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第一部 第八章 彩虹鸽的冒险历程(续)

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2022年06月08日

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PART ONE Chapter Eight Gay-Neck's Odyssey (continued)

In order to make clear to you the swift's skill at architecture, let me first of all draw attention to the swift's handicaps. He has a small beak fit for catching flying insects. His mouth is very wide to enable him to catch his prey while he is on the wing. Very few insects can escape his wide-open mouth as he comes down on them. As he is very small, Mr. Swift cannot lift much weight. No wonder his house is built out of slender materials such as straw and twigs of trees no thicker than a middle-sized needle. The first time I saw a swift he looked paralysed and deformed. All swifts know that they have wretched legs. The bird has hardly any legs to balance upon. His small feet like fish-hooks, made for sticking on to places, emerge right out of his body; his little hook like claws seem inflexible. He has not enough leg between his body and his feet, and this deprives him of the springiness that longer legs supply to other birds. No wonder he cannot hop or jump. But that defect is squared by his one advantage—he can cling to stone palisades, marble eaves, and alabaster friezes of houses as no other bird can. I have seen my friend Swift hang on to polished walls as if they were corrugated surfaces.

Under these handicaps, all he can do is to choose holes in walls just under the eaves for his home. But there he cannot lay his eggs, for they would roll off. So he catches flying straws and small falling leaves, and glues them to the stone floor of his nest with his saliva. That is the secret of his skill at architecture. His saliva is wonderful; it dries and hardens like the best glue of the cabinet-makers. When the nest is made ready, the long white eggs are laid. Among the swifts, women are not so emancipated as among the pigeons. Our women enjoy equal rights with men, but the female swift has always the larger part of the work to do. For instance, Mr. Swift never sits on the eggs; he lets his wife do it. Occasionally he brings her food during the day, but otherwise he spends all his waking hours visiting male swifts whose wives are similarly occupied. I told my friend Swift he ought to copy the pigeons and give more freedom to his wife, but he seemed to think this a pet joke of mine. At last our preparations were made, and one fine autumn morning the five swifts and I set out in a southerly direction, piloted by Mr. Swift. We never went in a straight line, but zigzagged east or west, though we held to a general southern course. The swifts eat flies and gnats that float on rivers and lakes. They go about fifty miles an hour—a blinding speed for a small bird—and do not like woods because while their gaze is fixed downwards in search of insects, they may break their wings on a tree. They prefer open clear spaces above the waters, and with their scythelike long wings they cleave the air as swiftly as an eagle falls on its prey. Think of the precision of the swift's eye and mouth! While he is whirling over the water, he snaps up flying insects with such ease that the space he traverses is completely cleared of all the gnats and flies who a few moments before danced in the sunlight.

Thus we went over streams, ponds and lagoons. By the way, Mr. Swift eats his food in a hurry and takes his drink the same way. He flies over the water, skimming up drops as he goes, and swallowing them at a very high rate of speed. No wonder that he hates to fly in a place crowded with boughs, larches and saplings. But so much flight in open air has its drawbacks. While a swift is eating insects with such speed, a sparrow-hawk may fall on him from above. Under these circumstances the swift cannot dip down, for that would mean death by drowning. I must tell you of one such attack on my friends. They were busy catching their dinner on a vast lake one afternoon, and while I was flying about, keeping an eye on the younger swifts, down came a sparrow-hawk. I who had undertaken to look after the children had to act quickly even at the risk of my own life. Without an instant's hesitation I plunged and tumbled, inserting my body between the enemy and the young ones. Well, the sparrow-hawk had never expected so much nerve from a member of the dove family, nor did he calculate my weight. I was at least five ounces heavier than he. He struck my tail with his talons, tore a few feathers, and thinking that he had got something he circled the air for a moment or two. Before he realized that he had only my feathers, all the swifts were safe, clinging to the bark of a tree out of anybody's reach. But the small sparrow-hawk was so infuriated that he fell on me with the fury of a large one. However, his body was very small and his talons smaller, and I knew they could not pierce my feathers and my skin very far. So I accepted his challenge and tumbled up. He followed. I shot downwards; he too dived after. Then I began to rise high. He pursued as before. But those little hawks fear the upper air, and his wings lagged now. To my two wing-beats he could make but one. Seeing him hopeless and tired, I planned to teach him the lesson of his life. No sooner had I conceived than I executed my plan. I shot downwards. He plunged after. Down, down, down! The water of the lake rose towards us, higher and higher every second till it looked no farther than the width of my wing. Then I flung forward a few inches and struck a warm air current that helped me upwards. As you know, air warmed in the hollow places and valleys of mountain country has a tendency to shoot up into cooler regions. We birds look for these currents to help us when we have need to make a sudden upward flight. Now I tumbled three times, and when I looked down I found that sparrow hawk drowning in the water. He had not been able to reach the air current. After a considerable ducking, he laboriously flew ashore, and there under thick leaves hid his disgrace. That instant the swifts came out of their hiding-place and flew southwards.

The next day we met some wild ducks. They had coloured throats like mine, but otherwise they were as white as snow. They were stream ducks, whose habit is to float down a mountain brook after fish. When they have gone far, they rise out of the water and fly back to their starting-place. So they spend the day like shuttles going back and forth. Their bills were flatter than those of the geese, and they are dented inside, for once they close on a fish the bills never slip. They did not seem to care much for the shellfish, but that was probably because the fish in the lake were so plentiful. The swifts did not like the place because the ducks' wings beat the air continually and blew away the insects that normally fly over any water surface. Still, they were glad to see ducks that loved and lived on mountain torrents, never bothering about the calm water so dear to most ducks. It was these ducks who warned us against the owls and other murderers of the night that infested those regions. So we did our best to hide in places too small for owls to go into. It was easy to find holes in a tree small enough for the swifts, but I decided to stay in the open and take my chances. Night came on apace. Pretty soon my eyes could serve me no longer. Darkness within darkness, like layers of black cloth, lay upon them. I commended myself to the Gods of my race and tried to sleep. But who could sleep with those owls who-whoing about? Terror seized me for the night. Not an hour passed without some bird's shrieking in pain. The owls, too, hooted in triumph. Now a starling, then a bulbul (the Indian nightingale) would cry mortally, and die under the owl's grip. Though my eyes were shut, my ears knew the carnage that went on. A crow shrieked. Then another, then another. Almost a flock flew up in terror and smashed themselves against trees. But better that kind of death than to be killed by the searing and tearing beaks and claws of the owls. Soon to my utter confusion I smelt weasels in the air, and then I felt that death was at hand. That made me desperate; I opened my eyes to see. A pale white light was shining on all things. There before me, about six feet away, was a weasel. I flew up, though that increased the danger of my being killed by the owls. And sure enough, along came one, hooting and screaming. Two more owls followed. I heard their wing-beats, and by the nature of the sounds I knew that we were flying over the water, for it echoed back even the slightest shiver of our feathers. I could not fly in any direction very far, since I saw not more than six feet at a time, so I waited in the air, groping for a current that sucked the air of the river up above the boughs that hung over it. Alas, those owls were on me already, but I tumbled, then swung into a circle. The owls would not give up the chase. I rose farther up. Now the moonlight like water dripped from my wings. I could see a little more clearly, and that brought me back my courage. But my enemies did not relent. They too rose, and more light fell on their eyes, blinding them, though not completely. Suddenly two of them plunged towards me. Up I flew. The owls missed—lo! They had fallen on each other. Their claws locked together, their wings flapping helplessly in the air, they screamed like fiends and fell among the reeds of the river-bank.

Now I looked about carefully and noticed to my surprise that I had flown towards the dawning of day and not at the moon. My terror-stricken eyes had not seen truly. But there were no more owls about; they had begun to seek for places of hiding from the growing sunlight. Although I felt safe, I kept away from the prodigious shadows of the tall trees, for even now an owl might lurk there. I stayed on a slender branch on a tree-top that caught the first flight of the sun's arrows, transfiguring it into an umbrella of dancing gold. Slowly the light spread farther down till the white torrent below trembled with colours like a weasel's eyes. Just then on the river-bank I saw an appalling sight. Two large crows, blacker than coal, were jabbing and prodding with their beaks a helpless blinking owl, caught in the reeds. Now that the sun shone, it could not open its eyes. Of course the night's slaughter done among the crows was large, and it was the crows' turn to avenge their wrongs, but I could not bear the sight of two of them killing that trapped owl. So I flew away from the murderers and went to seek my friends the swifts. I recounted some of my experiences, and the parents told me that they had heard terrible cries of distress that kept them from slumber. Mr. Swift asked if everything was safe outside, and I thought it was. When we came out, I found that poor owl lying dead, among the reeds!

Strange to say, that morning we saw no ducks on the stream. Apparently they had flown very early in the morning in a southerly direction, and we decided to do the same. We planned not to seek the company of other birds going our way. For during the season of migration, wherever flocks of pigeons, grouse and other birds go, their enemies, such as owls, hawks and eagles, go after them. In order to avoid danger and such shocking sights as we had seen before, we flew to the east, and after going eastwards a whole day, we rested in the village of Sikkim. The next day we flew south for half a day, and again eastwards. That sort of roundabout journey took a long time, but it saved us no end of trouble. Once we were overtaken by a storm, and were blown into a lake country, and there I saw an amazing sight. I was on a tree-top, when below me I discerned a lot of domesticated ducks floating on the water, each one with a fish in its mouth. But none of them swallowed his morsel. I had never seen ducks resist the temptation to eat fish before, so I called the swifts to behold the sight. They clung to the barks of several trees and looked at the ducks, but they could hardly believe their eyes. What was the matter with them? Pretty soon a boat heaved in sight, poled by two men, flat-faced and yellow. On seeing them, the ducks paddled to the boat as fast as they could go. Reaching it, they hopped up, and then—can you believe it?—they dropped their capture into a large fish basket, and jumped down into the lake to fish for some more, and that went on for at least two hours. Apparently those Tibeto-Burman fishermen never cast nets. They tied a string tightly, almost to the choking point, around their ducks' necks, and then brought them to the lake to catch fish. Whatever the latter caught, they brought to their human masters. However, when their basket became full, they undid the strings that were around the ducks' necks, who then plunged into the lake, and gorged themselves on fish. Now we flew away far from the lakes for a while in quest of harvest-fields. There the swifts fell on the insects that flew about newly mown grain, and devoured them. I, too, ate to repletion of the grain, though not of the insects. While sitting on the fence of a rice-field, I heard someone hitting something. It sounded very much like a chaffinch cracking open a cherry-stone with his beak in order to get at its kernel. (Isn't it strange that a little bird's beak has the power of a nutcracker?) But, when I wandered nearer the place, under the fence, whence the noise was coming, I found another bird—a Himalayan thrush. He was engaged, not in cracking cherry stones, but in hitting a slowly moving snail with his beak. Tick, tack; tick, tack—tack! He hammered on and on until the snail was stunned into stillness. The thrush raised his head and looked around, poised himself on tiptoe, opened his wings, took a quick aim and struck three more blows—tack, tack, tack! The shell broke open, revealing a delicious snail. He lifted it up with his beak, which was bleeding slightly; apparently he had opened his mouth too wide and hurt its corners. After balancing the snail correctly in his grasp, he flew up and vanished into a tree where his mate was waiting for supper.

The rest of our journey through the grain fields of Sikkim was uneventful. The only thing that is worth remembering was the trapping of peacocks by men in the forests. These birds come to the hot southern marshes in quest of food and warmth when the snakes and other creatures whom they eat go into winter quarters in the north. Peacocks and tigers admire one another. The former like to look at the tiger's skin, and he enjoys the beauty of their plumes. Sometimes at the water-hole a tiger will stand gazing at the plumes of a peacock on a bough, and the peacock will crane his neck to feast his eyes on the beauty of the striped skin. Now comes man, the eternal aggressor, on the scene. For instance, a man one day brought a piece of cloth painted exactly like a tiger's skin, so that no bird could tell by looking at it that it was not the striped one himself. Then he set a noose on a branch of a tree nearby, and slunk away. I could tell by the odour of the painted cloth that it was not a tiger, but peacocks have no sense of smell worth speaking of. They are victims of their own eyes. So in a few hours a pair of peacocks came and began to gaze at the make-believe tiger from a tree-top, coming lower and lower. They deceived themselves into the belief that the tiger was asleep. Emboldened by that illusion, they came very close and stood on the branch near the trap. It did not take them long to walk into it, but how they both stepped into a single trap I cannot make out. No sooner were they caught than they shrieked in despair. Then appeared the trapper, and played another trick on them. He threw up two large black canvas caps and lassoed them on each peacock's head, hiding the poor bird's eyes. Once the eyes are darkened, a bird never resists much. The man now tied their feet so that they could not walk; then he set one on each end of his bamboo pole. Slowly he lifted it by the middle, put it on his shoulder and walked off, the long tails of the peacocks streaming down like cataracts of rainbow before and behind him.

There ends my Odyssey. The next day I said good-bye to the swifts. They went farther south, and I was glad to get home, a wiser and a sadder bird. Now, demanded Gay-Neck, "tell me this: Why is there so much killing and inflicting of pain by birds and beasts on one another? I don't think all of you men hurt each other. Do you? But birds and beasts do. All that makes me so sad."

第一部 第八章 彩虹鸽的冒险历程(续)

“为了向你阐明雨燕筑巢的技巧,让我首先指出雨燕的缺陷。他有一张适合捕捉飞虫的宽嘴巴,能让他在飞行时捕捉猎物。他扑向昆虫的时候,能从他的大嘴里逃脱的寥寥无几。因为雨燕很小,所以他举不起太重的东西。难怪他的房子都是用还没有中号针粗的稻草、小树枝这种细长材料盖的。

“我第一次看见雨燕时,他一副畸形的无法正常活动的样子。所有的雨燕都知道他们有一双差劲的腿,几乎无法保持身体的平衡。他的鱼钩般的小脚完全适合贴在一些地方,直接从身体里暴露出来;他的鱼钩般的小爪子似乎不灵活。他的身体和脚之间的腿很短,这使他失去了弹性,腿比较长,会给其他鸟儿提供这种弹性。难怪他不能蹦跳。不过,他的一个优点弥补了这个缺陷——他们能依附在石壁、大理石屋檐和房屋的雪花石膏中楣上,其他鸟儿都做不到。我就曾见过我的朋友雨燕紧紧地抓住光滑的檐壁,好像那是有瓦楞的表面似的。

“在这些不利因素下,他所能做的就是挑选屋檐正下方的墙洞作为他的家。但是,他在那里不能下蛋,因为蛋会滚下来,所以他会抓住一些飞舞的稻草和小小的落叶,用唾液把它们粘在窝巢的石面上。这就是他筑巢技术的秘诀。他的唾液非常奇妙,能像木匠最好的粘柜胶一样变干和坚硬。等巢筑好之后,雨燕太太就会产下又长又白的蛋。在雨燕当中,母雨燕并不像鸽子那样自由。我们的母鸽跟公鸽享有同等的权利,但母雨燕总是要进行更多的劳动。比如,雨燕先生从来不孵蛋;他让太太来做。一天当中,他偶尔给太太送些食物,但其他醒着的时刻他都去找别的太太同样也忙着孵蛋的公雨燕。我曾对我的朋友雨燕说过,他应该仿效鸽子,给太太更多的自由,但他似乎以为这只是我开的一个玩笑。

“最后,我们的准备工作做完了,一个晴朗的秋天的早晨,我和五只雨燕由雨燕先生领航向南方出发了。我们从来没有飞过直线,而是向东或向西呈之字形前行,不过我们总的来说还是向南飞行。雨燕吃着漂浮在河上和湖上的苍蝇和小虫子。他们每小时飞行五十英里左右——一只小小鸟,速度快得让人目眩——雨燕不喜欢树林,因为他们在搜寻小虫子时,目光定定地看着下面,翅膀可能会被树枝折断。他们比较喜欢开阔清澈的水面。他们张开镰刀般长长的翅膀,划开空气,快得就像鹰扑向猎物一般。想一下雨燕的眼睛和嘴巴是多么精确!他在水面上旋转的时候,如此轻松自如地抓起几只飞虫,他穿越的空间完全扫清了所有的蠓虫和苍蝇,刚才这些蠓虫和苍蝇还在阳光下手舞足蹈呢。

“我们就这样飞越过溪流、池塘和湖上空。顺便说一下,雨燕先生匆匆吃了一些食物,匆匆喝了几口水。雨燕飞过水面时,会溅起几滴水,他会以飞快的速度吞下这些水珠。难怪他不喜欢在一个挤满了大树枝、落叶松和树苗的地方飞行。

“但是,在开阔地方如此频繁地飞行也有弊端。当雨燕以这样的速度捕食昆虫的时候,雀鹰可能会从上面袭击他。在这种情况下,雨燕无法下沉,因为那会意味着被淹死。我必须给你们讲述一下我们的朋友们遭遇的一次袭击。一天下午,雨燕们正在一片广阔的湖面上捕食,当我飞来飞去密切注视小雨燕的时候,一只雀鹰飞扑下来。既然我承诺要照看小雨燕,我就必须立即行动,哪怕冒着生命危险。我毫不犹豫地纵身扑下去,翻了个筋斗,将身体挡在敌人和小雨燕之间。雀鹰绝没有想到鸽子家族的成员会如此大胆,他也没有估算我的重量。我至少比他重五盎司。他用利爪向我的尾巴发起了攻击,拽下了几根羽毛,他以为在空中盘旋了一会儿自己得到了什么。还没等他意识到他只是抓住了几根羽毛,所有的雨燕就已经贴住树皮,安然无恙,让他够不到了。但是,小雀鹰非常愤怒,带着大雀鹰那样的愤怒扑向我。然而,他的身体很小,爪子更小,我知道它们根本刺穿不了我的羽毛。于是,我接受了他的挑战,向上翻了个筋斗。他紧追不舍。我迅速下冲,他也跟着下冲。接着,我开始攀升,他像先前一样紧追不舍。但是,那些小隼害怕高空,他的翅膀现在慢了下来。相对于我的两只翅膀扇动,他只能扇动一只翅膀。看到他失望而疲倦,我计划给他好好上一课。我一有设想,就实施自己的计划。我快速下冲。雀鹰也跟着下冲,向下、向下、向下!湖水冲我们升起,每时每刻都在升高,直到湖面看上去还没有我的翅膀宽。接着,我向前冲了几英寸,借着一股暖流,我向上飞去。你们知道,洼地和山谷地区的空气遇热后,会有一种朝比较凉爽的地区快速流动的倾向。当我们鸟类突然向上飞行的时候,需要寻找这些气流来帮助我们。此刻,我连翻了三个筋斗,而当我低头向下望的时候,我发现那只雀鹰溺在了水里。他没能赶上气流。钻进水里半天后,他吃力地飞上了岸,丢脸地躲到厚厚的树叶下面。那个时刻,雨燕钻出了躲藏地,向南飞去。

“第二天,我们遇到了一些野鸭。他们都有我这样的彩色喉颈,但他们的其他部位却像雪一样白。他们是河鸭,习惯顺着山溪而下,捕食鱼类。他们飞远后,会从水里飞起来,飞回出发地。他们就这样像梭子似的飞来飞去。他们的喙和野鹅的一样扁平,里面有凹痕,因此一旦夹住一条鱼,他们的喙就绝不会滑脱。他们好像不大关心捕食水生贝壳类生物,可能只是因为湖里的鱼太多了。雨燕不喜欢有野鸭的地方,因为野鸭的翅膀不断扇动空气,常常扇走飞过水面的小昆虫。尽管如此,但雨燕还是非常高兴看到这些鸭子,这些鸭子喜欢山涧,靠山涧为生,从不过问静水,静水对大多数鸭子来说十分宝贵。

“正是这些鸭子警告我们,提防大批出没于那些地区的猫头鹰和其他黑夜杀手。于是,我们尽最大努力躲在猫头鹰进不去的小地方。尽管在一棵树里找到让雨燕栖身的小洞并不难,但我决定留在开阔地碰碰运气。夜幕很快降临了。不久,我什么也看不见了。黑暗一步步加深,仿佛一层层黑布罩在上面。我向鸽子的神灵祈祷,努力入睡。但是,周围猫头鹰不断枭叫,谁能睡着呢?夜里,我心惊胆战,不到一个小时就能听到某只鸟儿痛苦的尖叫。猫头鹰也扬扬得意地枭叫。时而八哥,时而夜莺,在猫头鹰的魔爪下惨叫,然后丧生。尽管我闭着眼睛,耳朵还是听到了发生的残杀。一只乌鸦尖叫着。随后,一只接一只乌鸦尖叫了起来。一群乌鸦几乎是惊恐地飞起,撞在树上粉身碎骨。但是,与其被猫头鹰嘴啄爪撕杀死,还不如撞死在树上。不久,让我百思不解的是,我嗅到了空气中黄鼠狼的气味。于是,我感到死亡临近,就睁开眼睛,只见一道淡白色的光照在所有的东西上。在距离我大约六英尺远的地方,有一只黄鼠狼。尽管会增加我被猫头鹰杀死的危险,但我还是飞了起来。果然,一只猫头鹰尖声枭叫着飞了过来,还有两只猫头鹰也尾随而来。我听到了他们拍打翅膀的声音。根据声音的特点,我知道我们正飞行在水域上空,因为即使最细微的羽毛颤动也会在水面上产生回应。我向任何方向都不能飞得很远,因为我每次最远只能看六英尺远,所以我在空中等待,寻找着悬在河面上空大树枝上吸起河气的涌流。哎呀,那些猫头鹰已经追上了我,但我翻了个筋斗,接着在空中晃了一圈。猫头鹰没有放弃追踪。我越飞越高。这时,如水的月光从我的翅膀上洒下来。我可以看得更远了点,这又让我有了勇气。但是,我的敌人没有发善心。他们也飞了上来,越来越多的月光落在了他们的眼睛上,使他们眼花缭乱,不过还没有完全眼花缭乱。突然,其中两只猫头鹰向我扑来。我又向上飞去。猫头鹰扑空了——瞧啊!他们相互扑到了一起。他们的爪子扣在一起,翅膀在空中无助地拍动着,他们像恶魔般尖叫着,掉在了河岸的芦苇丛中。

“此刻,我仔细环顾四周,吃惊地发现我已经飞向了黎明,而不是飞向了月亮。我的惊恐万分的眼睛没有真正看清。不过,周围不再有猫头鹰;他们开始寻找藏身处,以躲避越来越强的阳光。尽管我感到安全了,但我还是避开高大树木的巨大阴影,因为即使现在,猫头鹰也可能会潜伏在那里。我待在树顶的一根细枝上,树顶抓住了太阳发出的一道箭一样的光芒,把它变成了一把舞动的金伞。慢慢地,阳光向下铺展开来,直到下面的白色激流随着黄鼠狼眼睛一样的颜色颤抖。

“就在这时,我看到了在河岸上发生的让我震惊的一幕。只见两只比木炭还黑的大乌鸦正在用嘴又啄又戳一只绊在芦苇丛中的无助眨眼的猫头鹰。因为太阳的照耀,所以猫头鹰睁不开眼睛。当然,夜间大多数时候是猫头鹰对乌鸦进行杀戮,现在轮到乌鸦对猫头鹰的错误进行报复了,但我受不了两只乌鸦杀死那只被困的猫头鹰的一幕。因此,我飞离那两个凶手,寻找我的朋友雨燕们去了。我讲述了自己其中的一些经历,他们的父母亲告诉我说,他们听到了可怕而痛苦的叫喊声,这使他们难以入睡。雨燕先生问外面的一切是不是安全,我想是安全的。当我们出来时,我发现那只可怜的猫头鹰躺在芦苇丛中死了!

“说来也怪,那天早晨,我们在溪流上没有看到鸭子。显然,他们一大早已经飞向了南方。于是,我们也决定飞向南方。我们计划路上不寻找其他鸟类同行。因为在这个迁徙的季节,无论鸽群、松鸡群或其他鸟类去哪里,猫头鹰、隼和鹰这类敌人都会跟踪。为了避免危险和看到我们先前看到的那种惊人情景,我们飞向东方,向东飞了整整一天后,我们到锡金的村庄休息。第二天,我们向南飞了半天时间,又开始向东飞。这种兜圈飞行花费了很长一段时间,但这为我们省去了大量麻烦。有一次,我们遇上了一场暴风雨,被刮进了一个湖区,我在那里看到了惊异的一幕。我站在树顶上,看到下面有许多家养的鸭子浮在水面上,各自的嘴里都衔着一条鱼,但谁都没有吞下去。我以前从来没有见过鸭子能抵制吃鱼的诱惑,因此我叫雨燕观看这一景象。他们紧贴着好几棵树的树皮,看着那些鸭子,却简直不敢相信自己的眼睛。这些鸭子是怎么回事?不久,一条船映入眼帘,由两个扁平脸、黄皮肤的人撑着。看到他们后,那些鸭子都尽可能快地划到了船边。划到船边,他们跳上去,随后——你能相信吗?——他们把叼的鱼都吐到了一只大鱼篓里,然后跳下水又去捕鱼,这持续了至少两个小时。显然,那些藏缅渔夫从不撒网。他们在鸭脖子上拴紧一根绳子,勒得他们几乎喘不过气来,然后把他们放进河里捕鱼。无论捕到什么,鸭子们都会送给他们的主人。等鱼篓满后,主人就解开鸭脖子上的绳子。随后,鸭子扑进湖里,饱餐一顿全鱼宴。

“现在,我们远离湖边,飞行一段时间,寻找庄稼地。到了那里,雨燕们扑向在新割的庄稼地里飞来飞去的昆虫,狼吞虎咽。尽管我不吃昆虫,但我吃粮食也吃得饱饱的。我站在稻田的篱笆上的时候,听到有人在敲打什么东西。听上去很像是苍头燕雀用嘴啄开樱桃,以便够到里面的籽儿。(一只小鸟的嘴有胡桃钳那样的威力,这不奇怪吗?)但是,我走近篱笆下面发出响声的那个地方的时候,又发现了一只鸟——那是一只喜马拉雅山画眉。他不是在忙着啄樱桃籽,而是在啄一只慢慢移动的蜗牛。嗒嗒,嗒嗒——嗒!他不断地敲了又敲,直到那只蜗牛被震得一动不动。画眉抬起头,环顾四周,踮起脚尖,张开翅膀,飞快地瞄准目标,连啄了三下——嗒嗒嗒!蜗牛壳裂开,露出了一只美味可口的蜗牛。画眉用嘴把蜗牛从壳里啄出来,他的嘴正微微流血。显然,他把嘴张得太大了,嘴角都受伤了。他嘴里衔稳蜗牛后,飞起来,消失在了一棵树上,他的伙伴在那里等着吃晚饭呢。

“我们通过锡金的稻田上空后剩下的行程都平安无事。唯一值得记住的事情是森林里的男人诱捕孔雀。这些鸟儿来到炎热的南部沼泽,寻找食物和温暖,这时孔雀吃的蛇和其他动物在北方都会进入越冬地。

“孔雀和老虎都相互羡慕对方。孔雀喜欢观看老虎的皮毛,老虎欣赏孔雀美丽的羽毛。有时候,在水坑边,老虎站在那里凝视着大树枝上孔雀的羽毛,孔雀会伸长脖子饱览老虎漂亮的斑纹皮毛。这时候,人类——永恒的侵略者来到了现场。比如,有一天,一个人带来了一块画得酷似老虎皮毛的布,任何一只鸟看后都不能说这不是真的老虎。于是,他把绳索套在一棵树的树枝附近,悄悄地溜走了。通过画布的气味,我可以断定那不是老虎,但孔雀根本没有嗅觉,他们吃了自己眼睛的亏。所以,不到几个小时,一对孔雀飞过来,从树梢上凝视着那只假老虎,同时越飞越低。他们自欺欺人,认为这只老虎在睡觉。凭借这种错觉,他们胆子越来越大,飞得很近,站在靠近绳套的那根树枝上。没过多久,他们便走进了陷阱,但他们俩是如何走进一个陷阱的,我无法理解。他们一落入陷阱,就绝望地尖叫起来。这时,诱捕者就过来,又对他们玩起了花招。他抛起两顶帆布大黑帽,各套在两只孔雀的头上,掩盖住了可怜的孔雀的眼睛。眼前一旦变黑,鸟儿就不大反抗了。这时候,那个人绑住孔雀的双脚,以免他们走动,随后,他把孔雀分别挂在竹竿的两端,慢慢地把住竹竿中央,放在肩上,走了。孔雀的长尾巴像五彩的瀑布一样在他身前身后垂下。

“我的冒险历程到此为止。第二天,我告别雨燕。他们继续向南飞,我很高兴地回家,成了一个更聪明、更伤心的鸟儿。现在,”彩虹鸽说,“告诉我,为什么鸟兽相互之间有那么多杀戮和伤痛?我想,你们所有的人都不会互相伤害。你们会吗?可是,鸟兽会。这一切使我伤心透了。”

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