. I flopped onto the raft on my stomach. I lay flat and spread-eagled and did not move a finger. I expected the raft to overturn at any moment. Or a shark to lunge and bite right through the life jackets and oars. Neither happened. The raft sank lower and pitched and rolled, the tips of the oars dipping underwater, but it floated robustly. Sharks came close, but did not touch.

I felt a gentle tug. The raft swung round. I raised my head. The lifeboat and the raft had already separated as far as the rope would go, about forty feet. The rope tensed and lifted out of the water and wavered in the air. It was a highly distressing sight. I had fled the lifeboat to save my life. Now I wanted to get back. This raft business was far too precarious. It only needed a shark to bite the rope, or a knot to become undone, or a large wave to crash upon me, and I would be lost. Compared to the raft, the lifeboat now seemed a haven of comfort and security.

I gingerly turned over. I sat up. Stability was good, so far. My footrest worked well enough. But it was all too small. There was just enough space to sit on and no more. This toy raft, mini-raft, micro-raft, might do for a pond, but not for the Pacific Ocean. I took hold of the rope and pulled. The closer I got to the lifeboat, the slower I pulled. When I was next to the lifeboat, I heard Richard Parker. He was still eating.

I hesitated for long minutes.

I stayed on the raft. I didn't see what else I could do. My options were limited to perching above a tiger or hovering over sharks. I knew perfectly well how dangerous Richard Parker was. Sharks, on the other hand, had not yet proved to be dangerous. I checked the knots that held the rope to the lifeboat and to the raft. I let the rope out until I was thirty or so feet from the lifeboat, the distance that about rightly balanced my two fears: being too close to Richard Parker and being too far from the lifeboat. The extra rope, ten feet or so, I looped around the footrest oar. I could easily let out slack if the need arose.

The day was ending. It started to rain. It had been overcast and warm all day. Now the temperature dropped, and the downpour was steady and cold. All around me heavy drops of fresh water plopped loudly and wastefully into the sea, dimpling its surface. I pulled on the rope again. When I was at the bow I turned onto my knees and took hold of the stem. I pulled myself up and carefully peeped over the gunnel. He wasn't in sight.

I hurriedly reached down into the locker. I grabbed a rain catcher, a fifty-litre plastic bag, a blanket and the survival manual. I slammed the locker lid shut. I didn't mean to slam it-only to protect my precious goods from the rain-but the lid slipped from my wet hand. It was a bad mistake. In the very act of revealing myself to Richard Parker by bringing down what blocked his view, I made a great loud noise to attract his attention. He was crouched over the hyena. His head turned instantly. Many animals intensely dislike being disturbed while they are eating. Richard Parker snarled. His claws tensed. The tip of his tail twitched electrically. I fell back onto the raft, and I believe it was terror as much as wind and current that widened the distance between raft and lifeboat so swiftly. I let out all the rope. I expected Richard Parker to burst forth from the boat, sailing through the air, teeth and claws reaching for me. I kept my eyes on the boat. The longer I looked, the more unbearable was the expectation.

He did not appear.

By the time I had opened the rain catcher above my head and tucked my feet into the plastic bag, I was already soaked to the bones. And the blanket had got wet when I fell back onto the raft. I wrapped myself with it nonetheless.

Night crept up. My surroundings disappeared into pitch-black darkness. Only the regular tugging of the rope at the raft told me that I was still attached to the lifeboat. The sea, inches beneath me yet too far for my eyes, buffeted the raft. Fingers of water reached up furtively through the cracks and wet my bottom.

第五十三章

    整个上午我都在睡觉。焦虑使我醒来。仿佛浪潮一般从我虚弱的身体里流过的食物、水和休息给我带来了愉快和更有生气的生活，同时也让我有力气看清自己的处境是多么绝望。我醒来面对的是理查德·帕克。救生艇上有一只老虎。我简直不敢相信，但我知道我必须相信。并且我得救自己。

    我想跳下船去游走，但是我的身体拒绝动一动。我离能看见的陆地还有几百英里，如果不是一千多英里的话。我游不了那么远的距离，就算有救生圈也不行。我吃什么呢？我喝什么呢？我怎么才能不让鲨鱼靠近？我怎么保持温暖？我怎么知道该往哪个方向游？这一点毫无疑问：离开救生艇就意味着死亡。但是待在船上又能如何？他会像一只典型的猫科动物一样向我扑来，不发出一点声音。我还不知道是怎么回事，他就抓住了我的颈背或喉咙，我会被尖牙咬穿几个洞。我会说不出话来。生命之血会流出我的身体，没有留下我的最后一句话。或者他会用一其巨大的爪子打我，打断我的脖子。

    “我要死了。"我颤抖着双唇抽泣着说。

    即将到来的死亡已经够可怕的了，但更糟的是死亡还有一段时间才到来，在这段时间里，你曾经拥有的所有快乐和你可能拥有的所有快乐都变得那么宝贵。你非常清楚地看见自己正在失去的一切。这样的景象带给你难以忍受的悲伤，这是任何即将撞死你的汽车或即将淹死你的大水都无法相比的。父亲，母亲，拉维，印度，温尼伯，这几个词让我感到一阵钻心的辛酸。我在放弃。我可能已经放弃了，如果我心里没有响起一个声音。那个声音说：“我不会死的。我拒绝去死。我要结束这场噩梦。我要战胜困难，尽管困难很大。到目前为止我都活了下来，奇迹般地活了下来。现在我要把奇迹变成规律。令人惊奇的事将会每天发生。我要付出所有必要的努力。是的，只要上帝和我在一起，我就不会死。阿门。"我的脸上出现了严肃的坚定的表情。现在我在说这件事的时候，描述非常适度，但是那一刻我发现自己有了非常强烈的生存愿望。根据我的经验，这不是显而易见的事。有些人只顺从地叹一口气，便对生命绝望了。另一些人斗争了一会儿，然后便失去了希望。还有一些人——我便是其中一个——却从不放弃。我们不断地斗争、斗争、斗筝。无论这场战斗需要付出多大的代价，无论我们会遭受多大的损失，无论胜利是多么不可能，我们都要斗争。我们一直斗争到底。这不是勇气的问题。这是与生俱来的，不愿放弃的能力。也许这只是一种渴望生命的愚蠢。就在那一刻，理查德.帕克开始咆哮起来，仿佛他一直在等着我成为一个值得较量的对手。我的胸口因为害怕而绷紧了。“快呀，伙计，快。"我气喘吁吁地说。我得安排好如何逃生。一秒钟都不能浪费。我需要躲藏的地方，立刻就需要。我想到了自己用船桨做的船首。但是现在船头的油布是铺开的；没有东西可以固定船桨。而且没有证据表明吊在船桨末端能让我在理查德·帕克面前真正安全。也许他可以轻易地够到我，捉住我。我得找点儿别的东西。我迅速思考着。我造了一只小筏子。如果你还记得，船桨是可以浮在水上的。我还有救生衣和一只结实的救生圈。我屏住呼吸，关上锁柜，伸手到油布下面去够舷边坐板上另外几只船桨。理查德·帕克注意到了。我能透过救生衣看见他。我每拽出一只船桨——你能想像我是多么小心翼翼——他都动一下。但他没有转过身来。我拽出来三只船桨。第四只船桨已经横放在油布上了。我拿起锁柜盖子，盖住理查德·帕克的窝上方的开口。我有四只能浮于水的船桨。我把它们放在油布上，围住救生圈。这时救生圈外面的船桨就形成了一个正方形。我的小筏子看上去就像玩画“连城’’游戏（两人轮流在一井字方格内面“×"和“0"，以先列成一行者成胜。）日寸第一步在中间画的那个0。

    现在到了危险的部分了。我需要救生衣。现在理查德·帕克的咆哮声已经成了让空气震动的低沉的隆隆声。作为回答，鬣狗发出一声哀鸣，一卢颤抖的尖利的哀鸣，这明确地表示，麻烦就要开始了。我别无选择。我必须行动。我又放下盖子。贝要二伸手，就能够到救生衣。有几件就靠在理查德·帕克身上。鬣狗突然尖叫起来。我伸手去够离我最近的一件救生衣。我的手抖得太厉害了，要抓住救生衣很困难。我把救生衣拽了出来。理查德·帕克似乎没有注意到。我又拽出来一件。又拽一件。我害怕得快要晕过去了。我的呼吸变得非常困难。我对自己说，如果有必要，我可以带着这些救生衣跳海。我拽出了最后一件。一共有4件救生衣。我把船桨一只接一只地穿过救生衣的袖孔——从一只袖孔穿进去，再从另一只袖孔穿出来——这样救生衣就被牢牢地固定在小筏子的四个角上。我把每一件救生衣都系紧了。我在锁柜里找到了一根能浮于水的缆绳，用刀切下四段，把四只船桨的连接处扎紧。啊，学过打绳结的实用知识真好！我在每一个角打了十个结，但还是担心船桨会散开。我紧张兴奋地干着活，一边干一边不停地骂自己笨。船上有一只老虎，而我却等了三天三夜才救自己！

    我又切下四段能浮于水的缆绳，把救生圈系在正方形的每一个边上。我把救生圈上的缆绳穿过救生衣，绕过船桨，从救生圈里穿进去再穿出来——沿着小筏子绕一圈——作为防止小筏子散成碎片的另一个预防措施。

    鬣狗现在高声尖叫起来。

    还有最后一件事。“上帝啊，给我时间吧。”我祈求道。我拿起剩下的能浮于水的绳子。在小船艏柱上，靠近顶端的地方，有一个洞。我把能浮于水的缆绳从洞里穿过去，系牢了。只要把缆绳另一端系在小筏子上，也许我就得救了。

    鬣狗不叫了。我的心停止了跣动，接着又以三倍的速度狂跳起来。我转过身。

    “耶稣，马利亚，穆罕默德和毗湿奴啊！”

    我看见了一幅我一辈子都不会忘记的景象。理查德.帕克已经站起来，出现在我眼前。他离我还不到十五英尺。噢，他多么庞大啊！鬣狗的末日到了，我的末日也到了。我像被钉在了原地，无法动弹，完全被眼前的情节吸引住了。与救生艇上没被关在笼子里的野生动物短时间相处的经验使我以为，当流血的时刻到来时，会有巨大的声响和反抗。但这几乎是静静地发生的。鬣狗既没有哀叫也没有呜咽就死了，理查德·帕克没有发出一点声响就杀死了它。火焰色的食肉动物从油布下出现，朝鬣狗冲了过去。鬣狗正靠在斑马尸体后面的船尾坐板上，呆若木鸡。它没有进行搏斗。相反，它缩在船板上，抬起一只脚，做出一个徒劳的防御动作。它脸上满是惊恐的表情。一只巨大的爪子放在了它的肩上。理查德·帕克的嘴咬住了鬣狗的脖子。它那双目光呆滞的眼睛睁大了。气管和脊髓被咬碎时发出嘎吱一声。鬣狗抖了一下。它的眼睛里没有了生气。一切都过去了。

    理查德·帕克放开它，吼了一声。但是这声吼叫的声音很轻，似乎是叫给自己听的，而且是漫不经心的。他在喘气，舌头从嘴里伸了出来。他舔了舔自己的嘴。摇了摇头。嗅了嗅死了的鬣狗。他高昂起头，闻了闻空气。他把前爪放在船尾坐板上，直立了起来。他的双脚分得很开。船在摇晃，虽然很轻，但显然他不喜欢。他越过舷边看着广阔的大海。

    他发出一声低沉的情绪低落的嗥叫声。又闻了闻空气。然后慢慢地转着头。他把头转过来——转过去——完全转迓来——最后直直地看着我。

    我希望自己能描述下面发生的事情，不是我所看见的，那样也许我能做到，而是我所感觉到的。我从一个最能展示理查德·帕克的角度观察他：从他的背后，在他直立起来，转过头的时候。这个姿势有点儿像摆出来的，好像在故意地，甚至装模作样地表现非凡的本领。多么了不起的本领啊，多么强大的力量。他的存在有着逼人的气势，然而同时又是那么地高雅自如。他的肌肉惊人地发达，然而他的腰腿部位却很瘦，他那富有光泽的毛皮松松地披在身上。他那棕黄色带黑色横条的色彩斑谰的身体美得无与伦比，雪白的胸脯和肚皮及长长的尾巴上一圈圈的黑色条纹即使在裁缝的眼里也一定是一幅色彩协调的图案。他的头又大又圆，长着令人惊叹的连鬓胡子，一缕漂亮的山羊胡子，还有猫科动物中最好看的胡须，又粗又长又白。头上长着小小的富于表现力的耳朵，呈完美的拱形。胡萝卜黄色的脸上有一道宽宽的鼻梁和一个粉红色的鼻子，看上去大胆夸张。脸周围是一小块一小块波浪形的黑毛，构成的图案惹人注目却又十分微妙，因为它让人们不那么注意它本身，而更加注意没有图案的那部分脸，也就是鼻梁，鼻梁上赤褐色的光泽几乎像在闪着光。眼睛上方、脸颊上和嘴周围的一块块白色是最后的修饰，可以和卡达卡里舞者相媲美。结果是这张脸看上去就像蝴蝶翅膀，脸上的表情有些像老人，也有些像中国人。但是当理查德·帕克琥珀色的眼睛和我的眼神相遇时，他的目光专注、冷漠、坚定，不轻浮也不友善，流露出愤怒即将爆发前的镇定。他的耳朵抽动了几下，然后转了过去。他的一片嘴唇开始张开又合上。张合之间半隐半露的黄色犬牙和我最长的手指一样长。

    我头上的每一根头发都竖了起来，发出恐惧的尖叫。

    就在这时，老鼠出现了。不知哪来的一只瘦水的棕色老鼠突然出现在舷边坐板上，紧张得屏住了呼吸。理查德·帕克看上去和我一样吃惊。老鼠跳到油布上，飞快地朝我跑过来。看到这一情景，我大惊失色，两腿一软，差点儿摔迸锁柜里。我简直不敢相信自己的眼睛，这只啮齿动物就在我眼前从小筏子上迅速跳过来，跳到我身上，爬到了我的头顶上，我感到它小小的爪子重重地压在我的头颅上，紧紧地抓住宝贵的生命不放。

    理查德·帕克的目光刚才一直追随着老鼠。现在这目光停留在了我的头上。

    他的头完全转了过来，接着身体也开始慢慢地转过来，前爪沿着舷边坐板横着走过来。他缓慢但轻巧地跳到船板上。我能看到他的头顶、背部和长长的卷曲的尾巴。他的耳朵紧贴着头。他三步便走到了船中间。他的上半身毫不费力地抬了起来，前爪搭在油布卷起来的边上。

    他离我还不到十英尺。他的脑袋，他的胸脯，他的爪子——多么大啊！多么大啊！他的牙齿——仿佛是嘴里整整一个军营的士兵。他正准备跳上油布。我就要死了。

    但是油布软软的，这奇怪的感觉让他感到不安。他试探性地在上面按了按。他焦虑地抬头看了看——眼前如此强烈的光线和如此开阔的空间也让他感到不高兴。小船的摇晃仍然让他感到不舒服。就在那一瞬间，理查德·帕克犹豫了。

    我抓起老鼠，朝他扔过去。现在我仍能回想起老鼠在空中飞过的情景——它伸出的爪子和竖起的尾巴，它小小的拉长了的阴囊和针尖大小的肛门。理查德·帕克张开咽喉，吱吱叫的老鼠消失在了里面，就像棒球消失在接手的手套里。它没有毛的尾巴像一根意大利细面条消失在嘴巴里。

    他似乎对这份礼物感到满意。他退回去，回到了油布下面。我的双腿立刻恢复了功能。我一跃而起，再一次把锁柜盖子打开，挡住船头坐板和油布之间的空间。

    我听见裉响的嗅闻的声音和尸体被拖动的声音。他走动的沉重身体让船有点儿摇晃。我开始听见嘴吃东西的声音。我偷偷朝油布下面看去。他正在船中间。他正贪婪地大块大块地吃着鬣狗。机不可失。我伸过手去，拿回了剩下的救生衣——共6件——和最后一支船桨。它们可以用来改进小筏子。我在不经意间闻到了一种气味。不是猫尿的刺鼻气味。是呕吐物。船板上有一摊呕吐物。一定是理查德·帕克吐的。那么他的确是晕船。

    我把长缆绳系在小筏子上。现在救生艇和小筏子拴在一起了。接着我在小筏子下面的每一边都绑上一件救生衣。我把另外一件救生衣绑在救生圈上，盖住中间的洞，当做座位。我把最后一支船桨用做搁脚物，牢牢扎在小筏子一侧，离救生圈大约两英尺的地方，再把剩下的救生衣系在上面。在做着这些的时候，我的手指在颤抖，我的呼吸急促而紧张。

    我把所有的绳结都检查了一遍又一遍。

    我环顾大海。只有巨大的轻柔的排浪。没有白浪。风很和缓，不停地吹。我向下看去。水里有鱼。长着突出的前额和非常长背鳝的大鱼，它们叫做鳞鳅，还有小鱼，细细长长的，我不知道名字，还有更小的鱼——还有鲨鱼。

    我把小筏子从救生艇上轻轻推了下去。如果因为某种原因它浮不起来，我的麻烦就大了。它对水非常适应。事实上，救生衣的浮力太大了，把船桨和小筏子整个从水里推了出来。但是我的心却沉了下去。小筏子刚碰到水面，鱼群便四散逃开——除了鲨鱼。它们没有游开。有三四条。其中一条就在小筏子下面游着。理查德·帕克又吼叫起来。

    我感到自己就像被海盗推下木壳板的囚犯。

    我在突出的船粱顶端允许的范围内让小筏子靠近救生艇。我探出身子，把手放在救生艇上。透过小筏子的船板上的“缝隙”——说是豁开的裂隙更确切一些——我直接朝深不见底的大海看去。我又听见理查德.帕克的声音。我的肚子朝下扑倒在小筏子上。我平躺着，张开四肢，连一根手指头都没有动。我时刻准备着小筏子会翻掉。或者一条鲨鱼冲过来咬穿了救生衣和船桨。两件事都没有发生。小筏子往水里沉得更多了，上下颠簸，左右摇晃，船桨的顶端不停地伸进水里，但是它坚定地在水上漂着。鳖鱼游近了，但是并没有碰它。

    我感到缆绳突然被轻轻拉了一下。我抬起头。救生艇和小筏子之间已经隔开了缆绳长度所能允许的距离，大约四十英尺。缆绳绷紧了，从水里露了出来，在空中摇摆着。这是非常紧张的景象。为了救自己的命，我从救生艇上逃了下来。现在我想回去了。小筏子这个装置实在太靠不住了。只要鳖鱼咬断缆绳，或者一个绳结松开了，或者一个大浪打来，我就完了。和小筏子相比，救生艇现在成了一个舒适安全的避难所。

    我小心翼翼地翻过身。我坐了起来。到目前为止，稳定性还不错。我的搁脚物挺好。但是它太小了。只够我坐下来，再也没有多余的空间了。这个玩具小筏子，迷你小筏子，微型小筏子，在池塘里也许能行，但是在太平洋里不行。我抓住缆绳，拉了起来。离救生艇越近，我拉得越慢。靠近救生艇时，我听见了理查德·帕克的声音。他还在吃。

    我犹豫了很长时间。

    我待在了小筏子上。我不知道自己还能做什么。我只有两个选择，要不在老虎背上栖息，要不在鳖鱼头顶盘旋。我非常清楚老虎有多么危险。另一方面，鲨鱼是否危险还没有得到证实。我检查了一下把缆绳系在救生艇和小筏子上的几个绳结。我把缆绳放出去，直到自己离救生艇大约有三十英尺，这个距离大约正好能平衡我的两种恐惧：怕离理查德·帕克太近，又怕离救生艇太远。那根大约十英尺长的多出来的缆绳被我绕在了搁脚的船桨上。如果有必要，我可以很容易把绳子放松。

    一天就要结束了。开始下起雨来。那天一整天都很温暖，阴云密布。现在气温降了下去，倾盆大雨不停地下着，雨水冰凉。在我四周，大滴大滴的淡水啪嗒啪嗒很响地落进大海浪费了，在海面上激起一圈圈涟漪。我又拽着绳子，把小筏子往救生艇那边拉。来到船头后，我将身体重心移向双膝，抓住艏柱，然后站起身来，越过舷边偷偷往里看。我没有看见他。

    我匆匆把手伸进锁柜，抓了一只接雨器，一只50升容量的塑料袋，一条毯子和求生指南。我猛地把锁柜盖子盖上。我不想猛地盖上盖子的——只是为了保护我宝贵的食品不被雨淋——但是盖子从我潮湿的手里滑了出去。这是个糟糕的错误。这个动作放下了挡住理查德·帕克的视线的盖子，让我暴露在了他的面前，同时我还发出一声巨响，吸引了他的注意力。他正蹲在鬣狗身上。他立刻转过头来。很多动物都极不喜欢在进食的时候被打扰。理查德·帕克嗥叫起来。他的爪子也紧张起来。他的尾巴尖像触了电一样抽动着。我跌回到小筏子上。我相信是恐惧和风浪共同迅速拉大了小筏子和救生艇之间的距离。我把所有的缆绳都放了出去。我以为理查德·帕克会从船上猛冲过来，从空中飞过，露出牙齿来咬我，张开爪子来抓我。我目不转睛地盯着船看。看的时间越长，这样的设想就越让我难以忍受。他没有出现。我把接雨器在买顶上撑开，把脚塞进塑料袋的时候，身上已经湿透了。毯子也在我跌回小筏子的时候被弄湿了。但我还是用它把自己裹了起来。

    夜晚已在不知不觉中到来。我周围的一切消失在了漆黑的夜色中。只有小筏子上的缆绳有规律的牵动在告诉我，我还与救生艇连在一起。就在我脚下几英寸，却又遥远得让我看不见的大海拍打着小筏子。海水像手指一样偷偷摸摸地从缝隙伸上来，弄湿了我的屁股。