Chapter 47

The day broke, humid and overcast, with the wind warm and the sky a dense blanket of grey clouds that looked like bunched-up, dirty cotton sheets. The sea had not changed. It heaved the lifeboat up and down in a regular motion.

The zebra was still alive. I couldn't believe it. It had a two-foot-wide hole in its body, a fistula like a freshly erupted volcano, spewed half-eaten organs glistening in the light or giving off a dull, dry shine, yet, in its strictly essential parts, it continued to pump with life, if weakly. Movement was confined to a tremor in the rear leg and an occasional blinking of the eyes. I was horrified. I had no idea a living being could sustain so much injury and go on living.

The hyena was tense. It was not settling down to its night of rest despite the daylight. Perhaps it was a result of taking in so much food; its stomach was grossly dilated. Orange Juice was in a dangerous mood too. She was fidgeting and showing her teeth.

I stayed where I was, curled up near the prow. I was weak in body and in soul. I was afraid I would fall into the water if I tried to balance on the oar.

The zebra was dead by noon. It was glassy-eyed and had become perfectly indifferent to the hyena's occasional assaults.

Violence broke out in the afternoon. Tension had risen to an unbearable level. The hyena was yipping. Orange Juice was grunting and making loud lip-smacking noises. All of a sudden their complaining fused and shot up to top volume. The hyena jumped over the remains of the zebra and made for Orange Juice.

I believe I have made clear the menace of a hyena. It was certainly so clear in my mind that I gave up on Orange Juice's life before she even had a chance to defend it. I underestimated her. I underestimated her grit.

She thumped the beast on the head. It was something shocking.

It made my heart melt with love and admiration and fear. Did I mention she was a former pet, callously discarded by her Indonesian owners? Her story was like that of every inappropriate pet. It goes something like this: The pet is bought when it is small and cute. It gives much amusement to its owners. Then it grows in size and in appetite. It reveals itself incapable of being house-trained. Its increasing strength makes it harder to handle. One day the maid pulls the sheet from its nest because she has decided to wash it, or the son jokingly pinches a morsel of food from its hands-over some such seemingly small matter, the pet flashes its teeth in anger and the family is frightened. The very next day the pet finds itself bouncing at the back of the family Jeep in the company of its human brothers and sisters. A jungle is entered. Everyone in the vehicle finds it a strange and formidable place. A clearing is come to. It is briefly explored. All of a sudden the Jeep roars to life and its wheels kick up dirt and the pet sees all the ones it has known and loved looking at it from the back window as the Jeep speeds away. It has been left behind. The pet does not understand. It is as unprepared for this jungle as its human siblings are. It waits around for their return, trying to quell the panic rising in it. They do not return. The sun sets. Quickly it becomes depressed and gives up on life. It dies of hunger and exposure in the next few days. Or is attacked by dogs.

Orange Juice could have been one of these forlorn pets. Instead she ended up at the Pondicherry Zoo. She remained gentle and unaggressive her whole life. I have memories from when I was a child of her never-ending arms surrounding me, her fingers, each as long as my whole hand, picking at my hair. She was a young female practising her maternal skills. As she matured into her full wild self, I observed her at a distance. I thought I knew her so well that I could predict her every move. I thought I knew not only her habits but also her limits. This display of ferocity, of savage courage, made me realize that I was wrong. All my life I had known only a part of her.

She thumped the beast on the head. And what a thump it was. The beast's head hit the bench it had just reached, making such a sharp noise, besides splaying its front legs flat out, that I thought surely either the bench or its jaw or both must break. The hyena was up again in an instant, every hair on its body as erect as the hairs on my head, but its hostility wasn't quite so kinetic now. It withdrew. I exulted. Orange Juice's stirring defence brought a glow to my heart.

It didn't last long.

An adult female orang-utan cannot defeat an adult male spotted hyena. That is the plain empirical truth. Let it become known among zoologists. Had Orange Juice been a male, had she loomed as large on the scales as she did in my heart, it might have been another matter. But portly and overfed though she was from living in the comfort of a zoo, even so she tipped the scales at barely 110 pounds. Female orang-utans are half the size of males. But it is not simply a question of weight and brute strength. Orange Juice was far from defenceless. What it comes down to is attitude and knowledge. What does a fruit eater know about killing? Where would it learn where to bite, how hard, for how long? An orang-utan may be taller, may have very strong and agile arms and long canines, but if it does not know how to use these as weapons, they are of little use. The hyena, with only its jaws, will overcome the ape because it knows what it wants and how to get it.

The hyena came back. It jumped on the bench and caught Orange Juice at the wrist before she could strike. Orange Juice hit the hyena on the head with her other arm, but the blow only made the beast snarl viciously. She made to bite, but the hyena moved faster. Alas, Orange Juice's defence lacked precision and coherence. Her fear was something useless that only hampered her. The hyena let go of her wrist and expertly got to her throat.

Dumb with pain and horror, I watched as Orange Juice thumped the hyena ineffectually and pulled at its hair while her throat was being squeezed by its jaws. To the end she reminded me of us: her eyes expressed fear in such a humanlike way, as did her strained whimpers. She made an attempt to climb onto the tarpaulin. The hyena violently shook her. She fell off the bench to the bottom of the lifeboat, the hyena with her. I heard noises but no longer saw anything.

I was next. That much was clear to me. With some difficulty I stood up. I could hardly see through the tears in my eyes. I was no longer crying because of my family or because of my impending death. I was far too numb to consider either. I was crying because I was exceedingly tired and it was time to get rest.

I advanced over the tarpaulin. Though tautly stretched at the end of the boat, it sagged a little in the middle; it made for three or four toilsome, bouncy steps. And I had to reach over the net and the rolled-up tarpaulin. And these efforts in a lifeboat that was constantly rolling. In the condition I was in, it felt like a great trek. When I laid my foot on the middle cross bench, its hardness had an invigorating effect on me, as if I had just stepped on solid ground. I planted both my feet on the bench and enjoyed my firm stand. I was feeling dizzy, but since the capital moment of my life was coming up this dizziness only added to my sense of frightened sublimity. I raised my hands to the level of my chest-the weapons I had against the hyena. It looked up at me. Its mouth was red. Orange Juice lay next to it, against the dead zebra. Her arms were spread wide open and her short legs were folded together and slightly turned to one side. She looked like a simian Christ on the Cross. Except for her head. She was beheaded. The neck wound was still bleeding. It was a sight horrible to the eyes and killing to the spirit. Just before throwing myself upon the hyena, to collect myself before the final struggle, I looked down.

Between my feet, under the bench, I beheld Richard Parker's head. It was gigantic. It looked the size of the planet Jupiter to my dazed senses. His paws were like volumes of Encyclopaedia Britannica.

I made my way back to the bow and collapsed.

I spent the night in a state of delirium. I kept thinking I had slept and was awaking after dreaming of a tiger.

第四十七章

    天亮了，空气潮湿，阴云密布，风是暖的，天空像一块乌云织成的厚密的毯子，而乌云就像堆成团的肮脏的棉被单。

    斑马还活着。我无法相信。它身上有一个两英尺宽的洞，洞口像一座刚刚爆发的火山，喷出被吃了一半的器官，在光线下闪着亮或发出晦暗的干巴巴的光，然而，在它最重要的部分，生命仍然在跳动着，尽管十分微弱。它的活动仅限于颤抖一下后腿，偶尔眨一下眼睛。我吓坏了。我不知道一个生命可以承受如此严重的伤害却还活着。

    鬣狗很紧张。虽然天已经亮了，但是它并没有安下心来休息。这也许是因为吃得太多了吧；它的肚子胀得大大的。“橘子汁”的情绪也很危险。她坐立不安，露着牙齿。

    我待在原地，在靠近船头的地方蜷缩着。我的身体和精神都很虚弱。我担心如果在船桨上平衡不了身体就会掉迸水里去。

    中午的时候，斑马死了。它的眼睛毫无生气，对鬣狗偶尔的攻击已经毫不在意了。

    下午，暴力爆发了。情绪已经紧张到了无法忍受的程度。鬣狗在尖声吠叫。“橘子汁”在发出呼噜声和很响的咂嘴声。突然，它们的抱怨被引燃，大量喷射而出。鬣狗跳到斑马残缺的尸体上，朝“橘子汁”冲了过去。

    我想我已经把鬣狗的威胁说得很清楚了。我心里非常清楚，在“橘子汁”还没有机会保卫自己之前，找已经对她的生命不抱任何希望了。我低估了她。我低估了她的勇气。

    她重重地捶了一下那只野兽的头。这是个令人震惊的动作。这使我的心因为爱、崇拜和恐惧而融化了。我有没有说过她以前是只宠物，被她的印度尼西亚主人麻木不仁地抛弃了——她的故事和所有不合适做宠物的动物的故事．．样。故事大概是这样的：宠物在年幼可爱的时候被买了回去。它给主人一家带来了许多欢乐。后来它长大了，胃口也大了。

    它的表现说明它不可能被训练得服从管教。越来越大的力气使它变得很难管。一天，女仆把它窝里的床单抽出来，因为她决定要洗床单，或者，主人家的儿子开玩笑地从它手里抢走了一块食物——为了这些看上去很小的事情，宠物生气地露出了牙齿。家里人害怕了。第二天，宠物发现自己和人类兄弟姐妹一起在吉普车的后排座上颠簸。车子开进了一座丛林。车上的每个人都认为那是一个奇怪的可怕的地方。他们来到一块林中空地。他们迅速查看了一下空地。突然，吉普车吼叫着开动起来，轮子卷起了灰尘，宠物看到它认识的那些人，它爱的那些人，正透过吉普车的后窗看着它，吉普车飞快地开走了。它被留了下来。宠物不明白。它和它的人类兄弟姐妹一样没有在这座丛林里生活的准备。它在附近等他们回来，努力消除心里涌起的恐慌。他们没有回来。太阳落山了。它很快便变得沮丧，放弃了对生命的希望。几天后它会死于饥饿和曝晒，或者是被犬类攻击。

    “橘子汁”可能成为这些被遗弃的宠物中的一只。但她却进了本地治里动物园。她一生温柔平和。我记得，从我还是个孩子的时候起，她总是把我抱在怀里，用她有我手掌长的手指抓弄我的头发。她是一只年轻的雌性猩猩，在练习做妈妈的技巧。她长大成年，成了一只野性十足的猩猩时，我便在远处观察她。我以为自己非常了解她，可以预测她的每一个动作。这种凶残的野蛮的勇气让我意识到自己错了。我一生只了解她的一部分。

    她重重地捶了一下那只野兽的头。那一下多重啊。那只野兽刚跑到坐板边上，便撞了上去，发出一声很尖锐的声音，同时它的前腿叉开，趴在了地上，我以为坐板或它的嘴或两者肯定碎了。鬣狗一瞬间便站了起来，身上的每一根毛都竖了起来，我的每一根头发也竖了起来，但是现在它的敌意已经不那么活跃。它退了回去。我欣喜若狂。“橘子汁"鼓舞人心的自我防卫让我的心里感到一阵喜悦。

    喜悦的心情没有持续多久。

    成年雌性猩猩打不过成年雄性斑点鬣狗。这是根据经验总结出的明显事实。让动物学家们了解这一点吧D如果“橘子汁”是只雄猩猩，如果她在磅秤上和她在我心中的分量一样重，事情也许会不一样。但是尽管她因为生活在动物园里，所以吃得太多，身体肥胖，她也只有1 10磅重。雌猩猩的个头只有雄猩猩一半大。但这不仅仅是一个重量和蛮力的问题。“橘子汁”并非毫无防御能力。最终起决定作用的是态度和知识。以水果为食的动物对捕杀知道多少？它能从哪里学到谚往哪儿咬，咬多狠，咬多久？猩猩也许高一些，也许有强壮灵巧的手臂和长长的犬齿，但是如果它不知道如何将这丝当做武器使用，那么这些就没有用处。鬣狗只用嘴便能打败猿猴，因为它知道自己想要什么，也知道如何去得到。

    鬣狗回来了。它跳到坐板上，在“橘子汁”还没来得及出手之前便抓住了她的手腕。“橘子汁”用另一只胳膊去打鬣狗的头，但是这一下只让那野兽恶毒地嗥叫起来。她想用嘴咬，但是鬣狗的速度更快。哎，“橘子汁”的防御缺乏精确性和连贯性。她的恐惧毫无用处，只妨碍了她。鬣狗放开她的手腕，很在行地咬住了她的脖子。

    痛苦和恐惧让我说不出话来，我看着“橘子汁”徒劳地捶鬣狗，拽它的毛，同时她的喉咙被它的嘴紧紧地咬着。到了最后，她让我想到了我们自己：她写满恐惧的眼神，还有压抑的呜咽，都太像人类了。她努力想爬到油布上。鬣狗剧烈地摇晃着她。她从坐板上摔下来，摔到了船底，鬣狗也和她一起摔了下去。我听见声音，但是什么也没再看见。

    下一个就是我。这一点非常清楚。我艰难地站了起来。泪水模糊了我的双眼，让我看不清。我已经不是在为我的家庭或是即将到来的死亡而哭泣了。我已经太麻木，想不到这些了。我哭是因为我实在太累了；该休息了。

    我在油布上向前走去。船两端的油布尽管绷得很紧，但是中间却有些松；这一段能让我费力地颠着走三四步。我还得走到网和卷起来的油布旁边。在我当时的状况下，这就像一次艰苦的跋涉。当我把脚踏在中间横坐板上时，坚硬的坐板使我充满了生气，仿佛我踏上的是坚实的陆地。我让两只脚都站在坐板上，享受着稳稳站立的姿势。我感到头晕，但是既然死亡的时刻即将到来，这样的晕眩只让我更加感到一种恐惧的庄严。我把手抬到胸前——它们是我对付鬣狗的武器。它抬头看着我。它的嘴是红的。“橘子汁”躺在它身边，靠着死去的斑马。她的手臂张开着，短短的腿交叉着，稍稍转向一边。她看上去像被钉在十字架上的猿猴基督。只是她没有头。她的头被咬掉了。脖子上的伤口还在流血。这样的景象让眼睛感到恐惧，让心灵感到难以忍受。在朝鬣狗扑过去之前，为了在最后的搏斗之前鼓起勇气，我低下了头。

    在我的两腿之间，在坐板下面，我看见了理查德·帕克的脑袋。巨大的脑袋。恍惚之中，那只脑袋看上去有木星那么大。爪子就像几卷<大不列颠百科全书>。

    我回到船头，倒了下来。

    那个夜晚我是在谵妄的状态中度过的。我一直在想我是睡着了，梦见了一只老虎，现在正在醒来。