Chapter 6 The fourth series: Notes of an immigrant

firefly On the highlands, as soon as the heavy rains are over, and the nights of the first week in June begin to cool, we have fireflies in our woods. You will see three or two fireflies one evening, like a few lonely exploring stars, floating in the bitter air, up and down, as if on the waves, and as if curtseying.With the rhythm of dancing, they light up dim lamps.You can catch one, put it on your palm, let it shine, emit strange brilliance, and send out mysterious messages, and around its body, a fluorescent green halo is reflected.By the second night, there were hundreds and thousands of fireflies flying around in the woods.

Perhaps for some reason they were always kept at a certain height four or five feet above the ground.People can't help but imagine: a group of six or seven-year-old children, holding candles through the dark woods, and the little sticks are lit in the divine fire.The fireflies jumped up and down, chasing and playing, dancing the small, faint torch excitedly.The woods are full of wild, gay life, and yet so peacefully. Wild Animal Rescue During World War I, my estate manager was buying cattle for the army.He told me that he had gone deep into the Masai Reserve and bought a batch of calves from there.It is said that these calves are the offspring of a cross between Masaiyi's cattle and bison.Whether domestic animals can mate with wild animals is a matter of much debate.Many attempts have been made to produce a small local breed of horse by crossing domestic horses with zebras, although I have never seen such a cross myself.My manager insisted that those calves were half wild.The Masaiyi people told him that this kind of cattle grows much slower than domestic cattle.The Masai people, who used to be proud of this kind of cattle, are now eager to send them away, because their temperament is too wild.

People found it too difficult to tame the oxen to pull carts or plows.There is a crossbred bull, strong and strong, but it does not make less trouble for my manager and the native handlebars.It is irritable and irritable to people, breaks free from the yoke, and howls with foam. When it is finally put on, it will shovel up the clods of earth again, like black clouds.Its eyeballs will become bloodshot and its nose will bleed.The bull trainer is like an animal. After a fight, he is sweating and collapses to the ground with pain all over his body. To break the brute force of the bull, my manager said, I threw him into the bull pen with all fours bound together and the nose over the bridle.Even so, when it lay silently on the ground, scorching steam continued to be expelled from its nose, and terrible snores and groans came out of its throat.I look forward to seeing him toil in an ox yoke someday.I went back to my tent to sleep, and dreamed of this black cow from time to time at night.Suddenly, a piercing roar woke me up.The dogs were barking, and the natives around the cattle pen were shouting and making noise.Two shepherd boys rushed into my tent and told me that they felt a lion had entered the stable.We ran to the scene together, lamp in hand, and I with rifle.As they approached the cattle pen, the noise became a little quieter.By the light, I saw a speckled thing go by.It turned out that the leopard ran to the bound black cow and ate its right hind leg.Now, we will never see the ox working in the yoke again.

So, the manager said, I picked up the rifle and shot the black bull to death. Aisa's story During the Great War I had a chef named Isa, an old man with rich senses and a gentle disposition.One day, when I was buying tea and seasonings at the Mackinaw grocery store in Nairobi, a small lady with a shrewd face came up and said that she knew that Aisa worked in my house.I said there is such a thing. But he used to work at my house, she said, and I want him to come back to my house. I told her, sorry, she couldn't get Isa. Well, I don't care if I get hired or not, she said, my husband is a government official.Please go back and tell Isa, I want him back, if he doesn't come back, send him as a transport.I know, you don't have Isa, and the servants are enough.

I didn't tell Essa about this right away until I remembered it the next night and told him that I had met his former mistress and what she had said to me.To my surprise, Isa was terrified and frustrated on the spot. Why don't you tell me right away, Mushab?Whatever that lady tells you, she can do.I'm leaving tonight. That's all crap, I said, I don't think they'd treat you like that. God bless me, Isa said, I'm afraid it's too late. But, Aisa, what should I do?The chef?I asked. Well, he replied, you won't have me as your cook, I'll either go to the convoy or die, which is sure to be the end soon.

At that time, how scared people were of the transport brigade.Aisa couldn't listen to what I said at all.He begged me to lend him a lantern, and that night he rushed to Nairobi, carrying a cloth bag with all his worldly wealth. Aisa had been away from the estate for nearly a year.During this period I saw him several times in Nairobi, once on the road.During this year, he became old and thin, and his face was wrinkled.His round black head was beginning to gray on top.In town, he dared not stop and talk to me.But on the flat road, when we met again, I stopped the car, and he put down the chicken coop on his head, and talked to me in a down-to-earth manner.

He is still as slow as before, but he has changed after all, it is difficult to touch his heart.Throughout the conversation, he remained absent-minded, as if talking at a distance.Wracked with fate, and terribly frightened, he was obliged to sustain himself by a power unknown to me.During these experiences, he became aloof.I felt like I was talking to an old acquaintance who had entered a novitiate. He asked about the estate, as native servants always did, assuming that in his absence his partner would not be doing well for the white master. When will this war end?he ask me. I said, listening to others, this war will not drag on for too long.

If it's been ten years, he said, you know, I'll forget all the recipes you taught me. This little old man in Kikuyu, who cares about the grassland and the manor, is exactly the same as the famous French chef Chawenli.Chawenli said that if the Great Revolution lasts for another five years, the skill of stewed chicken with vegetables will be lost. Apparently, Isa's pity was largely on my behalf, and to end his pity, I asked him how he was doing.He considered it for a minute, as if the thoughts had to be picked up from afar before answering.Do you remember, Mshab, he finally spoke, you said it was too hard for the Indian wood merchant's cattle, they were loaded every day and never stopped, just like the cattle on the estate.Now I'm on my wife's side like an Indian wood merchant's ox.After speaking, his head turned to one side, looking sad.The natives themselves had little affection for animals.What I said about the Indian wood merchant's cattle, which he may have felt at the time, was a bit far-fetched, but it is now true for him.It was incredible to him.

During the war all my mail was opened by a little sleepy-eyed Swedish postman in Nairobi.This annoys me very much.Although he couldn't find the slightest doubtful thing in the letters, I believe that in the monotonous life, he gradually became interested in the mail recipients, and reading my letters is like reading serials in magazines.I often add a few words of warning to the postal inspection in my letter, deliberately for him to read.This warning continued until the end of the war.Once the war was over, perhaps he remembered the warnings, perhaps he repented himself.In either case, he sent a postman to the estate with word that there was an armistice.I was home alone when the postman arrived.Then I went out for a walk in the woods.It was very quiet in the woods, and it was a little strange to think that the French and Fleidas fronts had also quieted down, and all gunfire had stopped.In such tranquility, Europe and Africa seem so close, it seems that along the forest path, you can walk to the front fortress Vimilich.When I returned to the house, I caught a glimpse of a shadow standing in front of the house.It was Essa carrying his baggage.When he saw me, he said that he came back and had a gift for me.

Aisa's gift was a painting, in a frame.The painting features a tree, meticulously drawn in ink and pen, with hundreds of leaves, each painted bright green.Inscribed in red ink on each leaf are faint words in Arabic, which I presume are derived from the Qur'an.But Aisa couldn't explain what it meant.He kept wiping the glass with his sleeve and reassured me that it was a good gift.He told me that he asked the grand imam of Nairobi to draw it during a difficult year.It must have taken the imam a lot of time. Later, Aisa worked with me until he left this world. Iguana In nature reserves, sometimes you can see a large lizard called iguana.It often lies on the stone slab in the river bed to bask in the sun.Its appearance is a bit ugly, but the color of its skin is far more brilliant than imagined, like all kinds of precious stones competing for splendor, and also dazzling like the window panes of an ancient church.When you get close to the iguana, it will flee away with a whizzing, and a flash of sky blue, emerald green, and light purple flashes across the stone slab behind it, like the tail of a comet, bright and dazzling.

Once, I shot an iguana with a shotgun, thinking I'd get some beauty out of its hide, but then something unexpected happened that I'll never forget.The iguana lay dying on the stone slab.I stepped forward and only took a few steps. I saw its skin color gradually darken and lighten. With a long gasp, all the colors on its body disappeared!When I reached out and stroked it, the iguana was like a pile of concrete, gray and dull.The reason why the iguana is dazzling is clearly the brilliance of its galloping blood, but at this moment, the fire of life is extinguished, the soul flies away, and it collapses on the ground like a sandbag. Maybe because I killed the iguana with my own hands, its image keeps coming to my memory.On Mount Meru, I once met a local girl with a bracelet.Her bracelet was a two-inch piece of leather studded with tiny turquoise beads.The color of the beads varies slightly, some are green, some are light blue, and some are navy blue.This bracelet is very wonderful, full of vitality, and seems to be breathing life on the girl's arm.I really wanted to wear it, so I asked Farah to buy the bracelet.However, as soon as the object was in my arm, it failed: it appeared to be nothing more than a small, cheap ornament.It is so lively on the arms of local girls, precisely because of the change and harmony of colors; turquoise and peat, black pottery-like complexion complement each other. I once saw deep-water fish specimens in the display case in the Zoological Museum in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa, and the colors were really lifelike.I couldn't help being a little dazed at the time: there is such a life on the bottom of the sea that contributes vigorous vitality and abundance to the land.Now I am on Mount Meru, gazing at my gray arm, at that lifeless bracelet, so shabby and desolate, as if the holy had been profaned, and as the truth had been suppressed.I suddenly remembered the words of the protagonist in a book I read as a child: I conquered everything, but I stood in the middle of the tombs. To live in a foreign country, one must try to measure the eternal value of things.I would like to say a word to foreigners coming to East Africa: Please don't shoot iguanas for your pleasure. Farah and The Merchant of Venice Once, a friend from my hometown wrote to me about the rerun of The Merchant of Venice.In the evening I read the letter again, and the play flashed before me so vividly that it seemed that the whole house was filled with drama.I called Farah and talked to him about the play, and introduced him to the plot of the comedy. Farah, like all people of African descent, loved stories, but only when he was sure there was no one else in the room except him and me.The servants had gone back to their huts, and any passer-by on the estate who glanced at the window would have thought he and I were discussing household matters.Now, as I began to tell The Merchant of Venice, he listened, standing motionless at the end of the table, staring intently into my face.He listened solemnly to the story of Antonio, Bassanio, and Shylock.This was a complicated business dispute, somewhat involving legal boundaries, which touched the soul of this Somali man.He asked a question or two about the one-pound part; it was obviously very queer to him, but he didn't have to object, because it's possible to get down to that.When the story developed to this point, it became bloody and his interest followed suit.He listened attentively when Portia came out.I can imagine that he must regard Portia as a woman of his own tribe, Fatima, who is full of ambition, cunning and reserved, and wants to subdue the oil in the business circle.Blacks generally don't care about the details of the story, and their interest lies in the ups and downs of the plot.And Somalis have strong values ​​and a gift for speaking out in real life.In their novels, it is based on these morals.However, unexpectedly, Farah sympathized with Sherlock who claimed the gold coins this time.He was indignant at Sherlock's failure. What?Did the Jew, he said, give up his claim?He shouldn't have done that.That pound of flesh was due to him, and a little was enough for the money. But what else could he do?On condition, I said, that he not shed a drop of blood. Mushab, he can use a red-hot knife, so it won't bleed?He said. However, I told him that he was only allowed to cut one pound, neither more nor less. What is so terrible about this condition?Especially Jews.He could cut a little at a time, and with a small scale handy, weighed little by little until it was exactly a pound.Does the Jew have no friends to advise him?Farah asked. All Somali people are extra dramatic when they want to agree and support something.Farah almost still had the same demeanor and posture just now, but now he played a dangerous role, as if he was really standing in the court of Venice, facing a large group of Antonio's friends, cheering and encouraging his friend or partner Shylock.He looked up and down toward the character in front of him, the Merchant of Venice, with his chest exposed, as if he was about to be stabbed. Look, Mshab, he said again, he can cut a little bit, a little bit.By the time he gets a pound of flesh, he can make the opponent suffer more, and suffer for a longer period of time. I said: But in this story, the Jew didn't do that. Yes, that would be a shame, Mshab.Farah is very sorry. Physician of the nobles of Bonamas One of my neighbors was a white immigrant who had worked as a doctor in his home country.Once, the wife of one of my servants had a difficult childbirth and her life was in danger. I couldn't send her to Nairobi when the heavy rainy season washed away all the roads.I wrote a short note asking the white neighbor to come and help with the delivery.With good intentions, Domon came here amidst the terrible thunder and the heavy rain at the equator. At the last minute, he saved the lives of the native mother and her child with his superb medical skills. Afterwards, he sent me a letter saying that although he had come to treat an aborigine at my invitation, I had to understand that this case was not an exception.Of course I can fully understand his self-confidence and dignity.As he told me, in his country before, he was the personal physician of the nobles of Bonamas. dignity The proximity to a wildlife sanctuary and the abundance of large animals that inhabit just outside the estate's boundaries give our estate a special splendor: we seem to be neighbors in a great kingdom.We feel a sense of dignity and kindness for this. The savage, who cherishes his own dignity, loathes or does not believe in the dignity of others.I am naturally very civilized, and I love the dignity of my enemies, my servants, and my lovers.Although my mansion is very simple, it can be called a civilized paradise in the wilderness. Dignity is faith, the idea that God had when he created us.Proud people are consciously aware of this notion and eager to honor it.He is not striving for happiness or comfort.That may be contrary to the idea of ​​God in his heart.His success was God's idea, he fought successfully, he loved his dignity.Just as a good citizen finds happiness in the fulfillment of his duty to society, so a man of dignity finds his happiness in the fulfillment of his destiny. A man without a sense of dignity falls short of the idea that God created man, and sometimes such people make you wonder whether such an idea exists in the world, or whether it has been lost and who will rediscover it?They have to accept the success of others and seek pleasure in killing time.They trembled in the face of fate, and it was a matter of course. Cherish the dignity of God above all else.Cherish your dignity and the dignity of your neighbor.Cherish the dignity of lions and don't imprison them in zoos; cherish the dignity of dogs and don't let them be too fat.Cherish the dignity of your partners and make them selfless. Cherish the dignity of conquered peoples, let them maintain the dignity of father and mother. ox Saturday afternoon was the time of the manor's well-being.First, there was no mail until Monday afternoon, during which time there would be no business mail headaches to arrive.The manor seems thus to be enclosed, as if in a verandah.Second, everyone looked forward to Sunday, a day of rest and play and sharecroppers working their land.On weekends, when I think of cattle, I am particularly happy.I used to go down to their paddock at six o'clock in the evening.At this time, they have finished working for a day and grazing for a few hours, and returned leisurely.Tomorrow, I think, they will be able to graze on the grass all day without doing any work. At the estate we had one hundred and thirty-two cattle, divided into eight groups, with a few spare heads.At this moment, under the setting sun, the dust on the road is also golden yellow.They lined up in a long line, crossed the grassland, and returned leisurely in the twilight.They walked slowly, as they do everything.I sat happily on the fence of the paddock, smoking a cigarette peacefully, watching them.Here they come, Nyose, Nguff, Faro, and Msungu, which means white people.These are all Swahili names given to cattle.The cattle drivers gave them very appropriate white names, Dilemini being a common name for cattle.Here comes old Malinda, here is a strong ox, and my favorite ox.Its skin was strangely dotted with faint patterns, like starfish.Because of its piebald appearance, it is aptly called Malinda, which means apron. In civilized countries, all people have a common sense of guilt about slums: when they think of slums, they feel uncomfortable; pain.To the cattle on the estate, I feel I think so like a king feels to the slums You are me, I am you. African cattle carried the burden of developing European civilization.Wherever is there a new clearing that they have not cleared?They panted knee-deep in the soil, pulling the plow.Long whips slapped over them.Which path was not pioneered by them?Where there was no road, they dragged their iron and tools with difficulty along the paths among the dust and tall grass, amidst the yelling and shouting of their drivers.Before dawn, they were harnessed to the car and sweated profusely climbing up and down the long hillside.On hot days, they travel across deserts and across dry riverbeds.The whips left bloodstains all over them, and you could often see one-eyed, two-eyed oxen that had been whipped off with long, sharp whips.The oxen of many Indian and white contractors work every day and all their lives without knowing what the Sabbath is. The treatment we give to the cattle is amazing.The bull is in a state of rage from time to time, rolling its eyeballs and shoveling clods of dirt.Everything in its field of vision irritated it, yet it maintained its own life, producing fire-like heat from its throat and new vitality from its kidneys.Its days are full of longing and fulfillment.We take everything from cattle and in return we ask them to live for us.Cows, oxen, trudging through our daily life, pulling heavy loads all the time; oxen, oxen, creatures without their own lives, creatures at our disposal, they have wet, clear violet eyes, soft nose with silky ears.In everything they are dull, patient, and sometimes brooding. When I was in Kenya, there was a law that prohibited bullock carts without brakes on the road.The handlebar type must be pulled on the brake when going downhill.But this regulation was not fully followed, half of the ox carts went on the road without brakes, and the other half did not use brakes.This makes the downhill road a hell for cattle.They have to use all their strength to block the slide of the loaded car, and their heads are thrown back so hard that the horns touch the spine on their backs.Their two flanks form a pair of bellows.Many times, I have seen firewood merchants’ ox carts driving towards Nairobi one after another along the Ngo Road, like a long centipede, speeding down the hills of the forest reserve, pulled by cows one after another. Getting in the car, it took a zigzag route.I was also at the foot of a mountain and saw a cow unable to bear the load and fell to the ground. Niu may be thinking: this is life, this is the way of the world.They are tough, tough.Everything has to be endured no other way.Pulling the car down the mountain is too scary, too difficult.This is a matter of life and death, and no one can help. If the owner of a potbellied Indian cattle cart in Nairobi can spend two rupees to adjust the brakes; or if a native young man with peace of mind on the top of the cart can get out of the cart and close the brake, if this can be done, it will help the cattle. , so that they come down the mountain steadily.But Niu was ignorant of all this, and worked day by day, fighting bravely and desperately against the predicament of life day by day. Wartime trips When the First World War broke out, my husband and two of the estate's Swedish assistants volunteered to serve on the German frontier.There is a temporary intelligence service formed by Lord Dilemia.I was alone at the manor.Soon, there was news that all the white women in Kenya were going to be put into concentration camps, because people were worried that these women would not be safe to stay in front of the indigenous people. When will this war end? , I will be sleepy.A few days later, I got an opportunity to go to Kigabe station with a young Swedish farmer from our neighbour.There we were in charge of a liaison post where the news of the border was brought by courier, who then telegraphed it to Nairobi headquarters. In Kigabe, my tent was pitched near the station, surrounded by piles of firewood for the train locomotives.As the messenger could come at any moment, I had to deal with the Goan station master day or night.He is short in stature, gentle in temperament, very curious, and unaffected by the war around him.He asked me a lot about Denmark, and asked me to teach him a little Danish, which he thought would be useful sooner or later.He has a ten-year-old boy named Victor.One day, I went to the station, and through the grille of the promenade, I heard him teaching Victor grammar: Victor, what are pronouns?What's a pronoun, Victor?Can't you tell?I told you five hundred times! From time to time, the troops on the border asked us to send food and ammunition.My husband wrote and asked me to fill up four ox carts and send them as soon as possible.But it must, he wrote, be accompanied by a white man, because no one knew where the Germans were lurking, and the Maasai, eager to fight at the thought of war, moved about the reserve.At that time, the Germans could be everywhere, and we put up guards on the Kigabe Railway Bridge to prevent them from blowing up the bridge. I entrusted a young South African named Clay Porot to escort the car, but just after the car was loaded, he was arrested as a German in the evening before departure.In fact, he was not German, and it was not difficult to verify his identity, so he was released not long afterward.He changed his name.But during his detention, I felt that the accident was all arranged by God, so I had to personally escort the car.In the wee hours of the morning, with the stars still twinkling in the sky, we embarked on our journey down the long slopes of Mount Kigabe.In the dim light of dawn, the grasslands of the Masaiyi Reserve look iron gray.We trudged forward, taking advantage of the wind lanterns tied under the ox cart, zigzagging forward.Along the way, the sound of whips and shouts can be heard endlessly.I have four ox carts, each drawn by sixteen oxen, and five spare oxen.I was accompanied by a twenty-one-year-old Kikuyu youth, three Somalis: Farah, Ismail the gun-bearer, and an old cook, also named Ismail, of integrity.My hound Dusk followed behind me. It is a pity that when the police arrested Kleiporot, he also detained his mule.In Kigabe, I couldn't find any other mules, and for the first few days I had to trek through the dust on foot and with my cart.Fortunately I met a man in the reserve not long ago and bought a mule and saddle from him.Then I got Farah a mule. That time, I ran around in the wild for three full months.After we arrived at our destination, we were assigned another task to clean up the warehouse of an American hunting party.They camped on the border, and when they heard the news of the outbreak of war, they hurriedly abandoned their camp.From the American camp, we will go to other places. During the trip, I became familiar with many small rivers and springs in the Masai Reserve, and learned a little Masai dialect.The condition of the road was surprisingly bad everywhere, with deep accumulation of soil and rocks that were higher than the carts and blocked the way.Later, it finally got better, and most of them traveled on the grassland.The air of the African highlands penetrated into my head like wine, and kept me slightly intoxicated all day long.The fun of those months is beyond words.Although I had gone out hunting before, only this time I was alone with the Africans in the wilderness. Both my Somali partner and I have a sense of responsibility for government property and are always in fear lest lions eat our cattle.Lions often haunt the roads, following the mighty food and cattle supply convoys.But now, we have entered the grassland and continue to escort the convoy towards the border.Every morning, when we were driving the ox cart, we could see the lion's new footprints in the dust along the long ox cart ruts.And at night, when the cattle are resting, there is no peace. Lions always come to the camp to roam, threatening the cattle, and disturbing them so that they run around in the field without being seen; for this reason, we have to surround the camp with thorn trees. into a high fence, with a rifle in hand, and stood by the campfire. At this moment, Farah, Ismail and Ismail the elder probably felt that in a place far from civilization, speaking freely would not cause trouble at all.They talked about strange things in Somalia or stories from the Koran and the Arabian Nights.Both Farah and Ismail have sailed on the sea, because Somalia is a country bordering the sea.I believe that in ancient times the Somalians were overlords on the Red Sea.They told me that every living thing on land had a copy in the bottom of the sea, that horses, lions, women, giraffes, etc., lived there, and were often observed by sailors.There is also the story of the strange horse.Those horses live under the rivers in Somalia. When the moon is full, they swim up from the bottom of the river to mate with Somalia stallions on the grasslands, give birth to beautiful foals, and travel thousands of miles a day.We sit on the ground, the night sky slides back and forth over our heads, and new constellations rise in the east.The smoke from the bonfire carried sparks in the bitter air, and the wet firewood gave off a sour smell.The herd often stirs suddenly, hustles and bustles, sticking their noses into the air to sniff.At this time, old Ismail had to climb on the top of the heavily loaded vehicle to watch, shake the lantern, and drive away all the animals beyond the fence. We have had many encounters with prides of lions.When we arrived in Siawa, we must be careful. On the way, we encountered an indigenous convoy heading north. Their leader told us not to camp there. There are 300 lions in Siawa.So we hurried on in order to pass Siawa before dark.Unexpectedly, the more hurried you are on the road in the wild, the more trouble you will get.When it was dusk, the wheels of the last bullock cart happened to be stuck on a big rock, and it couldn't move.I lighted the lamp, to light the cart-boys, and a lion, within three yards of me, took one of our spare oxen.I had all my rifles in the car, and I could only flick the bullwhip and roar to scare the lion away.The bull was dragged on its back by the lion. Although it returned to us, it was seriously contused and died within a few days. We've also encountered some other oddities.Once a cow drank up all our kerosene and died instantly, leaving us without any light at all.Later we found in the protected area that the owner of an Indian shop had abandoned the shop, and in the shop we found some kerosene in good condition. We were stationed for a week in the Masai warrior barracks.Those young warriors, painted with war paint, carrying spears and shields, and wearing lion skin headdresses, surrounded my tent day and night, asking for news about the war and the Germans.My mates love this camp where they can buy milk.The warriors accompanied their flocks, which were herded by Leoni's little shepherd boy who was not old enough to be a warrior.Ma Saiyi's female soldiers are very active and heroic, and they also visited me in my tent.They came to ask me to borrow my little hand mirror.As they passed each other to look in the mirror, the mirror reflected two rows of gleaming teeth, like angry carnivores. All news of the enemy's movements had to be relayed through Lord Dilemia's barracks.But the Lord moved about the Reserve, and marched so swiftly that no one knew where his camp was.I have nothing to do with intelligence work, of course, but I wonder how well this system works for its staff.On one occasion, when my journey was very close to the camp of Dillemia, only a mile or two, Farah and I rode to the camp and had tea with them.That place, although the lord will dismantle the camp the next day, is still as crowded as a small city with Masai people.He and Massai had always been very friendly.They were so happy and active in his camp that it was almost like the legendary lion's den: all the tracks went in, and there were no footprints going out.A Masai courier sent a letter to the barracks, but he was not seen going out with a reply.Dilemia is the center of the din. He is not tall, extremely polite, and understands etiquette.His long white hair was draped over his shoulders, making him look particularly chic and relaxed during wartime.He told me all about the war in detail, and offered me tea with warmed milk, which was the custom of Massai. I was utterly ignorant of cattle, of reins, of choosing a path, and my entourage showed great patience.In fact they were as eager as I was to complete the journey.They did a really good job for me along the way, never complaining, although I obviously got more than I expected from them, both human and cattle, due to my inexperience.They walked long distances on the grass and used the top of their heads to carry bath water for me.During the mid-day break, they put blankets on their spears and made a pergola for me from the sun.We are a little afraid of the primitive Maasai.And when the Germans were mentioned, they couldn't help being furious, and there were many rumors about the Germans that were very strange.In this situation, my fellow expedition members cared for me like a protective angel or god of good fortune. Six months before the war, I left home for the first time in Africa, arriving on the same ship as General Vobeck.He is now the supreme commander of the German army in East Africa.I didn't know at the time that he was going to be a hero, we just became good friends along the way.In Mombasa we had dinner, after that he went to Tanganyika and I went to the interior.He sent me a photo of riding a horse in military uniform with the inscription: paradise on earth on horseback woman's arms give you health Farah, when he went to Aden to pick me up, he also met the general, knew that he was my friend, and took a photo with him on the way.He kept the group photo together with the coins and keys of the expedition, and he could show the photo in case he was captured by German soldiers.He regards photos as treasures. The sun is setting, and our long team sometimes rests by the river and sometimes by the spring. The evening in the Masaiyi Reserve is so beautiful.Over the bramble-grown prairie, night fell, but the air was so clear Over either side of us, a solitary star grew larger and brighter as the night darkened Citrine, becoming a silvery point in the night sky.The air is cool and refreshing.Tall weeds dripping with dew.The medicinal herbs on the grassland exude a pungent fragrance.After a while, crickets all around began to sing.這青草是我，這空氣，這遠處隱隱的群山是我，這疲乏的牛群也是我。我吸進荊棘樹間的陣陣輕風。 三個月後，我突然被召回家。一切開始有系統地組織起來，來自歐洲的常規部隊已到達這裡。我想，我的這支遠征隊就多少顯得有點不正規了。我們以沉重的心情離別多日的宿營地，返回莊園。 這次軍旅我永誌不忘。這之後，我也曾多次旅行，但出於某些理由也許是因為那時屬於政府公務，我們自身也是某種官員，也許是因為戰爭的氣氛籠罩著這次特殊的遠征，它對於所有的當事人的心靈都那麼親切。與我隨行的那些人，都把自己詡為旅行貴族。 許多年以後，他們還會來我的宅邸，談起這次遠征，重現記憶中的壯舉，又抖擻精神，投身於新的探險。 我不讓你流逝，除非賜福於我 在非洲，整整四個月的炎熱，乾燥的旱季過去之後，大雨季於三月開始。處處清新、芳香，一派欣欣向榮的景象。 然而，農夫的心卻仍然躊躇不安，不敢相信大自然的慷慨；他們側耳細聽，擔心那急瀉的雨聲突然減弱。大地正在痛飲雨水。莊園裡所有的蔬菜、牲畜和人的生活，在未來四個月的旱季裡，都要依賴這個季節的雨水。 這是何等可愛的景色：一條條莊園小道，變成了流動的小溪，農民走出屋子，心在歌唱，雙腳蹚著泥水，走向鮮花綻放的、溼漉漉的咖啡園。但是，在雨季中間，有的晚上，星星也會偶爾從厚厚的雲層中鑽出來。於是，農夫站在他的房前，抬頭仰望，彷彿懸浮在半空，要擠出更多的雨水來。他向著蒼穹呼喚：下吧，下個夠，再多下點。我的心此刻向你坦露，我不讓你流逝，除非賜福於我。你願意的話，可以把我淹死，但可不要用時下時不下來折磨我。不要停止，不要中斷，蒼天，蒼天！ 雨季後的幾個月裡，那涼爽無雲之日，令人回想起大旱的災年。在那些日子裡，吉庫尤人常把他們的牛放在我房子周圍吃草。他們中有一個男孩，隨身帶著笛子，時不時地吹奏短曲。當我又一次聽到這種曲調，不由記起過去的某一時刻痛苦與絕望交織的時刻，淚水滲著鹹味的時刻。可同時，我又在這笛聲之中出乎意料，驚喜地聽到一支充滿活力、格外甜蜜的歌。莫非是那些艱難歲月蘊含著這活力和這甜蜜麼？那時，我們中間有青年未經開拓的希望。恰恰是在那些漫長的時日裡，我們所有的人融成一個整體。將來就是到了另一個星球上，我們互相都能認出來。那裡萬物都互相呼喚：自鳴鐘和我的書本在呼喚；草地上瘦骨嶙峋的牛群和哀傷的吉庫尤老人在呼喚：你當年也在那裡，你也是恩戈莊園的一部分。那個災年終於賜福於我們，又流逝而去。 莊園的朋友來了，又離去。他們不是那種長久地居留在一個地方的人，不是那種頤養天年的人。他們死了，永不復返。但他們曾在壁爐旁愜意地坐著，房子把他們幽閉在裡面，對他們說：我不讓你流逝，除非賜福於我。他們開懷大笑，賜福於房子，房子就讓他們出去了。 在一次聚會上，一位老女士談起她的生活。她宣稱，她願意從頭再生活一遍，想以此證明她並非虛度年華。我想，是的，在你能說自己不虛此生之前，你的生活已成為真正應該過兩遍的生活。一曲詠歎調，你可以從頭再唱，但一部完整的樂章交響樂或五幕悲劇你怎能重複？希冀生命重複，是因為他虛擲年華，碌碌終生。 我的生命啊，我不讓你流逝，除非賜福於我，而一旦得到你賜予的福氣，我當讓你離去。 土著與詩歌 士著對詩歌一無所知，至少在上學前一無所知學校裡教唱讚美詩，他們天生有強烈的節奏感。一天傍晚，我們正在玉米田裡收玉米，把玉米棒子掰下來，扔到牛車裡。為了逗逗樂，我對田裡的小夥計們朗誦斯瓦希里歌謠。這些歌謠本身沒有多大意義，純粹是為了好聽的節奏而編出來的 牛愛吃鹽巴 窯姐兒壞透啦 愛吃蛇的部落是瓦卡巴。 這順口溜兒引起了男孩們的興趣，將我團團圍住。他們很快就明悟詩歌裡的意思是不連貫的，也不問問詩說的是什麼，只是熱切地等候著韻腳，一押上韻，他們就哈哈大笑。我試圖讓他們自己找韻，接著我開頭的幾句往下編，但他們表示編不了，或許不願編，將頭歪到一側。他們漸漸熟悉詩歌後，便央求我： 再說一遍，說得像雨水那樣流暢。 他們為什麼會感覺詩歌如同雨水，我不明白，但這一定是一種讚美，因為在非洲，人們渴求雨水，歡迎雨水。 非洲鳥小記 三四月之交，大雨季剛剛開始，我就聽到樹林裡黑雲雀的鳴叫。那不是一支完整的曲子，只是幾個音符協奏曲開首的一小節，而且是在排練，一會兒嘰喳齊鳴，一會兒戛然而止。彷彿有人在溼漉漉的寂靜的林子裡調試小提琴的音色。然而，這同一個旋律，同樣的甜潤婉轉，不久將充溢從西西里一直到愛爾西諾雷的歐洲森林。 在非洲，我們有黑鸛、白鸛，這類鳥也在北歐的茅屋頂上築巢。不過在這裡不如在北歐那麼引人注目。在這兒，還有相似的龐然水禽禿鸛、鷺鷹之類與牠們匹比。非洲鸛在習性上也與歐洲的不同。歐洲鸛成雙結對地活動，是家庭幸福的象徵。而非洲鸛則成群聚居，牠們有個別名：蝗蟲鳥。每當蝗蟲蜂起，牠們就緊隨不捨，以啄食蝗蟲為生。牠們也在平原上空飛翔，特別是在燒荒季節，圍著向前跳躍的火苗兒，時而盤旋其間，時而扶搖直上，透過虹霓般閃耀的光環及灰濛濛的煙霧，搜尋從火堆裡脫逃的田鼠、草蛇。鸛在非洲的日子過得逍遙自在，但牠們真正的生活卻不在這裡。當春風吹來，配偶、巢居的意念萌動，鸛的心開始轉向北方，牠們思念起往昔的歲月與舊居。於是，牠們雙雙飛離，用不了多久，牠們又將在故鄉寒冷的沼澤裡蹚水漫步了。 雨季來臨了，曾一度是莽莽焦草的原野又萌發新綠。新綠叢中活躍著成百上千隻鴴鳥。鴴鳥好像是沙灘上徜徉的海鳥，在草叢間急步走一程，待到你策馬趨前，牠們又騰空而飛，發出尖厲的歡鳴。於是，碧澄的天空也因鴴鳥的鼓翼與鳴囀而充滿生氣。 在新播的玉米田裡，冠鶴紛紛飛落，偷吃土中的玉米種籽。不過，作為回報，牠們是預卜吉兆的鳥報導雨水將至，而且還以舞姿歡娛我們。這些頎長的鳥成群結隊地聚集在一起，那振翅起舞的情景，真是美不勝收。牠們的舞蹈婀娜多姿，但缺少感情色彩。牠們忽上忽下飛騰，莫非地面上有一股磁力在牽動著麼？整個隊形透出一種神聖的氣氛，恍若某種宗教儀式的舞蹈。也許，冠鶴試圖在天地間上下求索，如同兩肋生翅的天使，沿著天梯上上下下。那黑天鵝絨般的小小腦袋。那扇形的冠冕，配之以美妙的淺灰色羽毛，富有壁畫般明快的丰采。舞畢，牠們又凌空遠飛，依然保持表演時那種不同凡響的氣勢。牠們展翅引吭，發出清亮的歡鳴，就像教堂的大大小小的鐘齊鳴，鐘聲在空中飛旋、流蕩。冠鶴飛得很遠了，你還能聽見牠們的歌聲，甚至牠們在遠處的天邊消逝了，雲彩裡還傳來一串隱隱約約的鐘聲。 駕臨農場的另一位客人是大犀鳥。牠們是來吃樹上板栗的。犀鳥可謂一種奇異的鳥，與其相遇，也稱得上長一番見識。當然，這種經歷並不全是愉快的，犀鳥顯得過分驕矜老練。日出之前，屋外一陣響亮、急促的鳴叫將我驚醒。我步出門庭，只見草坪的樹上有四十一隻犀鳥，與其說牠們是鳥，不如說是小孩子在樹上樹下置放的奇妙的裝飾品。牠們全是黑色的那聖潔的、甜蜜的非洲黑色，蘊含著沉沉的年華，使你感到無論優雅、力度、生氣，黑色都是無與倫比的。這些犀鳥正在盡興地交談，但帶著一種有克制的彬彬舉止，儼然葬禮之後一些子孫後嗣的聚合。早晨的空氣明靜如水晶，肅穆的聚合沉浸在清新、純潔的氛圍裡。太陽從樹木與犀鳥的背後升起來了，像一隻模糊的火球。在這樣一個早晨之後，對於這一天將會帶來什麼，你一定會有茫茫然之感。 火烈鳥在非洲鳥類中羽毛最為美麗。那粉色的、紅色的羽毛酷似一束飛舞的夾竹桃花枝。牠的兩腿又細又長，令人驚歎。其脖頸、身軀的曲線又是異乎尋常地優美。彷彿由於某種傳統的風度與拘謹，牠們的一舉一動都是那麼小心翼翼。 我曾搭乘一艘法國輪船，從塞達港赴馬賽。船上載有一百五十隻火烈鳥，準備運往馬賽的外國動物馴養園。這些火烈鳥十隻一組，擠在一個個四周圍著帆布的籠子裡。押運員告訴我，這一路上死亡的火烈鳥占百分之二十。牠們不習慣海上生活，在惡劣的氣候裡失去了平衡，有的斷腿折足，有的互相擠壓。夜晚，地中海刮起大風，波浪猛烈地撞擊船舷，輪船上下顛簸。每一次風浪襲來，我都聽到黑暗中傳來火烈鳥的尖叫。每天早晨，我都看到押運員拖出幾隻死鳥摔向甲板外。啊，尼羅河高雅的涉水禽，白荷的姐妹，在氣象萬千的大地上低回飛旋，恍若一朵晚霞。而此刻，卻成了一堆粉色、紅色的羽毛連結著兩條直挺挺的細棍。死鳥在水面上飄浮，隨著波浪起伏，不一會兒，便沉落海底。 小狗帕尼亞 大獵犬，多少年來一直與人類生活在一起，感染上了人的幽默感，能發出笑聲來。牠們對笑話的概念近乎土著事情出了差錯就樂。也許只有在你掌握了一種藝術、執著於某種宗教之後，你才能超越這一層次的幽默。 帕尼亞是我的獵犬達斯克的第二代。一天，我帶牠外出散步，來到池塘附近，那裡有一排細高的桉樹。帕尼亞從我身邊向一棵桉樹跑去，走到一半，又折回來，讓我隨牠一起去。我到了那棵桉樹跟前，看到一隻非洲狸貓在樹端蹲著。非洲狸貓專門吃雞。我招呼過路的小孩，叫他到我家取支獵槍來。我拿到獵槍，旋即開了一槍，狸貓啪地一聲從高樹上掉下來。帕尼亞應聲竄上去踩住牠，踢幾腳，又拖著牠，玩得興致勃勃。 過了幾天，我又路過這個池塘，這回是出來打鷓鴣，可一無所獲，我和帕尼亞都十分沮喪。突然，帕尼亞飛也似地向最近的一棵桉樹奔去，牠圍著樹一個勁地吠叫，情緒十分亢奮，接著跑回我身邊，又奔向那棵桉樹。我很高興，拎著獵槍，滿以為可以打到第二隻非洲狸貓了，牠們帶花斑的毛皮是很美的。我疾步跑到樹下，抬頭一看，原來是一隻黑色的家貓端坐在搖搖晃晃的樹頂。我十分惱火，放下了獵槍。帕尼亞，我叫道，你這笨蛋，這是家貓！ 我轉身看看帕尼亞，牠站在不遠的地方瞧著我，笑得兩脅鼓鼓的。當牠的目光與我相遇時，便跑到我跟前，蹦跳著，搖著尾巴，發出哀鳴聲，將兩隻前爪搭在我肩頭，鼻子嗅著我的臉，然後又跳開，自由地嬉笑。 牠表演啞劇般地向我表示：我知道，我知道，那是一隻家貓。我向來都不會搞錯，你真該原諒我。不過你也出醜了，拿獵槍去打一隻家貓！ 整整一天，牠時不時地興奮，像在池塘邊那樣表達對我最友好的感情，然後又跑到一旁發笑。 在牠的友好表示中透著一種暗諷．你要知道，在這個家中，我不取笑你和法拉赫，還能取笑誰呢！ 到了夜晚，牠在壁爐前入睡之後，我還聽見牠在睡夢中發出的聲響裡帶著微微的笑意。我相信，以後只要我們經過池塘和桉樹林，帕尼亞還會發笑的。 earthquake 有一年，臨近聖誕節，我們這裡發生了地震。地震強度夠大的，不少土著的茅屋倒塌了，這也許是大象發怒的力量。震了三回，間隔一會兒，又震，每回持續幾秒鐘。地震間歇時，人們腦中編織著當時的感覺。 戴尼斯那時正在馬賽依保護區野營，他睡在卡車上。事後回到莊園，他對我說，他被驚醒時，只有一個念頭掠過腦際：犀牛鑽到卡車底下了。And me?正要上床，第一陣晃動時，我心想：花狗上屋頂了。第二陣晃動，我又想：這下我要死了，死的感覺就是這樣的。可是在第二、三次地震的間歇中，我終於明悟到這是地震，我從未想到過會活著碰上地震。過了一會兒，我自信地震已經過去，可是當第三次即最末一次震動來臨時，卻給我帶來了如此壓倒一切的歡樂，我不曾記得在我的生活中還有更突如其來、更銘心刻骨的激奮了。 超凡的天體，在其運動週期中，有力量使人的精神亢奮到未知的高度。我們一般意識不到這一點。一旦這種力量降臨在我們面前，便展示出壯闊的景觀。刻卜勒【註】在多年潛心研究之後，最終發現了星球運動的定律，他寫出了自己的感覺： 我完全處於欣喜若狂的狀態。大局已定。我從未有過這樣的感覺。我顫抖，我的熱血在奔湧。上帝已等了六千年，等待一位觀察者潛心研究。上帝的智慧是無窮的，我們所不知的及我們知之甚少的，都包容其中。 【註】刻卜勒：德國天文學家（一五七一｜一六三〇），發現了行星沿橢圓軌道運行，提出了行星三定律。 真的，在地震的整個過程中，正是這種欣喜，狂熱的情緒支配著我，震撼著我。 巨大的快感主要蘊含在這樣的意識之中。你認定凝固、靜止的東西，竟然自行運動起來。這也許是世間最歡樂、最充滿希望的感覺之一。那呆滯的地球，那死去的眾生，那大地本身，在我腳下聳起、伸展，給予我一個信念，一個極其微弱的觸動，卻包含無限的深意。它在大笑，於是土著的茅屋應聲倒塌；它在呼喊：動啦，我也動啦！ 第二天一早，朱瑪送茶來，說：英國國王死了。 我問他何以得知。 你沒感覺到麼，姆沙布？他說，昨天夜裡地動山搖，那意思就是英國國王死了。 所幸的是，在地震後的許多年，英國國王一直健在。 基齊科 我有過一頭肥壯的騾子，我給牠取名叫毛里。可是騾夫卻另外給牠取了個名字，叫牠基齊科意即勺子。我問騾夫為什麼管騾子叫勺子，他回答說：因為基齊科長得像勺子。我圍著騾子，前後左右打量，想找出他起這個名字的依據，可我從哪個角度都看不出這頭騾子像勺子。 過後不久，我偶爾駕起騾車基齊科和其他三隻騾子拉車。我登上馭手的高座，對騾子進行一番居高臨下的觀察。我驚喜地發現騾夫的話不無道理。基齊科的肩頭出奇地窄，後腿部卻又壯又肥，那圓鼓鼓的樣子，簡直太像勺子了。 如果我本人與卡馬烏我那騾夫，各自為基齊科畫一張像，那肖像無疑大相徑庭。但在上帝和天使的眼裡，定會如卡馬烏觀察的那樣，來自上面的，高於一切，他所見到的必能接近真實。 卡羅梅尼亞 莊園裡有十九歲的小男孩，名叫卡羅梅尼亞，又聾又啞。他能發出一種短促、生疏的號叫，但很不容易聽到，因為他自己也不喜歡這種聲音，總是馬上停下來，喘息一陣。其他孩子怕他，抱怨他老是打人。我與他的初識是這樣的：與他一起玩耍的小孩用樹枝敲打他的腦袋，他的右頰腫了，化膿了，許多細刺扎在裡面，得用針挑出來。這對卡羅梅尼亞來說，並不是人們想像的那種折磨。的確，這使他痛苦，但也給他提供了與他人接觸的機會。 卡羅梅尼亞長得很黑，一雙黑眼睛水靈靈的，睫毛濃濃的、密密的，煞是可愛。他的表情認真、嚴肅，幾乎看不到臉上的笑容。其整個形象很像一頭土著的小黑牛犢。他是個主動的、積極的生靈，由於與外界的語言連繫已隔絕，打架便成了他自身的宣言。他擅長擲石塊，出手很準。他一度曾擁有一副弓箭，可是卻不太會用，似乎耳朵也是射手拉滿弓的必要組成部分。他在同齡人中堪稱體魄健壯。也許他並不想用這些優勢與其他男孩的聽與說的能力進行交換，我覺得他對那種能力沒有什麼欽佩之意。 卡羅梅尼亞儘管好鬥，卻並非不友好之人。如果他覺察到你在向他講話。他的臉立刻為之一亮，不是堆起笑容，而是顯露出一種明快、欣喜的表情。他也幹點兒順手牽羊的事，有機會，就隨手抄些菸哪、糖哪，但他轉眼間就把抄來的東西分給其他孩子。有一次，我還遇見他站在中央，給圍了一圈的小夥伴發糖。他沒看見我。這是我唯一見到的一次，他幾乎要笑起來了。 我曾作過一些努力，給他幹點廚房或住房裡的活，可他做不好，沒多久便厭煩了。他喜歡做的是搬動重物，從一處拖到另一處。沿著我莊園的汽車道，有一溜刷白粉的石頭。為了讓這路墩排列得更勻稱，一天，在他的幫助下，我將其中一塊石頭移位，一直向上翻滾到居宅前。第二天，我走出屋子一看，卡羅梅尼亞居然把所有的路墩都搬起來，滾到房前，壘成一大堆。我不相信像他那樣的人竟會有那般能力。他一定付出了極大的努力。卡羅梅尼亞彷彿知道自己在世界上的地位，隨遇而安，專注不二，他既聾且啞，然而非常強健。 世間萬物，卡羅梅尼亞最需要的是一把刀子，但是我不敢給他。我擔心，在他與外界接觸的努力中，準會用刀子傷害莊園裡的其他孩子，雖然在以後的生活中，他會有一把。他的這個欲望如此強烈、迫切，只有上帝知道他會用刀幹什麼。 我給予卡羅梅尼亞的最深刻的印象，是我送給他一隻哨子。這哨子原是我用來招呼獵犬的。我剛給他看哨子時，他並沒表示什麼興趣。後來，我教他把哨子含在口中一吹，兩邊的獵犬爭相跑到他跟前，他大吃一驚，臉色更黑了。他又試著吹了一下，發現了同樣的效果，不由驚喜地看著我，目光異常明亮。哨子吹熟了，他又開始琢磨這玩藝兒的功效從何而來，可他並沒有研究哨子本身，而是吹哨把獵犬召來，皺著眉頭，仔細端詳牠們，彷彿要從牠們身上找出受刺激的地方。從此，他非常喜歡獵犬，具體說，他常來找我把獵犬借出去，帶牠們散步。當他領獵犬外出時，我向他比劃西方天空太陽的位置，示意到什麼時候他必須返回來。他也指指同樣的位置，每次回來都很準時。 一天，我騎著馬出去，見到卡羅梅尼亞帶著獵犬，在馬賽依領地，離我宅邸很遠很遠。他沒發現我，只以為他完全是一個人逍遙自在，無人覺察。我在馬上凝望，但見他忽而放開獵犬任其快跑，繼而又吹響哨子把牠們召回，然後再放牠們飛奔足有三、四次。在他認為無人知曉的空曠的草原上，他發揮著新的想像力，沉浸於生活的新天地。 他用繩繫著哨子，套在脖子上，可是一天，他頸子上的哨子不見了。我打著手勢問他哨子怎麼啦，他比劃著告訴我，哨子飛啦丟了。他沒有向我再要一隻哨子。要麼他認為不會有第二隻哨子的，要麼他的意思是不再保留生活中不真正屬於他的東西。我想，哨子未必不是他自己扔掉的，因為他無力讓這哨子與他生存的其他思想協調一致。 五、六年之後，卡羅梅尼亞也許又經受了許多苦難而突然升入天堂。 Pole.辛格 Pole.辛格的小打鐵鋪在山下碾麵廠附近。從鋪子裡裡外外的情形來看，即便是最保守的評價，也不能不說它堪稱莊園裡一個小小的地獄，小鐵鋪的房子用瓦楞鐵搭成。太陽當空，直射屋頂，鐵匠爐的火苗在屋內往上竄。屋裡屋外的空氣灼熱到了白熾化的程度。一天到晚，這裡迴響著鍛砧震耳欲聾的嘈雜聲鐵與鐵的反覆敲砸。屋裡滿地是斧頭、斷裂的車輪，儼若一幅古老而可怕的刑場素描。 儘管這樣，打鐵鋪仍有著巨大的吸引力。我下山去看波萊．辛格打鐵時，總見到鋪子裡裡外外人們熙來攘往。Pole.辛格的工作節奏是超人的，似乎他的身家性命都維繫於五分鐘之內必須幹完的特殊活計上。他時而跳起來，躍過鍛爐，時而咆哮著，向兩個吉庫尤徒工發布命令，那聲音尖厲，如高空中的飛禽。他的一切行為都像一個在鐵砧上燃燒著的人，或者像一個暴躁的超魔鬼在幹活。然而，波萊．辛格絕不是魔鬼，正相反，他是位性情最溫順不過的人。工餘之際，他的舉止甚至於還帶點少女的風韻。他是我莊園裡的風迪通曉各種活計的技工，不僅是鐵匠，還是木匠、鞍匠、細木工。他為莊園製造不少輛畜力車完全由他一手操持。但他最喜歡幹的還是鍛工。看他裝車軲轆的架勢，透著一種美，一種自豪的神采。 從外表看，波萊．辛格有點像狡詐的騙子。當他穿上外套，盤上白頭巾，一身盛裝，配之以黑黑的大鬍鬚，活脫一個魁偉莊重、步態蹣跚的男人。可是到了鐵匠爐旁，光著上身，他又如此瘦削、靈敏，有如一座印度時鐘。 我喜歡渡萊．辛格的打鐵鋪。它之所以受到吉庫尤人的歡迎，有兩個原因。 首先，在於鐵的本身。鐵在一切原料中最有魅力，最能激發人們悠遠的想像。鐵犁、鐵劍、鐵炮以及鐵輪人類的文明人類征服自然的象徵。鐵是樸素、平實的，連原始人也理解它，估得出它的意義。Pole.辛格鍛打的就是鐵。 其次，打鐵鋪吸引土著世界之處還在於它那鏗鏘的歌聲。打鐵，節奏單調而又活潑，高亢有力，撼人心魄，具有神話般的力量。它雄渾，極富男子漢氣魄，足以震懾、融化女人的心。它直率，毫不裝腔作勢，道出的是真理，只是真理。有時，它甚至過於直露。它的力量充沛有餘，它不僅是強健的，而且是歡樂的。它為你效力，為你作大的貢獻，既心甘情願，也逍遙自在。土著愛其節奏，圍著波萊．辛格的鐵匠鋪，個個心曠神怡。按照北歐的古老習俗，人在打鐵鋪說的話，可以不足為據，可以不承擔責任。人到了非洲，在打鐵鋪裡，舌頭無拘無束，話就更多了，真可謂口若懸河。打鐵的歌聲激起多少海闊天空的想像！ Pole.辛格與我合作多年，在莊園可算得上收入不錯的。他的工資與他的需求不成任何比例，他是第一流的苦行僧。他不吃肉，不沾菸酒，也不賭博，一件舊衣服可以穿到絲絲縷縷。他匯錢回印度，供孩子們上學。他的小兒子戴利浦．辛格沉默寡言，曾從孟買來這裡探望父親。戴利浦與鐵已沒有什麼緣份，我見到他身上唯一的金屬是插在口袋裡的銥金筆。神奇的素質在下一代身上己失傳。 可是波萊．辛格本人，卻執著於打鐵的生涯，他頭上神奇的光環在莊園期間依然放射異彩，我願他一輩子神采斐然。他是諸神的僕人，在白熱之中經受鍛燒。他是自然界的精靈。在波萊．辛格的打鐵鋪，鐵錘在歡唱，唱出你想聽的歌聲，彷彿賦予你的心聲。這鐵錘於我，唱的是一首古希臘的詩歌，一位朋友翻譯如下： 就像鐵匠揮舞鐵錘 厄洛斯（愛神）在鍛打中翻飛， 我的淡漠裡迸出星星火花 彷彿火紅的鐵在溪流中沉浸 厄洛斯將我哀傷的心靈撫慰。 奇事一則 我在馬賽依保護區為政府運送物資那一陣，曾有一回奇遇，凡我認識的人都從沒遇到過。事情發生在一天中午，我們正在草原上行進。 在非洲，大氣層對於大地景觀的影響遠甚於歐洲。大氣中充滿影影綽綽的形象與海市蜃樓。在某種意義上，大氣成為變幻無窮的真正的舞臺。正午時分，炙熱異常，空氣恍若小提琴的琴弦，隱隱振蕩、顫動。荊棘樹叢生的草原，草原上起伏的山巒，所有的層次彷彿都升高了。乾枯的草地變幻成一片片閃著銀光的汪洋。 我們在這炙熱、變幻不定的空氣包裹之中跋涉。我一反自己的習慣，領著法拉赫、獵犬達斯克，還有照管達斯克的小僕人走在前頭，把車隊拉下長長一段距離。我們默默地走著，天太熱了，熱得人懶得說話。驀然間，地平線上的草原開始移動、奔馳。一大群野生動物遠遠地從右斜方向我們逼近。 我叫法拉赫：瞧，那些角馬！但是過一會兒，我又拿不準牠們是否真是角馬。我舉起望遠鏡向前望去，可是在正午，望遠鏡也看不清楚。我問法拉赫：你說呢，牠們是角馬麼？ 這時，我發現達斯克警覺起來，全神貫注盯著前方的動物。牠的耳朵聳起，銳利的目光追蹤著動物。我常放達斯克去追逐草原上的大小羚羊，可今天，我想，奔跑起來太熱了，就叫小僕人繫牢牠頸項上的帶子。然而，說時遲，那時快，達斯克發狂地大叫一聲，猛地向前竄起，小僕人一下被掀翻在地。我接過帶子，全力拉著。我望著動物群，又問法拉赫：牠們到底是什麼？ 在草原上很難估測距離。震顫的空氣、單調的景色，又怎能叫你雙目清明呢？還有，散布在草原上的荊棘樹，那造型酷似原始森林的巨木，可實際上才十二英呎高，長頸鹿的腦袋與脖子時時從樹頂伸出來。遠處的動物常使你辨不清大小，受騙上當。過了一會兒，法拉赫才說：姆沙布，牠們是野狗。 可通常見到的野狗，往往是三、五成群，這回遇到的卻足足有一打之多。土著怕野狗，會提醒你野狗凶得很，要吃人的。有一次我在莊園附近的保護區騎馬，遇上了四隻野狗，牠們在後面十五碼處跟著我。我隨身帶著的兩隻小狗嚇得緊跟著我，確切說是躲在馬腹下。就這樣，我們過了河朝莊園走去，才甩掉了野狗。野狗不如鬣狗大，牠們與法國種的鬈毛大狗差不多。野狗的皮毛是黑色的，尾巴尖上、耳朵角上，都有撮細毛，牠的皮毛低劣，粗而不勻，並有一股異味。 更前方該有五百隻野狗，牠們慢慢地向我們跑來，也不左顧右盼，那架勢十分古怪，彷彿被什麼驚嚇住了，或者是朝著固定的目標匆匆趕路。 野狗離我們近了，稍稍改變走向。牠們好像仍然沒有見到我們，以原來的速度行進著。漸漸地，牠們距我們只有