Chapter 5 The third series of manor visitors｜2

friends visit It is one of the great joys in my life that friends come to the manor as a guest. My excitement is beyond words, and everyone in the manor knows it. Once, when Dennis's long trip was coming to an end, one morning, I accidentally found a young man from Masai standing in front of my door, one slender leg supported on the other.Beda [Note: Annotation of Dainis' nickname] is on his way, going back, he announced that he will arrive in two or three days. That afternoon, a child of a tenant farmer came from outside the manor, sat and waited on the lawn, and when he saw me coming out, he said: There is a flock of guinea fowls by the river.Beda is back, if you want to buy some for him, I can take you there when the sun goes down.

Among my friends are many famous travelers.For them, the manor's appeal was that it had become a stable base that kept its original look whenever they visited.Their footprints are scattered in the vast foreign land, where their tents are set up, and how many places are broken and fallen down.Now that they're back, they're all happy to roam the paths of my estate.This path is just like the orbit of a planet, which remains unchanged for a long time.They want to see familiar faces. I have had the same servants the whole time I was in Africa. I was in the manor, longing to travel, and they came back longing for books, linen, and a large window with Shade in the room.Around the campfire they had been indulging in the joys of manor life.As soon as they came back, they eagerly asked me: Have you taught the cook how to make hunter omelets?Did the last post bring Petrochika records?They also stop here when I'm out.Dennis took over my house when I was visiting Europe.Berkeley called the estate my forest retreat.

In return for material civilization, the hikers brought me back their kills.Leopard and cheetah skins for Parisian fur coats, snake and lizard skins for shoes, and stork feathers. To amuse them, while they were away, I tried fresh dishes from well-worn recipes.I also managed to get European flowers to grow in my garden. Once in my hometown in Denmark, an old woman gave me twenty-five peony bulbs, and I took some trouble to bring them back to Kenya because the regulations on plant imports are very strict.The peony I planted survived, and clumps of crimson curved shoots sprouted almost the same day, and soon stretched into light leaves, and round buds came out again. The first peony that bloomed is called Duchess de Nemours, a large white single-headed flower, plump and noble, with a fresh, sweet, rich fragrance.I cut it out and put it in a vial in my living room.Everyone who steps into the living room must stop and comment on the flowers.Why?Because it is a peony flower!However, not long after this flower bloomed, the other buds withered, and I never had a second peony.

A few years later I was talking to Mrs Macmillan's gardener about peonies.We have not succeeded in planting peonies in Africa. He said that we can only succeed if we find a way to make the imported bulbs bloom here and then take its seeds.This is how the delphinium was introduced.In this light, I should have introduced all kinds of peonies to Kenya long ago, and my name should have been as immortal as the Duchess.It's a pity that I ruined the glory that has come to me, and I picked off the unique flower and soaked it in the water.How many times, I dreamed that the white peony was growing vigorously, and I was so happy that I was glad I didn't pick it off.

Friends who come to me, some come from the estates in the interior, and some come from the city.Hughes.Martin, who works for the Land Office, came down from Nairobi to entertain me.He is outstanding and proficient in world classic literature.His whole life was spent peacefully in civil service in the East.There, too, he developed a talent for appearing like a Chinese Maitreya Buddha.He called me an honest man. 】And he himself is Mr. Pangloss of the manor [Note: Candide's teacher. 】.For the mediocrity and despicableness of human nature, and for the incalculability of the universe, he has his own deep-rooted beliefs, and shouldn't he take pleasure in this?Once he sat down on the big armchair, he hardly moved.With wine in front of him and a glowing face, he slowly preached his philosophy of life, and sparks of thought burst out from time to time, just like the phosphorescence of matter and consciousness, passing by in a flash, making people obsessed.This fat guy is at ease in the world, and he is at ease with the devil, and the followers of the devil have stamped his innocence on him, and he is more favored than many followers of the Lord Jesus.

Gustav.Muher is a young man with a big nose from Norway.He used to come to my mansion suddenly in the evening like a hawk. His own estate was on the other side of Nairobi.He is an excellent farmer, and he helped me not only in words, but also in practical farm work, more than any friend in Kenya.His eagerness to help others at any time is as simple as his duty.In his view, the Nordic people seem to be supposed to help each other.At this moment, he flew to the manor like a spark, like a stone flying out of a volcanic eruption.He said he was going crazy in a country where people kept talking about cattle and sisal.His soul was empty and hungry, and he couldn't take it anymore.As soon as he entered the door, he babbled until midnight.He talks about love, communism, the bible, prostitution, whatever.He smoked inferior tobacco to anesthetize himself.He doesn't want to eat, and he doesn't want to listen to others.If I put in a word, he'd growl and be furious.That wild little head bumped wildly in the air.There is a lot of pain in his heart that he wants to get rid of, but the more he talks, the more painful it becomes.At two o'clock in the middle of the night, he suddenly became speechless, so he sat quietly for a while, with a grimace on his face, like a convalescing patient in a hospital garden.Then he drove away at a frightening speed, ready to refresh himself once more, and indulge for the time being among the cattle and sisal.

Ingrid.Lindstrough would always come to the estate for a day or two if he could get away from his farm in Enjoro, his turkey and flower sales.Her father and husband were both Swedish military officers.She is fair-skinned and pure-hearted.She came to Africa with her husband and their children, thinking of going on a getaway, like having a picnic, but in order to make some luck money, she bought a flax field.A ton of flax sold for £500 at that time.But the good times don't last long, and when the price drops to forty pounds, the flax fields and processing machinery are equivalent to waste.At this time, she went all out to save the manor and support the family.She planned poultry farms, flower plantations, and worked like a slave.During the struggle, she fell deeply in love with her own manor, her cattle, pigs and vegetables, the natives, and her own African land.Her passion was so wild that she would have sold her husband and her children to keep the estate.She and I hugged and wept together when the years were not going well, and we were melancholy over the possibility of losing our land.Ingrid came to accompany me and it was a happy time.She had the broad, rugged character of the Swedish peasant woman, lively, cheerful, and agreeable.Her weather-beaten face is always smiling, showing a row of white strong teeth.It is this character that has won the Swedes the favor of the world.Even in sorrow, they can take everything into their own minds, so open-minded and touching.

There was an old Kikuyu who worked as a servant and cook at Ingrid's house.His name is Kemosha, and he often goes out with his mistress on errands, taking care of all her affairs as if they were his own.Kemosha worked hard for Ingrid in the flower garden and the farm, and took her three young daughters to and from the manor and boarding school like a nanny.When I was a guest at Enjoro Manor, Ingrid told me that Kemosha couldn't hold back her excitement and lost control over everything. She arranged a grand banquet to entertain me and killed me. Lots of turkeys because Farah was so impressed by his generosity.Ingrid told me that Kemosha considered the friendship with Farah the greatest honor in his life.

Mrs. Thompson of Enjoro, whom I never knew, came to see me.Doctors informed her that she would die soon.She told me she had just ordered a pony jumping winner in Ireland.For her, whether alive or not, horses are the ideal and glory of existence.And now, after the doctor's talk, she was going to call the family to stop sending the pony, but finally decided to leave it to me once she died.I didn't think too much about it, but half a year after she passed away, the little horse Bohr.But Box appeared in En Ge Manor.After living with us, he proved himself to be the smartest horse on the estate.From the outside, it wasn't pretty: short and stocky, it looked older than it was.Dennis rides it a lot, but I don't.But for its alertness and prudence, and its deep awareness of its mission, it stood out from a group of handsome young horses, and was singled out by Kenyan millionaires to participate in the Kabe hosted by the Prince of Wales. Tan jumping horse race, and honorably won.It brought back a silver medal with its usual modest and stable demeanor and expression.After our whole week of anxiety, it sparked a wave of beaming, conquering and triumphant heat in my house and across the estate.Six months later, it unfortunately died of illness and was buried under a lemon tree outside the barn.How many people mourn it, Bohr.Box's fame has been immortalized for a long time.

Old Mr. Bulpitter, known at the club as Uncle Charles, used to dine with me.He was a noble friend of mine, and a kind of ideal Victorian English gentleman in my mind.We are very comfortable together.He had crossed the Dardanelles and was one of the first travelers to reach the summit of Cape Mande.In his youth, perhaps in the 1980s, he was Autana. ]'s lover.He told me that Otanlo had ruined him and abandoned him.I seem to be with Armand [Note: The hero in "La Traviata". ] or Gerry Vaux, who had many fine pictures of Otanalo, and liked to talk about her. Once, at a dinner party in Engo Manor, I asked him: I saw the memoir of Autanluo published, is there you in it?

Yes, he replied, I was in it, under a different name, it was in the book. What did she write about you? She wrote, "I was a young lad and spent tens of thousands of pounds in six months for her and it was totally worth it." Then you think, I laughed, is your money really worth it? He thought for a while and said: Yes, it's totally worth it. On his seventieth birthday, Dennis and I had a picnic with him on the top of Ngo Mountain.As soon as we sat down, we began to discuss a question: if we could have a pair of real wings that could never be taken off, would we want to. Old Bulpitter sat looking out over the vast country below us, the green fields of the Nango Mountains, and the Great Rift Valley on either side, as if ready for take-off. I am willing to accept this pair of wings.There is nothing I yearn for more than wings.He pondered for a moment and then said, I think, if I were a lady, I would need to consider this issue. flight notes Dai Nisi is in Africa and has no other home except our manor.He lives with me between his hunts, and the books, phonograph, etc. stay here.Whenever he returned to the manor, everything opened up to him.The manor speaks as the coffee garden whispers.When the first fresh rains of the monsoon season come and coffee blooms, the soggy blossoms form a chalky cloud.I wait for Dennis to come back, hear his car approaching loudly from a distance, and I will hear everything in the manor telling a true story.Dennis was happy in the manor, he only came when he wanted to.Manor knows that in his heart there is a character of humility that others in the world do not understand.He does what he wants to do and never deviates from it.His mouth is also very strict, never playing tricks. There is one aspect of Dai Nisi's character that I cherish very much. I like to listen to other people's stories.I always thought I could make a difference when Florence was in trouble.Fashions change, and the art of storytelling is lost in Europe.Native Africans are illiterate but still maintain this art.You just need to tell them the beginning: Once upon a time, there was a person who was walking on the grassland, and when he met another person there, they would all be attracted to them, and their hearts would run on the unpredictable track of that person on the grassland.And the white man, who clearly felt he should hear the story, didn't bother to hear it.If they get quiet and don't remember what they're about to do, they'll fall asleep.These are the people who will ask you for something to read, who will sit up late into the night obsessing over whatever print they get their hands on, and who will read even a speech.They are used to absorbing impressions of the outside world with their eyes. Dainis lives with his ears all the year round, preferring to listen to stories rather than read them.When he came to the manor, he would ask: Do you have a story?I made up many stories during his hunting trips.How many nights, he relished it, laying out a cushion in front of the fire, like a passenger car, sitting on the floor with me, legs crossed.With his clear eyes flickering, he listened to those long stories with great interest from beginning to end.The storyline is clearer than I remember.When a character came up dramatically, he'd stop me and say: This guy died at the beginning of the story, but that's okay. Denis taught me Latin, the Bible and Greek poetry.He can recite most chapters of the "Old Testament" and always take the "Bible" with him when he goes out, which has won high praise among Muslims. He also gave me a gramophone, which made me very happy.The phonograph brought new life to the manor and became its voice. The robin is the soul of the glade.Sometimes I'd be in a coffee garden or a cornfield, and Dennis would show up unexpectedly, bring a new record, turn on the record player.When I was riding back in the sunset, the wonderful music came to me like a stream in the cool evening air, announcing his arrival.It's as if he's been laughing at me, like he usually does.The natives also loved the record player, and often stood around the house listening to the music flying from the records.Sometimes when I'm alone in the room with them, they'll order a song they like and ask me to play it.It's funny that Kamantan always asks for Beethoven's Piano Concerto in C major out of preference.When he first asked me to play the record, it took me a while to explain exactly what he needed. But Dennis and I don't have the same taste in music.I like classical works, and it seems necessary for Denis to make up for the disharmony with the times. In all artistic fields, his interest is as modern as possible.He loves to listen to the latest music.I like Beethoven too, he said, if he wasn't mediocre. I am with Dennis, no matter what time of day, I am lucky enough to meet lions.Sometimes when he came back from hunting for two or three months, he was having a lot of trouble. He failed to capture a healthy lion for European merchants. It happened that the Masai people came to my house and begged me to go out and shoot a male who was eating their cattle and sheep. lion or lioness.If Farah and I went to the wild, camped in the village of Masai, watching the lions, or patrolling in the early morning, the gains were not great, and the lions were rarely found.But when Dennis and I rode out on horseback, the lions of the prairie always seemed to be waiting for us in the vicinity.Sometimes they can be encountered on picnics, and sometimes they can be seen walking across dry river beds. One New Year's Day morning, before sunrise, Dennis and I boarded the new road leading to Narok. The road surface was very poor, and we drove as fast as possible. On the first day, a friend went to the south for a hunting party, and Dennis lent him a heavy rifle.At night, he suddenly remembered that he forgot to tell his friend about a certain mechanism on the rifle, which might cause the micro-fire trigger to go off.He was very worried that the hunting friend would not manipulate and accidentally injure him.So we thought, there is no good way, only to start as soon as possible, take a new road and rush to Narok before the hunting meeting.The journey was sixty miles, through some rough terrain.The hunting team followed the heavy-duty vehicles and traveled slowly on the old road.The only trouble is that we don't know if the new road goes all the way to Narok. In the early morning on the African plateau, the freshness and coldness of the air is almost palpable.A hallucination haunts you over and over; you are not on the ground, but in dark, deep water, walking along the bottom of the sea.You are not even sure that you are moving, the cold current blowing in your face, maybe the current of the deep sea; and your car, like a kind of sluggish electric fish, is crouching on the bottom of the sea, staring straight ahead. Glittering lights, sea creatures passing by, and stars so big they're not real stars, but reflections of starlight, twinkling on the water.Along your path under the sea, various creatures, darker in color than their surroundings, appear from time to time, jump, and flash into the long water plants, like crabs and sand crabs scrambling to escape into the fine sand.The light is getting brighter and brighter, and around sunrise, the bottom of the sea rises out of the sea like a newly raised island.Smells whirl around you, the fresh smell of olive groves, the salty smell of burnt weeds, and the suffocating smell of decay. Kanusia, Dainis's servant, was sitting in the back of the box-like carriage. He touched my shoulder lightly and pointed to the right.Along the road, at a distance of twelve or fifteen yards, there was a large black mass, like manatees resting on the sand.Something on top of it was stirring in the deep water.It took me a while to see clearly that it was a dead male giraffe. It seemed that it had been shot for two or three days.Giraffes are forbidden to hunt. Afterwards, Dennis and I had to defend ourselves, denying the fault of killing the deer.We can confirm that it had been dead for several days when we saw it, although it has never been clarified who and why it was shot.On the huge carcass of a giraffe, a lioness is chewing with relish.Now, it looked up and shrugged, watching the passing cars. Dennis stopped the car, and Kanusia picked up the rifle on his shoulder.Dennis asked me softly: Can I hit it?He has always been my obedient hunting assistant in Ngo Mountain.The place we were crossing was the place where the Maasai came to my house to report the successive cattle victims.The time has finally come to end the life of this evil lion.I nod. Dennis jumped out of the car and took a few steps back.At this time, the lioness also jumped down and hid behind the dead giraffe.Dennis ran a few steps around the giraffe, stood within the range, and fired.I did not see how the lioness fell.When I got out of the car and got there, the lioness was dead in a big black pond. We didn't have time to skin the lion, and we had to drive fast in order to get to Narok in time.We looked around and remembered this place.The stench of giraffe carcasses was so strong we couldn't miss it on the return trip. However, we drove another two miles and there was no road ahead.A pile of the road builder's tools lay there.On the other side of the pile of tools is a large stone field, which looks gray and untouched in the early morning.We looked at the pile of tools, and at the stony field, and it seemed that Dennis's friend had to be left alone (we learned afterwards that he never had a chance to use the rifle).We had to go back and forth.We turned the car around, and in front of our eyes were the red grasslands and mountains reflected in the eastern sky.We sailed east, talking about the lioness. The carcass of the giraffe gradually came into view, and this time we could see it clearly as the light cast dark patches on one side of its fur.As we approached it, we spotted a male lion standing on top of it.The distance is getting closer and we are slightly below the giraffe carcass.The lion stood upright, his face dimly lit, and the sky behind him was burning red.What a mighty lion, with a strand of lion's mane blowing in the wind.I got up from the car, the image of the lion is so impressive.At this time, Dennis said: You should shoot.I never liked his rifle, it was too long and heavy and had too much recoil.However, this gun is a declaration of love. Shouldn't this rifle be the largest caliber?When I shot, I vaguely felt the lion soaring into the air, and then stretched its legs to the ground.I stood gasping in the grass, beaming with delight at the long-range hit.I wandered around the giraffe carcass, which is the fifth act of the classic tragedy, and they all mourned.The giraffe appears surprisingly large and austere, with straight legs, a long neck, and a belly torn by lions.The lioness fell dead on her back with a dry howling expression on her face. She is the female character in the tragedy.The lion fell not far from it.Why didn't the male lion remember the lesson of the fate of the lioness?Its head was buried between its front paws, and its mighty mane covered it like a royal cloak.It rests in a large pond.At this moment, the morning light was so beautiful and bright that the pool was stained scarlet. Dennis and Kanusia rolled up their sleeves and peeled the lion's skin at sunrise.During breaks, we drank red wine and ate raisins and almonds.I brought so much food to eat on the road, because today is New Year's Day.We sat in the short grass and ate and drank.The two dead lions were not far from us, and they looked so fit after being skinned: there was not a single bit of excess fat on their bodies, and every muscle was a strong curve.They don't need any frills, they're naturally gorgeous from start to finish. We sat, sat, and suddenly a shadow fell on the grass, and on my feet.Looking up, high in the blue sky, I could make out a few bald eagles circling.My heart suddenly fluttered, like a kite flying into the sky on a thin thread.I improvised a poem: The shadow of the goshawk lingers on the grassland, Fly to the blue nameless mountains in the distance. The plump shadow of the zebra, One by one between their free hooves, frozen, motionless, They are waiting for the evening, waiting to stretch their limbs; Waiting for a patch of tiles on the grassland to be painted by the setting sun, Plated brick red, waiting Go to the pond to linger and sing late. Dennis and I had another dramatic encounter with a lion.Actually it happened in the early days of our friendship. It was a morning in the little rainy season, and Mr. Nichols, a South African who was my manager at the time, rushed to my house and told me that two lions came to the estate during the night and killed our two ends. ox.They broke into the fence of the cattle pen and dragged the killed cattle to the coffee field.One of the cows was chewed by them in the garden, and the other lay down in the coffee bushes.Shall I send him a note to get some strychnine in Nairobi?This way he could sprinkle medicine on the oxtail at once, and he was sure that the two lions would come that night. I thought about it, and I was not willing to give strychnine to the lion.I told him.Hearing this, he couldn't help but turn from excitement to anger.These lions, he said, if left alone, they will come again next time.The bulls they kill are the strongest working cattle on our estate.We can't afford to lose any more.He also reminded me that my stall is not far from the cattle pen. I wonder if I have thought of this?I then explained that I had no intention of keeping lions on the estate, but that they should be shot rather than poisoned. Then who is going to shoot?Nichols asked, I'm not a coward, but I'm a family man, and I don't want to risk my life needlessly.Indeed, he is not timid, he is a villain with courage.It is not wise to shoot, he said.No, I said, I had no intention of forcing him to hunt lions; Mr. Dennis came the night before, and lived at the estate, and I went with him.Oh, that's fine.Nichols said. I turned back and went into the house, looking for Dainis.Come on, I said to him, let's take a risk for nothing.If our lives have any value, it's because we don't get any value right now.Life is free, who wants to die? We went down the hill, and sure enough, as Nichols said, we found the dead cow in the coffee field.It is so strong that it is impossible to imagine a lion touching it.The lions left deep, clear tracks on the wet ground, and two big lions had been here at night.Following the trail, it was easy to follow through the coffee garden to the woods where Belknepp lived.But when we got to the edge of the woods, it was raining so hard that it was hard to see anything.We found no trace of the lions in the grass or the bushes. Dennis, do you think they will come again tonight?I asked. Dai Nisi has a wealth of experience in lion hunting.He told me that the lions would come early tonight to eat the leftovers.We've got to give them time and hold them steady.When we came down to the scene at nine o'clock, we took the flashlight out of his bag and used it for shooting lighting.He lets me choose what I do, I'd rather let him shoot while I flashlight him. In order to be able to find the dead cow along the way in the dark, we cut some paper strips, tied them on both sides of the coffee tree we walked through, and sprinkled white stones on the path we walked to mark.This road leads directly to the crime scene.At the end, twenty yards from the dead cow, we tied a large sheet of paper to a tree; here we intended to stop, flashlight, and shoot.At dusk, we took out the flashlight and tried it. The battery was low and the light was too dim, but we didn't have time to go to Nairobi to buy a new one, so we had to make do with it. It was the eve of Dennis's birthday that day.As we ate dinner, he was worried, revealing a somber feeling that he had so far been unfulfilled in life.I reassure him that maybe something good will happen before the morning of his birthday.I told Juma to bring out a bottle of wine for us to drink when we returned.I kept thinking about those two lions: where are they at this time?Are they crossing the river?Is one in front and the other behind, walking slowly and quietly?Is the soft cool water of the creek flowing over their breasts and sides? At nine o'clock sharp, we set off. It was still raining lightly, but there was a moon.From time to time, the moon passes through layers of thick clouds in the high night sky, revealing a hazy white face, lightly shining in the coffee garden with white flowers in full bloom.We passed the elementary school far away, where the lights were bright. Seeing this scene, I couldn't help passing a wave of victory and joy in my heart. I am proud of my villagers.I am reminded of King Solomon's famous saying: The lazy man says that a lion is on the road, and the lion is on the road.At this very moment, two lions are outside the school gates, and my schoolchildren are not lazy and have not left school for the lions. We found two marked rows of coffee trees, paused for a while, and walked through the trees one after the other.We walked quietly in our moccasins.I was shaking and trembling because of my excitement, and I didn't dare to get too close to Dennis, for fear that he would notice my excitement and drive me home.But I can't stay too far away from him, because he might need my flashlight at any time. Soon we found that the two lions had been feasting on the carcass of their prey.They heard us, or smelled us, dismounted from the carcasses, and slid into the coffee fields as if to make way for us.Maybe they thought we were going too slowly, and there was a lion roaring low, hoarse, in front of us and to the right.The voice was so deep that we were not sure if we really heard the lion's roar.Dennis paused for a second, and asked me without turning his head: Did you hear that? Yes.I answer. We walked forward a few more steps, and the deep roar sounded again.This time directly from the right.Put on the flashlight!Dai Nisi ordered.It was not an easy task, he was much taller than me, and I had to shine the flashlight over his shoulder to shoot him and light his way forward.I flashed on the flashlight, and the world suddenly became a bright and brilliant stage, the wet leaves of the coffee trees glistened, and the clods of mud on the ground were clearly visible. The light from the flashlight first startled a small, staring jackal, resembling a fox.I continued to shake the flashlight, and this time it caught a lion.It stood facing it, looking relaxed, with the dark African night behind it.A shot was fired, right next to me.I was not mentally prepared, and I couldn't even hear the sound, it was like thunder, and it seemed that my body was pushed to the lion's end.The lion fell like a rock.Keep going!Keep going!Dennis yelled at me.I waved and waved the flashlight, and my hands shook so badly that the circle of light held the world, dancing at my command.I heard Dennis' laughter in the dark.He said to me afterwards: When he saw the second lion, the light of the flashlight was a little shaken.In the center of the lightning dance, is the second lion.It avoids us, half hidden behind a coffee tree.When the flashlight hit it, it turned its head.Dennis just shot.The lion fell out of the halo, but got up again, entered the halo, and staggered towards us.The second bullet was fired, and the lion let out a long, furious moan. Africa became infinitely thin in an instant, and Dennis and I stood on the land of Africa, looking infinitely small.In the light of the flashlight, there is nothing but darkness, and darkness.In the darkness, in two directions lay the dead bodies of two lions.The sky was drizzling, and when the deep roar disappeared, there was no movement.The lion lies peacefully, with its head turned to one side, in what appears to be a gesture of disgust.And so there were two large dead animals in the coffee field, and the silence of the night hung over everything. We walked towards the lion, measuring the distance.It was thirty yards from where we stood to the first lion and twenty-five yards to the other.They are all fully developed, young, robust male lions.This pair of close friends went in and out of the mountains and traveled around the grasslands, and they were inseparable.Just yesterday performed a thrilling feat, and now died because of it. At this time, all the school children came out of the school, rushed to the passage, stopped when they saw us, and called out in a low voice: Mshab, are you there?is that youMshab, Mshab. I sat on a lion and said loudly: Yes, I am here. So, they came over and boldly raised their voices: Did Beda beat him to death?Did he kill both lions?When they heard it, as expected, they scattered all of a sudden, like little hares at night, bouncing around.They sang impromptu, the lyrics are.Three shots.two lions.Three shots.two lions.While singing, while changing the key, the high pitch and low pitch come and go.They made up and sang: three shots are accurate, and the two big lions are fierce and fierce.Then a chorus of everyone's intoxicated refrain: A, B, C, D They're just out of school and their heads are full of wisdom. After a while, many people rushed to the scene, carrying hurricane lamps, workers from the noodle mill, farmers from nearby villages, and my servants came from all directions.They talked around the lion.Kanusia and his assistant got the knife and started skinning the lion.One of the lion skins was later presented by me to the Archbishop of India.Paulen.Singer was there too, looking indescribably brisk in a gown.His thick black beard bloomed in his sweet Indian smile, and he stuttered with joy.The Hindu was eager to get himself some lion oil, which they scarcely considered a miracle medicine.From the gestures he made, I guessed that the oil would do wonders for arthritis and impotence.The coffee garden was extremely noisy and lively, the rain had stopped, and the bright light of the moon was shining on everyone. When we got home, Juma brought the bottle and uncapped it.We were too wet, muddy, bloody, too dirty to sit on.So I stood in front of the burning fireplace in the dining room, and drank the joyful and festive wine one after another.We didn't say a word.In the hunt, we cooperated tacitly and blended into one body, and there was no redundant word between each other. Our friends took much pleasure from our adventures.When we went dancing at the club afterwards, old Mr. Bulpett didn't speak to us all the evening. I think it was because of Dennis that my manor life enjoyed the most exciting and the greatest pleasure: I once flew over Africa with him.There are few roads in Africa, and in some places there are even no roads. You can land on the grassland as much as you want, and flying will become the most important pleasure in your life.It opens up another world for you.Dennis had brought his little Moss plane, which was able to land on the prairie of the estate, only a few minutes from my house.We fly in the air almost every day. When you fly over the African highlands, your vision will be so spectacular: the amazing combination and change of light and color; the rainbow on the sun-drenched green field; the huge vertical cloud ;the black rainstorm of extraordinary momentum, all of which chases and dances around you.急瀉而下的雨水將天空沖得白茫茫一片。真沒有恰當的詞語來描繪飛行的經歷，新的詞彙須隨著時光的流逝創造出來。當你飛越大裂谷和蘇斯瓦、龍戈諾特火山時，你會感覺自己來到了遙遠的月球背面的大地上空，有時候，你又能超低空飛行，清晰地觀賞草原上的動物，就像上帝剛剛創造出這些生靈，你感到牠們如此親近，只差亞當為牠們起名字了。 但是，令你興奮愉快的，不是幻覺，而是行動本身。飛行者的樂趣與榮耀全寓於飛行之中。常年住在都市的人們真是苦極了，像被奴役的奴隸，在一切運動之中，他們只知道一維空間的事物。他們沿著一條直線行走，恰似被一根線牽引的木偶。當你信步穿越田野、樹林，從直線登上了飛機，你進入了二維世界，那是輝煌的奴隸解放，如同法國大革命。但只有在空中，你才進入三維世界徹底自由的王國，經過漫長歲月的流亡與夢想，那思鄉的心撲入了宇宙的懷抱。重力與時間法則。 蘊蓄於生命的綠樹之中， 運動彷彿是被馴服的野獸，誰人知曉 牠們將何等的溫順謙恭！ 每當我坐著飛機升騰，俯瞰大地，感到自己離開了地面，我就會產生一種豪壯的發現新大陸的意識。啊，我明悟了，我想著，這正是我追求的觀念。此刻，我無所不知。 一天，我和戴尼斯飛往納特隆湖，該湖在莊園東南九十英哩處，海拔二千英呎，比莊園地勢低四千英呎。納特隆湖盛產鹼，湖底、湖岸有如白色的混凝土，散發出強烈的鹼味。 天空一碧萬頃，可是當我們從草原起飛，進入荒涼的岩石聳立的低地上空，一切色彩宛若被燒焦、烤糊了。我們下面的大地近乎微妙的布滿斑點的龜殼。驀然間，龜殼之中現出一方湖泊。那白花花的湖底透過水波折射出從空中看來一種強烈的、令人難以置信的蔚藍。色彩是那麼鮮明，你凝望一會兒，就會閉上自己的眼睛。浩瀚的湖水橫嵌於光禿禿的茶色大地之中，活像一大塊耀眼的海藍寶石。我們一直向上飛升，此刻又開始下降。低飛時，我們自己的投影在淺藍的湖面上映出深藍色的色塊，在我們下面抖動。這裡生活著成千上萬隻火烈鳥，雖然我不明白牠們是怎樣生存在含鹼的水中那裡面什麼魚也沒有。我們靠近時，火烈鳥飛散開來，形成一個個大圓圈或扇面，恍如正在升起的太陽放射的光芒，又像絲綢或瓷器上中國的藝術圖案。這些圖案在我們眼前不時地變幻著。 我們登上白花花的湖岸，那熱烘烘的勁頭猶如烤箱。我們在機翼下的蔭涼處席地午餐。你要是把手伸出蔭影，那炙熱的太陽會灼痛你的手。我們的瓶裝啤酒，剛從飛機上取出時還十分涼爽，可一刻鐘光景，我們還沒喝完，這手中啤酒就如同一杯熱茶了。 我們午餐時，一隊馬賽依武士出現在遠處的地平線上，匆匆朝我們趕來。他們一定是在遠處發現飛機降落了，決意過來仔細瞧瞧。徒步路程多遠，即使在這片土地上，對馬賽依人也無所謂。他們走來了，一個挨著一個，裸著身體，又瘦又高，手中的武器閃閃發光。那黑黝黝的形象，使人想到黃灰色沙地上的一塊塊泥炭。他們的腳下移動著小小的陰影除了我與戴尼斯的，這些是這片土地上眼睛所能見到的僅有的活動的陰影。他們走到我們跟前時，站成了一排，互相交頭接耳，評論著飛機和我們倆。要是在上一輩，遇到他們，簡直會要我們的命。過了片刻，其中一個馬賽依人走上前來跟我們搭話。他們只能講自己的土話，我們又只能聽懂片言隻語，交談很快就停頓了。那武士退回同伴們那裡。幾分鐘後，他們轉過身，一列縱隊魚貫離去，前方的鹽鹼地白熾刺眼，火燒火燎。 你想飛往那依萬霞湖麼？戴尼斯問，不過這段路的地面崎嶇不平，途中我們沒法降落。我們只有拉高飛行高度一萬二千英呎。 從納特隆湖飛到那依萬霞湖是九死一生的冒險。我們飛直線，一路保持一萬二千英呎的高度真高哇，底下什麼也看不見。在納特隆湖，我脫下了小羊皮的帽子，現在到了高空，空氣冷得像冰水，直扎我的前額。我的頭髮全往後飄，腦袋好像都吹掉了似的。這個路線，實際上與阿拉伯傳說中的大鵬每晚飛的路線一樣，只不過方向相反。那隻大鵬的兩隻利爪各擎一頭小象，從烏干達返回阿拉伯半島。你坐在你的駕駛員前頭，你的前方是浩渺的宇宙。你覺得你在他伸出的手掌上飛行，就像迪金【註】在空中挾持阿里王子那樣，托舉你的正是他的翅膀。我們在那依萬霞友人的莊園裡降落。那些小巧的房屋及四周更小的樹木，在我們降落時，彷彿紛紛向後傾倒。 【註】迪金：古卜林兒童讀物《正是如此的故事》中的沙漠之神。 有時我和戴尼斯沒有時間出遠門，就在恩戈山上空作短途飛行，一般是在日落時分。這些山峰居世界最美的山峰之列也許從高空俯視最為壯觀。這四座山峰輪廓分明，隨著飛機忽而上升，忽而前進，忽而又猛地下沉，恍若平展展的小草坪。 在山裡有野牛。我年輕時執意要將每一種非洲野生動物都打一隻，製成標本就在這兒打死過一頭公野牛。後來，我打獵的勁頭不如觀賞的癮頭大，我在野外常見到野牛。我曾在半山腰的泉水旁宿營，帶上我的僕人、帳篷和口糧。我和法拉赫還在黑沉沉、冷冰冰的清晨到灌木叢和高草裡攀援、爬行，希望能發現野牛群。可是有兩次都失敗而歸。野牛們生活在那裡，是我西邊的鄰居，在莊園生活中頗有價值。不過，牠們是心靈敏感、自給自足的鄰居。山巒的古老風尚現在多少減弱了。牠們接受的恩賜不多。 但是，一天下午，我正在與內地來的幾位朋友喝茶，外面戴尼斯從奈洛比飛來，越過我們上空向西飛去。過了一陣，他返回來降落在莊園之後，我和迪萊米亞女士駕車去草原接他。可他沒從飛機裡走出來。 野牛在山上吃草，他說，走吧，去瞧瞧牠們。 我去不了，我家裡有一個茶會。I said. 可我們去看一下，十五分鐘就回來。 這對我簡直像在夢中得到人們的恩惠。迪萊米亞女士不想坐飛機，我便登機隨行。我們在陽光下飛行，可山坡卻處在一片半透明的褐色陰影裡，我們很快飛了進去。不一會兒，我們就在空中望見了下面的野牛。在一處長長的、翠綠的山坡邊如一塊巨大的苫布的皺褶，從山頂延伸到恩戈山的一側有二十七頭野牛在吃草。起初，我們看到牠們一長溜地徜徉，猶如一隊老鼠緩緩行進在地板上。可當我們俯衝下去，在距牠們一百五十英呎上空、最佳射程之內盤旋，點著數時發現，牠們原來安詳地組合、分散，分散、組合。牛群中有一頭又大又老的野牛，一兩頭剛成年的公牛，還有一些牛犢。牠們活動的草地開闊平展，處於灌木叢的環抱之中。一旦有陌生者接近，牠們馬上就會聽出和聞出來。但牠們從未提防來自空中的進擊。我們必須一直在空中盤旋。牠們聽到馬達的聲音，停止了吃草，卻似乎沒有反應過來，不往上看看。最後，牠們終於意識到附近出現了非常怪異的東西。老牛率先走到前列，昂起牠那對沉甸甸的牛角，向看不見的敵人示威，四足牢牢地支在地上突然，牠向山坡下走去，一會兒又慢跑起來。整個家族都跟隨牠驚跑驚竄。牠們揚起了一陣陣塵土與碎石片，轉入灌木林。在叢林深處，牠們停了下來，互相緊挨著：看上去，山裡的這片空地像被深灰色的石頭鋪墊起來。在這裡，牠們自信不會被發現，嚴陣以待準備隨時迎戰任何地面來客。可是牠們畢竟躲不過天空中飛鳥的眼睛。我們拉高飛開了。那經歷儼如沿著一條祕密、未知的小路探進了恩戈山的心臟一般。 等我回到茶會上，石桌上的茶罐還熱得很，把我手指都燙疼了。先知也有同樣的經歷，當他打翻了一罐水，天使長哲布勒伊萊【註：《古蘭經》中的一位天使長。】前來接他，帶著他遨遊七重天，待到先知穆罕默德回到世上的時候，那罐水還未溢出來。 在恩戈山還棲息著一對老鷹。每當下午時分，戴尼斯常說：讓我們去拜訪那對老鷹。有一次我曾見到其中一隻老鷹蹲在山頂附近的一塊石頭上，又衝上天空。當然，牠們的整個生命都是在空中度過的。多少回，我們追逐老鷹，在機艙中時面向一側傾斜，時而被拋向另一側。一定是這目光銳利的飛禽在戲弄我們。有一次，我們與老鷹比翼齊飛，戴尼斯在半空關了引擎，我都聽到了老鷹的尖叫聲。 土著們喜歡飛機，有那麼一度，畫飛機成為莊園裡的一種時髦。我常在廚房的紙片上、牆壁上發現飛機的速寫，連那四個字母ＡＢＡＫ也小心翼翼地模擬在上面。但我相信，土著並不是真正對飛機或我們的飛行產生興趣。 土著不喜歡高速，正如我們討厭嘈雜。高速，對於他們，至少是經受不住的。他們對時間也十分看重，腦子裡從未有過消磨或浪費時間的打算。而實際上，你給他們的時間越多，他們越高興。你若派給吉庫尤人一個任務，要他在你外出時，牽著你的馬，你從他的臉上可以看出，他希望你走得越久越好。他不試圖打發時光，而是坐下來，過日子。 土著對機器或機械也沒有多少熱情。有一夥年輕人為歐洲人開汽車的熱情所傾到，但一個吉庫尤老頭卻對我說，他們會早死的。看來他好像是對的，叛徒往往出自一個民族的弱處。在文明的發明中，土著欣賞、信服的是三大件：火柴、自行車和步槍。可是一說起母牛來，他們又會將這三大件棄置一旁。 福萊克．格萊斯沃特．威廉斯，移居在凱東峽谷，曾帶著一名馬賽依助手去英國。他告訴我，馬賽依人到那裡一週後，便在海德公園裡騎馬，就像他生來就住在倫敦似的。後來，這個馬賽依人回到非洲，我問他英國什麼最好，他神情嚴肅地思考我的問題，良久，才彬彬有禮地回答：白人的橋修得非常精美。 凡是未經人力或自然力的明顯干預而自行起動的事物，老土著除了不相信或某些羞恥感覺外，我從未見過還有什麼表示。人類從心底對巫術感到厭惡，如同厭惡什麼不體面的東西。他可以對其效應發生興趣，但對其內中隱祕不予探究，從不試圖從巫婆那裡掏出其釀酒的確切配方。 有一次，我和戴尼斯飛行歸來，剛降落在莊園的草原上，一位年邁的吉庫尤老人走來，跟我們攀談： 今天你們飛得太高，我們都看不見你們了，只聽到飛機像蜜蜂似的唱歌。 我承認我們飛得很高。 你們見到上帝了麼？he asks. 沒有，恩特維蒂，我答道，我們沒見到上帝。 哈，那你們飛得還不夠高。他又說，可是，告訴我，你覺得你能飛得高高的，高到能見到上帝麼？ I don't know either.恩特維蒂。I said. 那你，貝達，他轉向戴尼斯，你覺得怎麼樣？你能把飛機升得高高的，見到上帝麼？ I really do not know.戴尼斯說。 那麼，吉庫尤老人說，那我就一點兒也不明白你們倆為什麼要飛行。