Chapter 36

The cities are large and memorably crowded in India, but when you leave them you travel through vast stretches of country where hardly a soul is to be seen. I remember wondering where 950 million Indians could be hiding.

I could say the same of his house.

I'm a little early. I've just set foot on the cement steps of the front porch when a teenager bursts out the front door. He's wearing a baseball uniform and carrying baseball equipment, and he's in a hurry. When he sees me he stops dead in his tracks, startled. He turns around and hollers into the house, "Dad! The writer's here." To me he says, "Hi," and rushes off.

His father comes to the front door. "Hello," he says.

"That was your son?" I ask, incredulous.

"Yes." To acknowledge the fact brings a smile to his lips. "I'm sorry you didn't meet properly. He's late for practice. His name is Nikhil. He goes by Nick."

I'm in the entrance hall. "I didn't know you had a son," I say. There's a barking. A small mongrel mutt, black and brown, races up to me, panting and sniffing. He jumps up against my legs. "Or a dog," I add.

"He's friendly. Tata, down!"

Tata ignores him. I hear "Hello." Only this greeting is not short and forceful like Nick's. It's a long, nasal and softly whining Hellooooooooo, with the ooooooooo reaching for me like a tap on the shoulder or a gentle tug at my pants.

I turn. Leaning against the sofa in the living room, looking up at me bashfully, is a little brown girl, pretty in pink, very much at home. She's holding an orange cat in her arms. Two front legs sticking straight up and a deeply sunk head are all that is visible of it above her crossed arms. The rest of the cat is hanging all the way down to the floor. The animal seems quite relaxed about being stretched on the rack in this manner.

"And this is your daughter," I say.

"Yes. Usha. Usha darling, are you sure Moccasin is comfortable like that?"

Usha drops Moccasin. He flops to the floor unperturbed.

"Hello, Usha," I say.

She comes up to her father and peeks at me from behind his leg.

"What are you doing, little one?" he says. "Why are you hiding?"

She doesn't reply, only looks at me with a smile and hides her face.

"How old are you, Usha?" I ask.

She doesn't reply.

Then Piscine Molitor Patel, known to all as Pi Patel, bends down and picks up his daughter.

"You know the answer to that question. Hmmm? You're four years old. One, two, three, four."

At each number he softly presses the tip of her nose with his index finger. She finds this terribly funny. She giggles and buries her face in the crook of his neck.

This story has a happy ending.

第三十六章

    印度的城市很大，很拥挤，令人难忘，但是当你离开城市之后，就会穿过广阔的乡村，那里几乎看不到一个人。我记得自己曾经很不明白九亿五千万印度人都藏到哪里去了。

    他的家也是一样。

    我到得有点儿早了。我刚踏上前廊的水泥台阶，一个少年从前门冲了出来。他穿着棒球服，拿着棒球器械，一副急匆匆的样子。看见我，他一下子停了下来，很吃惊。他转过身，对着家里大声叫喊：“爸！那个作家来了。”他对我说了句“你好”，便急忙跑掉了。

    他父亲来到前门。“你好。"他说。

    “那是你儿子？”我问，感到难以置信。

    “是的，”承认这个事实使他唇上浮起了微笑，“很抱歉你们没能好好地见面。他训练迟到了。他叫尼基。我们叫他尼克。”

    我进了门。“我不知道你有个儿子。”我说。传来一声狗叫。一只黑色和棕色相间的小杂种狗朝我跑过来，边跑边喘着嗅着。它扑到了我腿上。“也不知道你有一条狗。"我补充说。

    “它很友好。塔塔，下来！”

    塔塔没理他。我听见有人说“你好”。只是这句问候不像尼克的问候一样简短有力。长长的带鼻音的声音轻轻地哼着“你好”，那个“好”字在我听来就像有人在轻轻地拍我的肩膀，或是轻轻地拽我的裤子。

    我转过身。靠在起居室的沙发上，羞怯地抬头看着我的，是一个棕色皮肤的小姑娘，健康漂亮，无拘无束。她怀里抱着一只橘黄色的猫。从她交叉的双臂上面，只能看见猫的两只笔直地向上伸着的腿和埋在下面的头。猫的身体的其余部分一直拖到地板上。这只动物被如此痛苦地拉长了身体，却似乎感到很放松。

    “这是你女儿。"我说。

    “是的。乌莎。乌莎亲爱的，你肯定莫卡辛这样舒服吗？”

    乌莎把莫卡辛放了下来。它镇定地扑道落在地上。

    “你好，鸟莎。¨我说。

    她走到父亲跟前，从他的腿后面偷偷看我。

    “你在做什么，小东西？”他说。“你为什么要躲起来？”

    她不回答，只是微笑着看着我，藏起自己的脸。“你几岁了，乌莎？”我问。她不回答。

    然后，派西尼·莫利托·帕特尔，大家都称他派·帕特尔的那个人，弯腰抱起了他的女儿。

    “你知道那个问题的答案的。嗯？你4岁了。一，二，三，四。”

    每数一个数字，他就用食指轻轻地按一下她的鼻尖。她觉得这很好玩。她格格格地笑起来，把头埋在他的颈弯里。

    这个故事有个幸福的结局。