寂静的雪野 The White Silence

杰克·伦敦/Jack London

杰克·伦敦（1876—1916），美国最著名的作家之一，批判现实主义者。他出身贫困，童年就以从事繁重劳动谋生，先后做过工人、水手、司炉、淘金者，甚至流浪汉。艰苦的生活使他深切体会到损贫利富的社会弊端。他对社会问题非常感兴趣，自称是社会学者，从事过工人运动。他的短篇小说独树一帜，情节紧凑，人物栩栩如生，深受读者喜爱。代表作有《狼的儿子》《荒野的呼唤》《铁蹄》等。

"Carmen won't last more than a couple of days." Mason spat out a chunk of ice and surveyed the poor animal ruefully, then put her foot in his mouth and proceeded to bite out the ice which clustered cruelly between the toes.

"I never saw a dog with a highfalutin name that ever was worth a rap," he said, as he concluded his task and shoved her aside. "They just fade away and die under the responsibility. Did ye ever see one go wrong with a sensible name like Cassiar, Siwash, or Husky? No, sir! Take a look at Shookum here, he's—" Snap! The lean brute flashed up, the white teeth just missing Mason's throat.

"Ye will, will ye?" A shrewd clout behind the ear with the butt of the dog whip stretched the animal in the snow, quivering softly, a yellow slaver dripping from its fangs.

"As I was saying, just look at Shookum here—he's got the spirit. Bet ye he eats Carmen before the week's out." "I'll bank another proposition against that," replied Malemute Kid, reversing the frozen bread placed before the fire to thaw. "We'll eat Shookum before the trip is over. What d'ye say, Ruth?" The Indian woman settled the coffee with a piece of ice, glanced from Malemute Kid to her husband, then at the dogs, but vouchsafed no reply. It was such a palpable truism that none was necessary. Two hundred miles of unbroken trail in prospect, with a scant six days' grub for themselves and none for the dogs, could admit no other alternative. The two men and the woman grouped about the fire and began their meager meal. The dogs lay in their harnesses for it was a midday halt, and watched each mouthful enviously.

"No more lunches after today," said Malemute Kid. "And we've got to keep a close eye on the dogs—they're getting vicious. They'd just as soon pull a fellow down as not, if they get a chance." "And I was president of an Epworth once, and taught in the Sunday school." Having irrelevantly delivered himself of this, Mason fell into a dreamy contemplation of his steaming moccasins, but was aroused by Ruth filling his cup.

"Thank God, we've got slathers of tea! I've seen it growing, down in Tennessee. What wouldn't I give for a hot corn pone just now! Never mind, Ruth; you won't starve much longer, nor wear moccasins either." The woman threw off her gloom at this, and in her eyes welled up a great love for her white lord—the first white man she had ever seen—the first man whom she had known to treat a woman as something better than a mere animal or beast of burden.

"Yes, Ruth," continued her husband, having recourse to the macaronic jargon in which it was alone possible for them to understand each other; "wait till we clean up and pull for the Outside. We'll take the White Man's canoe and go to the Salt Water. Yes, bad water, rough water—great mountains dance up and down all the time. And so big, so far, so far away—you travel ten sleep, twenty sleep, forty sleep" —he graphically enumerated the days on his fingers—"all the time water, bad water. Then you come to great village, plenty people, just the same mosquitoes next summer. Wigwams oh, so high—ten, twenty pines."

"Hi-yu skookum!" He paused impotently, cast an appealing glance at Malemute Kid, then laboriously placed the twenty pines, end on end, by sign language. Malemute Kid smiled with cheery cynicism; but Ruth's eyes were wide with wonder, and with pleasure; for she half believed he was joking, and such condescension pleased her poor woman's heart.

"And then you step into a—a box, and pouf! up you go." He tossed his empty cup in the air by way of illustration and, as he deftly caught it, cried: "And biff! Down you come. Oh, great medicine men! You go Fort Yukon. I go Arctic City—twenty-five sleep—big string, all the time—I catch him string—I say, 'Hello, Ruth! How are ye?'—and you say, 'Is that my good husband?'—and I say, 'Yes'—and you say, 'No can bake good bread, no more soda'—then I say,'Look in cache, under flour; good-by.'You look and catch plenty soda. All the time you Fort Yukon, me Arctic City. Hi-yu medicine man!" Ruth smiled so ingenuously at the fairy story that both men burst into laughter. A row among the dogs cut short the wonders of the Outside, and by the time the snarling combatants were separated, she had lashed the sleds and all was ready for the trail.—"Mush! Baldy! Hi! Mush on!" Mason worked his whip smartly and, as the dogs whined low in the traces, broke out the sled with the gee pole. Ruth followed with the second team, leaving Malemute Kid, who had helped her start, to bring up the rear. Strong man, brute that he was, capable of felling an ox at a blow, he could not bear to beat the poor animals, but humored them as a dog driver rarely does—nay, almost wept with them in their misery.

"Come, mush on there, you poor sore-footed brutes!" he murmured, after several ineffectual attempts to start the load. But his patience was at last rewarded, and though whimpering with pain, they hastened to join their fellows.

No more conversation; the toil of the trail will not permit such extravagance.

And of all deadening labors, that of the Northland trail is the worst. Happy is the man who can weather a day's travel at the price of silence, and that on a beaten track. And of all heartbreaking labors, that of breaking trail is the worst. At every step the great webbed shoe sinks till the snow is level with the knee. Then up, straight up, the deviation of a fraction of an inch being a certain precursor of disaster, the snowshoe must be lifted till the surface is cleared; then forward, down, and the other foot is raised perpendicularly for the matter of half a yard. He who tries this for the first time, if haply he avoids bringing his shoes in dangerous propinquity and measures not his length on the treacherous footing, will give up exhausted at the end of a hundred yards; he who can keep out of the way of the dogs for a whole day may well crawl into his sleeping bag with a clear conscience and a pride which passeth all understanding; and he who travels twenty sleeps on the Long Trail is a man whom the gods may envy.

The afternoon wore on, and with the awe, born of the White Silence, the voiceless travelers bent to their work. Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity—the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven's artillery—but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence. All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice. Sole speck of life journeying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his audacity, realizes that his is a maggot's life, nothing more.

Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things strives for utterance.

And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes over him—the hope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning for immortality, the vain striving of the imprisoned essence—it is then, if ever, man walks alone with God.

So wore the day away. The river took a great bend, and Mason headed his team for the cutoff across the narrow neck of land. But the dogs balked at the high bank. Again and again, though Ruth and Malemute Kid were shoving on the sled, they slipped back. Then came the concerted effort. The miserable creatures, weak from hunger, exerted their last strength. Up—up—the sled poised on the top of the bank; but the leader swung the string of dogs behind him to the right, fouling Mason's snowshoes. The result was grievous.

Mason was whipped off his feet; one of the dogs fell in the traces; and the sled toppled back, dragging everything to the bottom again.

Slash! the whip fell among the dogs savagely, especially upon the one which had fallen.

"Don't, —Mason," entreated Malemute Kid; "the poor devil's on its last legs. Wait and we'll put my team on." Mason deliberately withheld the whip till the last word had fallen, then out flashed the long lash, completely curling about the offending creature's body.

Carmen—for it was Carmen—cowered in the snow, cried piteously, then rolled over on her side.

It was a tragic moment, a pitiful incident of the trail—a dying dog, two comrades in anger.

Ruth glanced solicitously from man to man. But Malemute Kid restrained himself, though there was a world of reproach in his eyes, and, bending over the dog, cut the traces. No word was spoken. The teams were double-spanned and the difficulty overcome; the sleds were under way again, the dying dog dragging herself along in the rear. As long as an animal can travel, it is not shot, and this last chance is accorded it—the crawling into camp, if it can, in the hope of a moose being killed.

Already penitent for his angry action, but too stubborn to make amends, Mason toiled on at the head of the cavalcade, little dreaming that danger hovered in the air. The timber clustered thick in the sheltered bottom, and through this they threaded their way. Fifty feet or more from the trail towered a lofty pine. For generations it had stood there, and for generations destiny had had this one end in view—perhaps the same had been decreed of Mason.

He stooped to fasten the loosened thong of his moccasin. The sleds came to a halt, and the dogs lay down in the snow without a whimper. The stillness was weird; not a breath rustled the frostencrusted forest; the cold and silence of outer space had chilled the heart and smote the trembling lips of nature. A sigh pulsed through the air—they did not seem to actually hear it, but rather felt it, like the premonition of movement in a motionless void. Then the great tree, burdened with its weight of years and snow, played its last part in the tragedy of life. He heard the warning crash and attempted to spring up but, almost erect, caught the blow squarely on the shoulder.

The sudden danger, the quick death—how often had Malemute Kid faced it! The pine needles were still quivering as he gave his commands and sprang into action. Nor did the Indian girl faint or raise her voice in idle wailing, as might many of her white sisters. At his order, she threw her weight on the end of a quickly extemporized handspike, easing the pressure and listening to her husband's groans, while Malemute Kid attacked the tree with his ax. The steel rang merrily as it bit into the frozen trunk, each stroke being accompanied by a forced, audible respiration, the 'Huh!' 'Huh!' of the woodsman.

At last the Kid laid the pitiable thing that was once a man in the snow. But worse than his comrade's pain was the dumb anguish in the woman's face, the blended look of hopeful, hopeless query. Little was said; those of the Northland are early taught the futility of words and the inestimable value of deeds. With the temperature at sixty-five below zero, a man cannot lie many minutes in the snow and live. So the sled lashings were cut, and the sufferer, rolled in furs, laid on a couch of boughs. Before him roared a fire, built of the very wood which wrought the mishap. Behind and partially over him was stretched the primitive fly—a piece of canvas, which caught the radiating heat and threw it back and down upon hima trick which men may know who study physics at the fount.

And men who have shared their bed with death know when the call is sounded. Mason was terribly crushed. The most cursory examination revealed it.

His right arm, leg, and back were broken; his limbs were paralyzed from the hips; and the likelihood of internal injuries was large. An occasional moan was his only sign of life.

No hope; nothing to be done. The pitiless night crept slowly by—Ruth's portion, the despairing stoicism of her race, and Malemute Kid adding new lines to his face of bronze.

In fact, Mason suffered least of all, for he spent his time in eastern Tennessee, in the Great Smoky Mountains, living over the scenes of his childhood. And most pathetic was the melody of his long-forgotten Southern vernacular, as he raved of swimming holes and coon hunts and watermelon raids. It was as Greek to Ruth, but the Kid understood and felt-felt as only one can feel who has been shut out for years from all that civilization means.

Morning brought consciousness to the stricken man, and Malemute Kid bent closer to catch his whispers.

"You remember when we foregathered on the Tanana, four years come next ice run? I didn't care so much for her then. It was more like she was pretty, and there was a smack of excitement about it, I think. But I've know, I've come to think a heap of her. She's been a good wife to me, always at my shoulder in the pinch. And when it comes to trading, you know there isn't her equal. D'ye recollect the time she shot the Moosehorn Rapids to pull you and me off that rock, the bullets whipping the water like hailstones?—and the time of the famine at Nuklukyeto?—when she raced the ice run to bring the news? Yes, she's been a good wife to me, better'n that other one. Didn't know I'd been there?"

"Never told you, eh? Well, I tried it once, down in the States. That's why I'm here. Been raised together, too. I came away to give her a chance for divorce. She got it.

"But that's got nothing to do with Ruth. I had thought of cleaning up and pulling for the Outside next year—her and I—but it's too late. Don't send her back to her people, Kid. It's beastly hard for a woman to go back. Think of it!—nearly four years on our bacon and beans and flour and dried fruit, and then to go back to her fish and caribou. It's not good for her to have tried our ways, to come to know they're better'n her people's, and then return to them. Take care of her, Kid，—why don't you—but no, you always fought shy of them—and you never told me why you came to this country. Be kind to her, and send her back to the States as soon as you can. But fix it so she can come back-liable to get homesick, you know.

"And the youngster—it's drawn us closer, Kid. I only hope it is a boy. Think of it!—flesh of my flesh, Kid. He mustn't stop in this country. And if it's a girl, why, she can't. Sell my furs; they'll fetch at least five thousand, and I've got as much more with the company. And handle my interests with yours. I think that bench claim will show up. See that he gets a good schooling; and Kid, above all, don't let him come back. This country was not made for white men.

"I'm a gone man, Kid. Three or four sleeps at the best. You've got to go on. You must go on! Remember, it's my wife, it's my boy—O God! I hope it's a boy! You can't stay by me—and I charge you, a dying man, to pull on."

"Give me three days," pleaded Malemute Kid."You may change for the better; something may turn up."

"No."

"Just three days."

"You must pull on."

"Two days."

"It's my wife and my boy, Kid. You would not ask it."

"One day."

"No, no! I charge—"

"Only one day. We can shave it through on the grub, and I might knock over a moose."

"No—all right; one day, but not a minute more. And, Kid, don't—don't leave me to face it alone. Just a shot, one pull on the trigger. You understand. Think of it! Think of it! Flesh of my flesh, and I'll never live to see him!

"Send Ruth here. I want to say good-by and tell her that she must think of the boy and not wait till I'm dead. She might refuse to go with you if I didn't. Goodby, old man; good-by.

"Kid! I say-a-sink a hole above the pup, next to the slide. I panned out forty cents on my shovel there.

"And, Kid!" He stooped lower to catch the last faint words, the dying man's surrender of his pride. "I'm sorry-for-you know—Carmen." Leaving the girl crying softly over her man, Malemute Kid slipped into his parka and snowshoes, tucked his rifle under his arm, and crept away into the forest. He was no tyro in the stern sorrows of the Northland, but never had he faced so stiff a problem as this. In the abstract, it was a plain, mathematical proposition three possible lives as against one doomed one. But now he hesitated. For five years, shoulder to shoulder, on the rivers and trails, in the camps and mines, facing death by field and flood and famine, had they knitted the bonds of their comradeship. So close was the tie that he had often been conscious of a vague jealousy of Ruth, from the first time she had come between. And now it must be severed by his own hand.

Though he prayed for a moose, just one moose, all game seemed to have deserted the land, and nightfall found the exhausted man crawling into camp, light-handed, heavyhearted. An uproar from the dogs and shrill cries from Ruth hastened him.

Bursting into the camp, he saw the girl in the midst of the snarling pack, laying about her with an ax. The dogs had broken the iron rule of their masters and were rushing the grub.

He joined the issue with his rifle reversed, and the hoary game of natural selection was played out with all the ruthlessness of its primeval environment. Rifle and ax went up and down, hit or missed with monotonous regularity; lithe bodies flashed, with wild eyes and dripping fangs; and man and beast fought for supremacy to the bitterest conclusion. Then the beaten brutes crept to the edge of the firelight, licking their wounds, voicing their misery to the stars.

The whole stock of dried salmon had been devoured, and perhaps five pounds of flour remained to tide them over two hundred miles of wilderness. Ruth returned to her husband, while Malemute Kid cut up the warm body of one of the dogs, the skull of which had been crushed by the ax. Every portion was carefully put away, save the hide and offal, which were cast to his fellows of the moment before.

Morning brought fresh trouble. The animals were turning on each other. Carmen, who still clung to her slender thread of life, was downed by the pack. The lash fell among them unheeded. They cringed and cried under the blows, but refused to scatter till the last wretched bit had disappeared-bones, hide, hair, everything.

Malemute Kid went about his work, listening to Mason, who was back in Tennessee, delivering tangled discourses and wild exhortations to his brethren of other days.

Taking advantage of neighboring pines, he worked rapidly, and Ruth watched him make a cache similar to those sometimes used by hunters to preserve their meat from the wolverines and dogs. One after the other, he bent the tops of two small pines toward each other and nearly to the ground, making them fast with thongs of moosehide. Then he beat the dogs into submission and harnessed them to two of the sleds, loading the same with everything but the furs which enveloped Mason. These he wrapped and lashed tightly about him, fastening either end of the robes to the bent pines. A single stroke of his hunting knife would release them and send the body high in the air.

Ruth had received her husband's last wishes and made no struggle. Poor girl, she had learned the lesson of obedience well. From a child, she had bowed, and seen all women bow, to the lords of creation, and it did not seem in the nature of things for woman to resist. The Kid permitted her one outburst of grief, as she kissed her husbandher own people had no such custom—then led her to the foremost sled and helped her into her snowshoes. Blindly, instinctively, she took the gee pole and whip, and 'mushed' the dogs out on the trail. Then he returned to Mason, who had fallen into a coma, and long after she was out of sight crouched by the fire, waiting, hoping, praying for his comrade to die.

It is not pleasant to be alone with painful thoughts in the White Silence. The silence of gloom is merciful, shrouding one as with protection and breathing a thousand intangible sympathies; but the bright White Silence, clear and cold, under steely skies, is pitiless.

An hour passed—two hours—but the man would not die. At high noon the sun, without raising its rim above the southern horizon, threw a suggestion of fire athwart the heavens, then quickly drew it back. Malemute Kid roused and dragged himself to his comrade's side. He cast one glance about him. The White Silence seemed to sneer, and a great fear came upon him. There was a sharp report; Mason swung into his aerial sepulcher, and Malemute Kid lashed the dogs into a wild gallop as he fled across the snow.

“卡门撑不了几天啦！”梅森吐出一块冰，悲伤地打量着这只可怜的狗，紧接着把它的脚放到自己的嘴里，继续咬它脚趾间冻得死死的冰。

“我从来没有见过一只狗起了这么一个傲慢的名字，居然还能成为功臣。”他处理完卡门的脚之后便把它推到一边说：“它们就是这样背负着责任逐渐地死去。那些有着聪明名字的狗，比如卡西亚、西瓦什或是哈斯基，你见过它们出问题吗？没有吧！看看咱们的舒库姆，它是……”正说着，这只精瘦的狗突然野性大发，白晃晃的牙齿差点咬住了梅森的喉咙。

“你准备咬我吗？啊？”他迅速用狗鞭子的柄在狗的耳朵后面打了一下，舒库姆倒在了雪地里，轻轻地哆嗦着，黄色的口水顺着它的尖牙滴了下来。

“就像我刚才说的，看看咱们的舒库姆——它就是这么精神。我敢跟你打赌，不出一个星期，它就会把卡门吃了。”“我打赌肯定会是另一种情况。”马尔穆特·基德边说边翻了一下放在火边解冻的面包。“旅行结束前，我们会把舒库姆吃了。露丝，你说呢？”这个印第安女人往咖啡里加了一块冰，目光从马尔穆特·基德转向她的丈夫，然后停留在那些狗的身上，却没有给出任何回答。这是显而易见的，说什么并不重要。带着不足六天的食物穿越两百英里的无人区，别说狗了，人还不够吃呢。所以，不得不承认，这是别无选择的。两个男人和一个女人围坐在火边开始享用这少得可怜的食物。这是午间休息时间，狗戴着皮套趴在那里，嫉妒地看着人们一口一口地吃。

“从明天开始就不再有午餐了。”马尔穆特·基德说。“我们得注意点这些狗，它们开始起恶意了。刚刚就差点扑倒一个人，要是有机会的话，它们还会这样做的。”“我曾经担任过美以美教会的主席，还在主日学校教过课。”不合时宜地说了句这个之后，梅森开始盯着他那块冒着热气的鹿皮靴愣神，直到露丝给他续加茶的时候才缓过神来。

“感谢上帝，我们还有这么多茶叶！在田纳西州，我曾经见过茶的生长。现在谁要是能给我一个热玉米饼，我愿意给他任何东西！别担心了，露丝，你不会再忍受太久的饥饿了，也不用再穿鹿皮靴了。”听到这个，露丝不再沮丧，眼睛里流露出对丈夫的爱意。她的丈夫是她见到的第一个白人，第一个对待女人不像对待动物或是那些只会干活的畜生的人。

“是的，露丝。”她的丈夫继续说着一些只有他们之间才明白的话。“等我们料理完这些事，就出去。咱们坐着白人的独木舟去咸水河。是的，大海汹涌澎湃，像山一样的海浪不停地跳上跳下。大海千里迢迢，远得你睡十觉、二十觉，甚至四十觉醒来之后还是看不到边。”他一边掰着手指头数日子一边说着。“周围都是水，汹涌的海水。然后，你会到一个大村庄，人多得像明年夏天的蚊子。棚屋，哇，那叫一个高，简直有十棵二十棵松树叠起来那么高。”

“嗨，舒库姆呀！”他无力地暂停了，以恳求的眼光看着马尔穆特·基德，然后比划着努力要把二十棵松树按顺序排好。马尔穆特·基德带着愉快的讥讽微笑着，露丝的眼中却充满了快乐的惊奇感，因为她半信半疑，觉得梅森在说笑话，但他的这种殷勤愉悦了这个可怜女人的心。

“然后，你走进一个大箱子里，砰！你上去了。”他说着把手中的空杯子抛向空中做示范，然后灵巧地接住并喊着：“啪！你又下来啦。哦，伟大的法师啊！你去空育城堡，我去相隔二十五天路程的北极城。两个地方用一条绳子连着，我拿起一头说：‘你好，露丝！过得还好吗？’你说：‘你是我优秀的丈夫吗？’我回答：‘是呀！’你又说：‘没有苏打了，没法烤好吃的面包了。’我说：‘在储藏室的面粉下边找一找，再见。’然后，你就找到了很多苏打。你一直都在空育城堡，而我在北极城。伟大的法师呀。”听了这个神话故事，露丝率真地笑了，两个男人也笑了起来。忽然，那群狗打起架来，打断了他们对外面的猜想。当这些格斗者被分开的时候，露丝已经绑好了雪橇，准备出发了。“快跑，秃子，加油！”梅森潇洒地挥舞着手中的鞭子，当套好的狗发出低嚎声的时候，把雪橇舵杆向后一拉就可以出发了。露丝赶着第二队狗出发了，留下了帮助她出发的马尔穆特·基德来接应后方。基德是一个强壮的男人，特别粗暴，能把一头牛打倒在地，但他不忍心伤害这群可怜的狗，而是哄着它们。很少有赶狗的人会这样做。不仅如此，他还会因为它们遭罪而哭泣。

“来，出发吧，你们这群可怜的、脚很疼的畜生！”在几次试图出发失败后，他咕哝着。但他的耐心总算没有白费，在发出了一阵痛苦的悲号之后，狗们开始加速追赶它们的伙伴。

再没有人闲聊，艰难的跋涉已不容许再这样浪费精力了。

天下最要命的劳动，莫过于在北方赶路了。如果一个人能够一声不吭地赶上一天路，那他就算很了不起的了。天下所有累死人的活儿中，最苦的莫过于在北方开路了。每走一步，那蹼一样硕大的雪鞋都会拼命往下陷，直至学没膝盖。然后脚往上拽，要小心翼翼地往上拽，如果差了几英寸的话，必招大灾。一定的得把雪鞋提起来离开地面，然后向前踩下去，另一只脚笔直地提起半码来高。第一次走这种路的人，就算侥幸两只鞋不碰在一起，摔倒在险情丛生的雪地里，也会在走完一百码之后筋疲力尽，要打退堂鼓：有谁如果一天下来不被绊倒，那他完全可以心安理得、洋洋得意地钻进他的睡袋里，那种心情远非他人能够理解；而如果有人能在漫漫雪路上走上二十天，那么神仙也会望其兴叹了。

下午即将过去，带着对这片茫茫雪原的敬畏，赶路者们默默地专注于行进。大自然的变幻莫测让人们望而生畏——无休止的潮汐，肆虐的暴风雨，颤动的地震，隆隆轰鸣的雷声——而最让人茫然的，还要算是这置身林海雪原之中。一切了然无声，万里无云的天空泛着古铜色；任何细小的声响都能打破这种寂静，人们甚至都会被自己的声音吓到。人们不禁意识到自己如小虫般微不足道，为自己贸然闯入这如死亡般寂静的世界而颤抖。

古怪的念头在心里翻滚，神秘的事情也不断映入眼帘。

他突然感到对死亡、上帝、世间万物的敬畏，对生命和重生的奢望，对不朽生命的渴求以及一直以来对被禁锢自由反抗的徒劳。此时此刻，如果有的话，他似乎能感到上帝是与他同行的。

就在这一天即将结束的时候，前方河流的方向发生了变化。为了走近路，梅森带领他的队伍穿过一处比较狭窄的陆地。走到高堤处时，雪橇犬们突然停下了，不管露丝和马尔穆特·基德怎么努力驱赶它们，都毫无起色。这些可怜的动物，强烈的饥饿感已夺走了它们最后一丝力气。向上，再向上，雪橇停在高堤上纹丝不动。梅森将牵引雪橇犬的绳索绕到自己的右边，却不小心缠上了自己的靴子，真是让人无奈。

梅森试图解开缠在脚上的绳索。突然，一只雪橇犬陷进了雪里，结果所有的绳子都被拉了回去，所有东西又滑回到了高堤的下面。

“快走！”鞭子如雨点般残忍地打在雪橇犬的身上，尤其是陷进雪里的那只。

“梅森，不要！”马尔穆特·基德哀求道，“它恐怕是不行了。给我点时间，我会让它跟上的。”马尔穆特的话音刚落，梅森便停住了手中的鞭子，垂下长长的睫毛，盯着眼前这只可怜的雪橇犬。

于是卡门——挨打的那只狗——在雪地里缩成一团，伴随着一声惨叫，一歪身就倒下了。

这是个悲剧般的时刻，对于这只孤独的队伍来说，无异于晴天霹雳——一只奄奄一息的雪橇犬和处于巨大悲愤中的人们。

露西关切地看着他们。尽管马尔穆特·基德的眼睛里充满了自责，但她强迫自己要忍住。她默默地做着善后工作——将狗身上的绳索割断，把它轻轻地放在地上。大家没有说一句话。这支队伍正在经历着身体和精神上的双重考验。整理好雪橇以后，他们准备重新上路了。那只奄奄一息的雪橇犬跟在队伍的后面。在他们的眼里，只要这只动物还能行动，人们就不会抛弃甚至杀死它。人们会给它生的希望——如果坚持回到营地，希望能有一只麋鹿作为食物。

虽然梅森在心里为自己的行为做了忏悔，但是嘴上并没有说什么，只是默默地走在队伍的最前面，希望前方的危险能少一些。树林逐渐变得茂密起来，他们能够轻松赶路。路两旁，五十英尺，甚至更高的松树亘古不变地矗立着。冥冥之中，命运似乎已经注定了一切。

梅森停下来，把鞋带系紧了一些。队伍也顺势停了下来，雪橇犬们悄悄地卧在地上。一切都变得出奇的安静，树林里没有一点动静，倒是林子外面沙沙作响的风让人们感到透彻心扉的寒冷和无奈。一阵风突然刮过树林间——人们几乎没有听到它的声音，却真实地感受到了。就像有预感一样，伴随着自己在这个世界上扮演的最后一个华丽的角色，这些参天大树将负载了很多年的雪和自己的重量倾泻而下。虽然梅森听到了树干的声响，却还是没来得及躲开，一瞬间，他被掉落下来的积雪压了个正着。

这突如其来的危险出现在了马尔穆特·基德的面前！积雪掉下的那一刹那，梅森还在命令自己赶快跳开。此情此景不仅令印第安女孩失声痛哭起来，雪橇犬们也不禁黯然。按照基德的命令，露丝扔掉雪橇上的东西以减轻负重，希望能减轻梅森身上的压力，来腾出空间让他喘口气，而马尔穆特·基德则用斧头用力劈砍树枝，他渐渐急促的喘息声伴着风铃撞击冻树枝的声响，回荡在这片雪野上。

马尔穆特最终将奄奄一息的梅森挖了出来。但比他的伙伴的痛苦更令人难受的却是露丝脸上那种默默的，夹杂着希望与绝望的悲伤表情。马尔穆特小的时候，人们就告诉他，没有一个人能在零下六十五摄氏度的环境里活下去，而眼前的惨状已无须多言。马尔穆特割断了雪橇的绳索，将梅森用皮草裹起来，放在树枝上，同时用树枝简单地覆盖在他的身上以防止其他意外。最后，他将帆布盖在最上面，以最大限度的保暖。

梅森奄奄一息地躺在那里，从他的同伴匆匆结束的检查便可知道，他大势已去。

他的右臂、右腿，还有后背被砸成重伤，两条腿也被砸断，内伤更严重。呻吟不时地从他的喉咙中发出。

绝望笼罩着一切。无情的黑夜在众人的恐慌中慢慢爬了上来。

实际上，梅森的人生很短暂，他之前仅在东田纳西州的大雾山度过了童年。最令人感到悲伤的是再也听不到梅森嚷嚷着要去游泳、去捕猎浣熊、去偷西瓜时那一口浓郁的南方口音。当然，这些对于露丝来说如同听希腊语一样陌生。但只有马尔穆特明白：当一个人远离社会多年时，只能用此慰藉自己了。

翌日清晨，受伤的人醒了过来，马尔穆特·基德爬到梅森的耳旁，倾听他那微弱的声音。

“我们在塔纳纳见面时的情形，如今，你还记得吗？到明年春暖花开时，就整整四年了。那个时候，我对她没有什么感觉，她很美丽，也很诱人。渐渐的，我总是惦念着她，她成了我贤淑的夫人，每当困难当头，她都与我共渡难关。提到我们的工作，你很清楚，她是最出色的。你还记得上一次吗？她冒着冰雹大的枪子，穿过麋鹿角的急流，把我们两个人从岩石上解救下来。你还记得曾经在努克路凯脱挨饿的事情吗？你还记得她是如何穿过河水，给我们捎信吗？是啊，她确实是我的好夫人，比过去的那个好很多。

“你不知道我离过婚吧？我没有跟你说过。是的，过去，我在美国的老家时，结过婚。我来这里，就是因为这个，算起来，我们也是青梅竹马。我离开老家，就是为了给她一个离开我的机会，她做到了。

“可是，这跟露丝毫不相干。我原本想多赚一些钱，明年和露丝一起去‘外面’，可是现在已经太迟了。基德，不要把她送回娘家，让一个女人回娘家，太让她难过了。设想一下，她跟我们一起吃腌肉、豆子、面食和干果，已经四年了，难道现在把她送回去吃鱼和鹿肉吗？她已经融入我们的生活了，明白现在的日子比在娘家生活得好，如果现在让她回去，就是让她受苦。基德，你要照看她，尽快送她回美国。但是，你要记住，如果她想家，就送她回来。

“那个孩子也是一样，他跟我们如此亲近，基德，我希望他是一个男孩。设想一下，他是我的骨肉啊，基德。他一定不能留在这里。如果是一个女孩，哦，这是不可能的。卖掉我的皮货，差不多可以卖到五千块，我在公司里还有这么多钱。加上我，咱们一起干吧，依我看，咱们可以申请购买一块高地。你要让那个孩子接受良好的教育，还有，基德，最重要的是，不要让他回到这里。这里不是白种人居住的地方。

“基德，我快不行了，超不过两三天了，你要继续前进！你必须继续！你要记住，这是我的老婆和孩子。哦，天啊，我只希望他是一个男孩！你不能继续守着我了，我快要死了，我求你了，你继续赶路吧。”

“让我再陪你三天吧，”马尔穆特·基德恳求道，“你或许会好起来的，说不定会有奇迹出现。”

“不行。”

“就三天。”

“你一定要走。”

“两天怎么样？”

“基德，为了我的老婆和孩子，你不要再多说了。”

“一天呢？”

“不，不行！你必须……”

“就等一天，我们还有这些粮食，可以应付的，没准，我还能捕到一只麋鹿呢。”

“不……那好吧，就一天，超过一分钟都不行。另外，基德，不要让我孤单地在这里等死，给我一枪，扣一下扳机就可以了。你明白的，设想一下吧，我的亲生孩子，我今生是不能再与他相见了！

“把露丝叫过来，我要跟她道别，我要对她说，让她时刻想着孩子，不要等我死去。如果我不告诉她，她或许不会跟你走的。再见了，老朋友，再见！

“基德，我说……呃……你在那个小谷旁边的坡上打一个洞。过去，我在那里铲出了四毛钱。

“还有，基德”基德把身子俯得又低了一些，这样可以更清楚地听到他微弱的声音，他的临终忏悔，“我对不起……你明白的……我对不起卡门。”

马尔穆特·基德穿上皮夹克，登上雪鞋，把来复枪夹在腋下，让那个女人去她的男人身边哭泣，然后便向森林里走去。他在北方，从来没有遇到如此不幸的事，可是也从来没有面对这样的困境。抽象一点比喻，这真像一道很清楚的数学题：三个或许会活下来的生命和一个一定会死的人。但是此时此刻，他很犹豫。五年来，他们形影不离。在河上、路上、帐篷里、矿山里，一起面对旷野、洪水和饥荒带来的死亡威胁，他们成了患难与共的朋友。他们的友谊真的很深厚，因此，当露丝来到他们中间时，他产生了一丝妒意。但是现在，这种友谊被他亲手斩断了。

虽然他只希望找到一只麋鹿，仅仅一只足矣，但是，所有的野兽都离开了。天色渐暗，这个疲惫不堪的男人，只好空着双手，哀伤地向帐篷走去。但是，狗的狂吠声和露丝的尖叫声让他迅速奔跑起来。他冲进宿营地时就看到露丝站在一群狂吠的狗中间挥舞着斧头。那群狗不遵守主人的命令，正在一起冲过去抢夺粮食。

他马上拿起枪支，加入战斗，然后，这种自然生态循环的老戏，就像在原始时代那样残酷地上演了。枪支同板斧以各自的一个规律上下飞舞，有时打到中间，有时打空。那些瞪着狰狞的眼睛的狗，正从狗牙缝中流着口涎，迅速地扑来扑去。人与兽为了争夺主权，开始了一场惨烈的战斗。于是，这群败下阵的狗趴在火堆旁，舔舐着自己的伤口，时不时地对着星星，哀叫着自己的痛苦。

那些狗吃掉了全部的干鲑鱼，前面还有两百多英里的旷野，仅仅剩下了五磅面粉，露丝来到她的丈夫的身边。马尔穆特·基德找到了一只还有一些余温的狗，割掉了它的肉，并用斧头劈碎了它的脑壳。基德仔细地藏好了每一块肉，把狗皮和没有用的杂碎扔给了那些之前还是它的伙伴的狗吃掉了。

早晨，又发生了新情况。那群狗互相争斗起来，奄奄一息的卡门已经被它们扑倒了。用鞭子抽打它们，它们也无动于衷。即使它们被打得嗷嗷直叫，还是把那只狗的骨头、皮毛和剩下的一切都吃得干干净净。

马尔穆特·基德边干活，边听着梅森的声音，因为梅森又回到了田纳西州，正在跟他儿时的朋友们聊天呢。

基德充分利用旁边的松树，快速地完成了手里的活，露丝看着他搭棚子，同时还与猎人们一起储存兽肉，以免被狼和狗吃掉。他分别将两棵小松树的树梢面对面地弯下来，差不多快碰到地面时，就用鹿皮捆紧。然后，他又把梅森身上的皮褥子捆紧，把绳子的两头捆在弯着的松树上。这样一来，只要用猎刀砍下去，松树就会反方向弹出去，把他的身体弹到半空中。

露丝听从了她丈夫的遗愿。悲伤的女人，她接受的顺从教育深入骨髓。从孩童时开始，她就十分遵从造物主的旨意，她眼里的女人都是一样的，生来就要顺从：当时，她得到了基德的允许，才可以痛哭一场，她亲吻了丈夫——她本族的人是没有这个习惯的——于是，基德把她领到第一座雪橇前，给她穿上雪鞋。她彷徨并且本能地抓住雪橇舵杆和狗鞭，吆喝了一声，就赶着雪橇犬上路了。然后，基德回到昏迷的梅森身边，当露丝的身影渐渐消失之后，他依然蹲在火堆旁边，等待着、祷告着，希望他的朋友早点死去。

一个人怀着一种痛楚的心情孤独地待在寂静的雪野中，这可是一件痛苦的事啊！如果是在阴暗的寂静地方，倒也还可以，黑暗包围着你，好像给了你保护，同时又向你吐露了一千种小可触摸的同情：可是在这片青色的天空下，这一片凛冽的白色寂静却显得冷酷无情。

一小时过去了，两小时过去了……梅森还是没有死。到了中午，太阳在南方的地平线下，露出了一个小边，只有一片火红的光芒照在天际中，稍微地表现了一下，就缩了回去。马尔穆特·基德忽然醒了，起身来到了朋友的身边。他环视四周，寂静的雪野在耻笑他，他打了个寒战。一声枪响之后，梅森被弹到他的空中坟墓去了。马尔穆特·基德鞭打着那些雪橇犬飞快地奔跑着，在这片寂静的雪野中飞奔而去。

心灵小语

在本篇小说中，充满了生与死的较量，生命与自然的抗衡。面对北方恶劣严酷的自然环境，一群普通人拖着疲惫而顽强的身躯，遵循着“弱肉强食”的丛林法则，为了生存而奋力抗争着。而在这条看似主宰一切的自然法则身后，人类对于生活与生命、对于亲人和朋友的爱，才是他们最终成为“超人”并在这场较量中获胜的终极武器。

W词汇笔记

throat [θrəut] n. 喉咙

例 When you swallow, thank your throat for working smoothly.

你吞咽的时候，庆幸自己的咽喉顺滑无碍。

alternative [ɔ:l'tə:nətiv] adj. 供选择的；选择性的

例 I try to seek alternative life styles.

我试着寻求其他的生活方式。

slather ['slɑ:eə] v. 大量地用

例 He drank slathers of wine.

他喝了许多酒。

mosquito [məs'ki:təu] n. 蚊子

例 The mosquito keeps flying around my head.

有一只蚊子正绕着我的头飞来飞去。

S小试身手

两个男人和一个女人围坐在火边开始享用这少得可怜的食物。

译____________________________________________

人们不禁意识到自己如小虫般微不足道，为自己贸然闯入这如死亡般寂静的世界而颤抖。

译____________________________________________

他环视四周，寂静的雪野在耻笑他，他打了个寒战。

译____________________________________________

P短语家族

Ruth followed with the second team.

follow with：跟着

造____________________________________________

...will give up exhausted at the end of a hundred yards.

at the end of：在……尽头；在……结束时

造____________________________________________