Chapter 43

The last trace I saw of the ship was a patch of oil glimmering on the surface of the water.

I was certain I wasn't alone. It was inconceivable that the Tsimtsum should sink without eliciting a peep of concern. Right now in Tokyo, in Panama City, in Madras, in Honolulu, why, even in Winnipeg, red lights were blinking on consoles, alarm bells were ringing, eyes were opening wide in horror, mouths were gasping, "My God! The Tsimtsum has sunk!" and hands were reaching for phones. More red lights were starting to blink and more alarm bells were starting to ring. Pilots were running to their planes with their shoelaces still untied, such was their hurry. Ship officers were spinning their wheels till they were feeling dizzy. Even submarines were swerving underwater to join in the rescue effort. We would be rescued soon. A ship would appear on the horizon. A gun would be found to kill the hyena and put the zebra out of its misery. Perhaps Orange Juice could be saved. I would climb aboard and be greeted by my family. They would have been picked up in another lifeboat. I only had to ensure my survival for the next few hours until this rescue ship came.

I reached from my perch for the net. I rolled it up and tossed it midway on the tarpaulin to act as a barrier, however small. Orange Juice had seemed practically cataleptic. My guess was she was dying of shock. It was the hyena that worried me. I could hear it whining. I clung to the hope that a zebra, a familiar prey, and an orang-utan, an unfamiliar one, would distract it from thoughts of me.

I kept one eye on the horizon, one eye on the other end of the lifeboat. Other than the hyena's whining, I heard very little from the animals, no more than claws scuffing against a hard surface and occasional groans and arrested cries. No major fight seemed to be taking place.

Mid-morning the hyena appeared again. In the preceding minutes its whining had been rising in volume to a scream. It jumped over the zebra onto the stern, where the lifeboat's side benches came together to form a triangular bench. It was a fairly exposed position, the distance between bench and gunnel being about twelve inches. The animal nervously peered beyond the boat. Beholding a vast expanse of shifting water seemed to be the last thing it wanted to see, for it instantly brought its head down and dropped to the bottom of the boat behind the zebra. That was a cramped space; between the broad back of the zebra and the sides of the buoyancy tanks that went all round the boat beneath the benches, there wasn't much room left for a hyena. It thrashed about for a moment before climbing to the stern again and jumping back over the zebra to the middle of the boat, disappearing beneath the tarpaulin. This burst of activity lasted less than ten seconds. The hyena came to within fifteen feet of me. My only reaction was to freeze with fear. The zebra, by comparison, swiftly reared its head and barked.

I was hoping the hyena would stay under the tarpaulin. I was disappointed. Nearly immediately it leapt over the zebra and onto the stern bench again. There it turned on itself a few times, whimpering and hesitating. I wondered what it was going to do next. The answer came quickly: it brought its head low and ran around the zebra in a circle, transforming the stern bench, the side benches and the cross bench just beyond the tarpaulin into a twenty-five-foot indoor track. It did one lap-two-three-four-five-and onwards, non-stop, till I lost count. And the whole time, lap after lap, it went yip yip yip yip yip in a high-pitched way. My reaction, once again, was very slow. I was seized by fear and could only watch. The beast was going at a good clip, and it was no small animal; it was an adult male that looked to be about 140 pounds. The beating of its legs against the benches made the whole boat shake, and its claws were loudly clicking on their surface. Each time it came from the stern I tensed. It was hair-raising enough to see the thing racing my way; worse still was the fear that it would keep going straight. Clearly, Orange Juice, wherever she was, would not be an obstacle. And the rolled-up tarpaulin and the bulge of the net were even more pitiful defences. With the slightest of efforts the hyena could be at the bow right at my feet. It didn't seem intent on that course of action; every time it came to the cross bench, it took it, and I saw the upper half of its body moving rapidly along the edge of the tarpaulin. But in this state, the hyena's behaviour was highly unpredictable and it could decide to attack me without warning.

After a number of laps it stopped short at the stern bench and crouched, directing its gaze downwards, to the space below the tarpaulin. It lifted its eyes and rested them upon me. The look was nearly the typical look of a hyena-blank and frank, the curiosity apparent with nothing of the mental set revealed, jaw hanging open, big ears sticking up rigidly, eyes bright and black-were it not for the strain that exuded from every cell of its body, an anxiety that made the animal glow, as if with a fever. I prepared for my end. For nothing. It started running in circles again.

When an animal decides to do something, it can do it for a very long time. All morning the hyena ran in circles going yip yip yip yip yip. Once in a while it briefly stopped at the stern bench, but otherwise every lap was identical to the previous one, with no variations in movement, in speed, in the pitch or the volume of the yipping, in the counter-clockwise direction of travel. Its yipping was shrill and annoying in the extreme. It became so tedious and draining to watch that I eventually turned my head to the side, trying to keep guard with the corner of my eyes. Even the zebra, which at first snorted each time the hyena raced by its head, fell into a stupor.

Yet every time the hyena paused at the stern bench, my heart jumped. And as much as I wanted to direct my attention to the horizon, to where my salvation lay, it kept straying back to this maniacal beast.

I am not one to hold a prejudice against any animal, but it is a plain fact that the spotted hyena is not well served by its appearance. It is ugly beyond redemption. Its thick neck and high shoulders that slope to the hindquarters look as if they've come from a discarded prototype for the giraffe, and its shaggy, coarse coat seems to have been patched together from the leftovers of creation. The colour is a bungled mix of tan, black, yellow, grey, with the spots having none of the classy ostentation of a leopard's rosettes; they look rather like the symptoms of a skin disease, a virulent form of mange. The head is broad and too massive, with a high forehead, like that of a bear, but suffering from a receding hairline, and with ears that look ridiculously mouse-like, large and round, when they haven't been torn off in battle. The mouth is forever open and panting. The nostrils are too big. The tail is scraggly and unwagging. The gait is shambling. All the parts put together look doglike, but like no dog anyone would want as a pet.

But I had not forgotten Father's words. These were not cowardly carrion-eaters. If National Geographic portrayed them as such, it was because National Geographic filmed during the day. It is when the moon rises that the hyena's day starts, and it proves to be a devastating hunter. Hyenas attack in packs whatever animal can be run down, its flanks opened while still in full motion. They go for zebras, gnus and water buffaloes, and not only the old or the infirm in a herd-full-grown members too. They are hardy attackers, rising up from buttings and kickings immediately, never giving up for simple lack of will. And they are clever; anything that can be distracted from its mother is good. The ten-minute-old gnu is a favourite dish, but hyenas also eat young lions and young rhinoceros. They are diligent when their efforts are rewarded. In fifteen minutes flat, all that will be left of a zebra is the skull, which may yet be dragged away and gnawed down at leisure by young ones in the lair. Nothing goes to waste; even grass upon which blood has been spilt will be eaten. Hyenas' stomachs swell visibly as they swallow huge chunks of kill. If they are lucky, they become so full they have difficulty moving. Once they've digested their kill, they cough up dense hairballs, which they pick clean of edibles before rolling in them. Accidental cannibalism is a common occurrence during the excitement of a feeding; in reaching for a bite of zebra, a hyena will take in the ear or nostril of a clan member, no hard feelings intended. The hyena feels no disgust at this mistake. Its delights are too many to admit to disgust at anything.

In fact, a hyena's catholicity of taste is so indiscriminate it nearly forces admiration. A hyena will drink from water even as it is urinating in it. The animal has another original use for its urine: in hot, dry weather it will cool itself by relieving its bladder on the ground and stirring up a refreshing mud bath with its paws. Hyenas snack on the excrement of herbivores with clucks of pleasure. It's an open question as to what hyenas won't eat. They eat their own kind (the rest of those whose ears and noses they gobbled down as appetizers) once they're dead, after a period of aversion that lasts about one day. They will even attack motor vehicles-the headlights, the exhaust pipe, the side mirrors. It is not their gastric juices that limit hyenas, but the power of their jaws, which is formidable.

That was the animal I had racing around in circles before me. An animal to pain the eye and chill the heart.

Things ended in typical hyena fashion. It stopped at the stern and started producing deep groans interrupted by fits of heavy panting. I pushed myself away on the oar till only the tips of my feet were holding on to the boat. The animal hacked and coughed. Abruptly it vomited. A gush landed behind the zebra. The hyena dropped into what it had just produced. It stayed there, shaking and whining and turning around on itself, exploring the furthest confines of animal anguish. It did not move from the restricted space for the rest of the day. At times the zebra made noises about the predator just behind it, but mostly it lay in hopeless and sullen silence.

第四十三章

    大船留下的最后痕迹是水面上漂浮的一片闪光的油。

    我肯定自己不是孤独的。无法想像“齐姆楚姆”号没有引起一点点关心。现在，在东京，在巴拿马城，在马德拉斯，在火奴鲁鲁，嗨，甚至在温尼伯，控制台上的红灯在闪烁，警铃在拉响，一双双眼睛因恐惧而睁得大大的，一张张嘴在倒吸凉气：“我的天啊！‘齐姆楚姆’号沉没了！”一双双手去拿电话话筒。更多的红灯开始闪烁，更多的警铃开始拉响。飞行员们迅速向弋机跑去，连鞋带都没来得及系，他们就这样匆忙。船长们飞快地转动着舵轮，直转到自己头都晕了。甚至潜水艇也在水底突然转向，参加了救援行动。我们很快就会得救的。一艘大船会在地平线上出现。会找到一枝枪杀死鬣狗，结束斑马的痛苦。也许“橘子汁”会得救。我会爬上大船，受到家人的欢迎。他们已经被另一只救生艇救起来了。我只需在接下来的几个小时内，在救援的船只到来之前，保证自己活着就行了。

    我从自己休息的地方伸手去够那张网。我把网卷起来，扔到油布中间，这样网就可以形成一道屏障，无论这屏障多么小。“橘子汁”看上去差不多陷入了强直昏厥状态。我猜她因为受惊已经奄奄一息。让我担心的是鬣狗。我能听见它发出阵阵哀鸣。我始终希望它所熟悉的猎物斑马和它所不熟悉的猎物猩猩能分散它的注意力，让他想不到我。

    我一边注意着地平线，一边注意着救生艇的另一头。除了鬣狗的哀鸣，我几乎听不见动物发出的其他声音，只有爪子在坚硬的表面来回摩擦的声音，偶尔几声呻吟声和被抑制的叫声。似乎没有大规模的打斗。

    上午，鬣狗又出现了。在这之前的几分钟里，它的哀鸣声越来越高，变成了尖叫声。它从斑马身上跳过去，跳到船尾，在那里，舷边的坐板连在一起，形成了一张三角形的坐板。那是一个相当暴露的地方，坐板和舷侧之间只有大约十二英寸。那只动物紧张地凝视着船外面。浩瀚起伏的海水似乎是它最不愿意看见的东西，因为它立刻便低下头，跳迸了斑马身后的船庇。那是一处狭窄的空间；坐板下面、船的四周到处都是浮箱，在斑马宽阔的后背和这些浮箱的边缘之间没有多少空间，很难容下一只鬣狗。它扭动了一会儿，然后又从斑马身上跳过去，回到了船中间，消失在了油布下面。这一阵突发的动作持续了不到十秒钟。鬣狗到了距我不到15英尺的地方。我惟一的反应是吓得不能动弹。相反，斑马迅速昂起头，叫了起来。

    我希望鬣狗会一直待在油布下面。我失望了。它几乎立刻又从斑马身上跳过去，跳到了船尾坐板上。它在上面转了几次身，呜呜咽咽地叫着，犹豫不决。我不知道它下面会做什么。答案很快便揭晓了：它低下头，绕着斑马跑起来，把船尾坐板、舷边坐板和油布那边的横坐板变成了周长25英尺的室内田径场。它跑了一圈一两圈一三圈一四圈一五圈一还在继续跑，一直不停地跑，最后我都数不清它跑了多少圈了。一圈又一圈跑的同时，它一直在尖声叫喊。我的反应还是很慢。我完全被恐惧控制了，只能看着它。这野兽奔跑的速度很快，而且它不是一只小动物；它是一只看上去有140磅重的成年雄性动物。它的腿敲打在坐板上，让整只船都摇晃起来，它的爪子在坐板上发出很大的喀嚓喀嚓的声响。每次它跑到船尾时我都很紧张。看到那个东西朝我飞速跑来已经让人汗毛直竖了；更糟的是，我害怕它会一直朝我跑来。很显然，无论“橘子汁”在哪里，她都不会成为障碍。卷起的油布和堆成一团的网更是可怜的防御物。只需要二点点力气，鬣狗就能来到船头我的脚下。它似乎并不想那么做；每次来到横坐板边，它都会跃过去，我能看见它的上半身在沿着油布边缘迅速奔跑。但是在这样的状态下，鬣狗的行为完全不可预料，官很可能会决定不加警告便对我发动袭击。

    跑了很多圈后，它突然在船尾停住，蹲伏下来，眼睛向下，朝油布下面看去。它抬起眼睛，目光落到了我身上。那是一种茫然而不加掩饰的眼神，带着明显的好奇，却没有暴露一点儿心里的想法。它的嘴张得大大的，耳朵僵硬地竖着，眼睛又亮又黑。要不是因为它身体的每一个细胞都散发出紧张的气息——那是一种焦虑，让它浑身发抖，好像在发烧一样二一那几乎就是典型的鬣狗的眼神。我为自己的末日做好了准备。什么也没有发生。它又开始绕着圈跑起来。

    当动物决心做一件事的时候，它可以做很长时间。整个早晨，鬣狗都在尖声吠叫着绕着圈跑。有时候它会在船尾停一会儿，但是除此以外，每一圈都和前一圈一样，动作、速度、叫声的音高和音量、逆时针的方向都没有变化。看它这么跑太单调太累人了，最后我把头扭向一边，试图用眼角的余光保持警惕。刚开始的时候，每次鬣狗从斑马的头旁边跑过，斑马都会喷鼻息，现在甚至它也麻木了。

    然而，每一次鬣狗在船尾坐板旁边停留时，我的心都会猛地跳一下。尽管我很想注意看地平线，那个救援出现的地方，但是我的眼神却总是不由自主地回到这只狂躁的野兽身上。

    我不是一个对动物抱有偏见的人，但是斑点鬣狗的长相实在让人不敢恭维，这是显而易见的事实。它丑得不可救药。粗粗的脖子和向后腿倾斜的高高的肩膀使它们看上去像一种被淘汰的长颈鹿，而粗糙蓬乱的毛看上去就像是用上帝造物剩下来的东西拼凑而成。毛上的棕褐色、黑色、黄色和灰色乱糟糟地混杂在一起，斑点根本无法和豹子身上值得炫耀的漂亮的圆形斑点相提并论；这些斑点看上去更像是得了一种皮肤病，一种致命的兽疥癣。头很宽，显得太大，有一个像熊一样的高高的额头，但是前额的毛已经脱落了，耳朵很滑稽，长得像毫鼠耳朵，没有在战斗中被撕掉之前又大又圆。嘴永远张着，喘着气。鼻孔太大。尾巴蓬乱，不会摇摆。步态笨拙。所有这些部分加在一起让它们看上去像狗，但不像任何人愿意当做宠物的狗。

    但是，我没有忘记父亲的话。它们可不是胆小的腌食动物。如果《国家地理》是这样描绘它们的，那是因为这个节目是在白天拍摄的。鬣狗的一天从月亮升起的时候开始，而它们是非常强有力的捕猎能手。鬣狗成群攻击任何可以捕杀的动物，这些动物还在全速奔跑时便被鬣狗撕开了腹侧。它们捕杀斑马、牛羚和水牛，而且不仅捕杀兽群中的年老体弱者——也捕杀身强体壮者。它们的攻击十分有力，被顶倒或踢倒后会立即爬起来，从不仅仅因为意志力不强而放弃。它们也很聪明；任何能从妈妈身边被引开的小动物都是好的。

    它们最喜欢吃刚出生十分钟的小牛羚，但是也吃小狮子和小犀牛。当努力得到回报的时候，它们坚持不懈。在仅仅十五分钟的时间里，一匹斑马便会只剩下一只头骨，而这只头骨也会被拖走，让窝里的小鬣狗慢慢啃。什么都不会浪费；甚至溅上了血的草也会被吃掉。当鬣狗吞下大块大块的猎物时，它们的肚子会明显地变大。如果幸运的话，它们会撑到连走路都困难。把猎物消化掉以后，它们会咳出厚密的毛团。它们会把毛团上能吃的东西都剔干净，然后在里面打滚。在迸食的兴奋之中，意外的同类相食是常见的事；在争着去吃斑马的时候，鬣狗会吃掉同群中其他鬣狗的耳朵或鼻孔，但并没有什么敌意。鬣狗并不讨厌这种错误。使它们高兴的事太多了，它们不会对任何事情感到厌恶。

    实际上，鬣狗能吃的东西太多了，太不挑食，几乎令人不得不敬佩。鬣狗可以一边茌水里小便一边喝水。它们还有一种利用小便的独创方法：在又热又干的天气里，它们会在地上撒尿，然后用爪子给自己洗一个提神的烂泥浴，以此来给自己降温。鬣狗会高兴地咯咯叫着把食草动物的粪便当做零食吃下去。有什么是鬣狗不吃的吗，这是个可以讨论的问题。一旦同类死去，它们对尸体的厌恶会持续大约一天时间，然后便将尸体（耳朵和鼻子被它们当做开胃小菜大口吞下去的同类的剩余身体）吃掉。它们甚至会袭击汽车——前灯、排气管、侧视镜。限制鬣狗的并不是它们的胃液，而是它们爪子的能力，而它们爪子的能力令人惊叹。

    就是这样一只动物在我面前绕着圈跑。这只动物让我的眼睛疼痛，让我的心直往下沉。

    事情以典型的鬣狗的方式结束了。它在船尾停了下来，开始发出低沉的呻吟声，中间夹杂着一阵阵沉重的喘息声。我在桨上一点一点地向外移，直到只有脚尖还在船上。这只动物频繁地发出短促的干咳声。突然它吐了起来。呕吐物猛地喷到了斑马的身体那边。鬣狗跳进了自己刚才吐出来的东西里面。它待在那儿，颤抖着，哀鸣着，转着身，探寻着动物痛苦的极限。那天它没再从那块地方出来过。有时候斑马会因为身后的捕食者而发出几声声响，但大多数时候它只是无助地郁郁寡欢地躺着。