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第17节

the red one-第17节

小说: the red one 字数: 每页4000字

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Thus equipped; he ceased from wood…chopping; and began to make more

than a mere living。  Nor was he downhearted when the scurvy broke

out on his own body。  Ever he ran his trap…lines and sang his

ancient chant。  Nor could the pessimist shake his surety of the

three hundred thousand of Alaskan gold he as going to shake out of

the moss…roots。



〃But this ain't gold…country;〃 they told him。



〃Gold is where you find it; son; as I should know who was mining

before you was born; 'way back in Forty…Nine;〃 was his reply。

〃What was Bonanza Creek but a moose…pasture?  No miner'd look at

it; yet they washed five…hundred…dollar pans and took out fifty

million dollars。  Eldorado was just as bad。  For all you know;

right under this here cabin; or right over the next hill; is

millions just waiting for a lucky one like me to come and shake it

out。〃



At the end of January came his disaster。  Some powerful animal that

he decided was a bob…cat; managing to get caught in one of his

smaller traps; dragged it away。  A heavy snow…fall put a stop

midway to his pursuit; losing the trail for him and losing himself。

There were but several hours of daylight each day between the

twenty hours of intervening darkness; and his efforts in the grey

light and continually falling snow succeeded only in losing him

more thoroughly。  Fortunately; when winter snow falls in the

Northland the thermometer invariably rises; so; instead of the

customary forty and fifty and even sixty degrees below zero; the

temperature remained fifteen below。  Also; he was warmly clad and

had a full matchbox。  Further to mitigate his predicament; on the

fifth day he killed a wounded moose that weighed over half a ton。

Making his camp beside it on a spruce…bottom; he was prepared to

last out the winter; unless a searching party found him or his

scurvy grew worse。



But at the end of two weeks there had been no sign of search; while

his scurvy had undeniably grown worse。  Against his fire; banked

from outer cold by a shelter…wall of spruce…boughs; he crouched

long hours in sleep and long hours in waking。  But the waking hours

grew less; becoming semi…waking or half…dreaming hours as the

process of hibernation worked their way with him。  Slowly the

sparkle point of consciousness and identity that was John Tarwater

sank; deeper and deeper; into the profounds of his being that had

been compounded ere man was man; and while he was becoming man;

when he; first of all animals; regarded himself with an

introspective eye and laid the beginnings of morality in

foundations of nightmare peopled by the monsters of his own ethic…

thwarted desires。



Like a man in fever; waking to intervals of consciousness; so Old

Tarwater awoke; cooked his moose…meat; and fed the fire; but more

and more time he spent in his torpor; unaware of what was day…dream

and what was sleep…dream in the content of his unconsciousness。

And here; in the unforgetable crypts of man's unwritten history;

unthinkable and unrealizable; like passages of nightmare or

impossible adventures of lunacy; he encountered the monsters

created of man's first morality that ever since have vexed him into

the spinning of fantasies to elude them or do battle with them。



In short; weighted by his seventy years; in the vast and silent

loneliness of the North; Old Tarwater; as in the delirium of drug

or anaesthetic; recovered within himself; the infantile mind of the

child…man of the early world。  It was in the dusk of Death's

fluttery wings that Tarwater thus crouched; and; like his remote

forebear; the child…man; went to myth…making; and sun…heroizing;

himself hero…maker and the hero in quest of the immemorable

treasure difficult of attainment。



Either must he attain the treasure … for so ran the inexorable

logic of the shadow…land of the unconscious … or else sink into the

all…devouring sea; the blackness eater of the light that swallowed

to extinction the sun each night 。 。 。 the sun that arose ever in

rebirth next morning in the east; and that had become to man man's

first symbol of immortality through rebirth。  All this; in the

deeps of his unconsciousness (the shadowy western land of

descending light); was the near dusk of Death down into which he

slowly ebbed。



But how to escape this monster of the dark that from within him

slowly swallowed him?  Too deep…sunk was he to dream of escape or

feel the prod of desire to escape。  For him reality had ceased。

Nor from within the darkened chamber of himself could reality

recrudesce。  His years were too heavy upon him; the debility of

disease and the lethargy and torpor of the silence and the cold

were too profound。  Only from without could reality impact upon him

and reawake within him an awareness of reality。  Otherwise he would

ooze down through the shadow…realm of the unconscious into the all…

darkness of extinction。



But it came; the smash of reality from without; crashing upon his

ear drums in a loud; explosive snort。  For twenty days; in a

temperature that had never risen above fifty below; no breath of

wind had blown movement; no slightest sound had broken the silence。

Like the smoker on the opium couch refocusing his eyes from the

spacious walls of dream to the narrow confines of the mean little

room; so Old Tarwater stared vague…eyed before him across his dying

fire; at a huge moose that stared at him in startlement; dragging a

wounded leg; manifesting all signs of extreme exhaustion; it; too;

had been straying blindly in the shadow…land; and had wakened to

reality only just ere it stepped into Tarwater's fire。



He feebly slipped the large fur mitten lined with thickness of wool

from his right hand。  Upon trial he found the trigger finger too

numb for movement。  Carefully; slowly; through long minutes; he

worked the bare hand inside his blankets; up under his fur PARKA;

through the chest openings of his shirts; and into the slightly

warm hollow of his left arm…pit。  Long minutes passed ere the

finger could move; when; with equal slowness of caution; he

gathered his rifle to his shoulder and drew bead upon the great

animal across the fire。



At the shot; of the two shadow…wanderers; the one reeled downward

to the dark and the other reeled upward to the light; swaying

drunkenly on his scurvy…ravaged legs; shivering with nervousness

and cold; rubbing swimming eyes with shaking fingers; and staring

at the real world all about him that had returned to him with such

sickening suddenness。  He shook himself together; and realized that

for long; how long he did not know; he had bedded in the arms of

Death。  He spat; with definite intention; heard the spittle crackle

in the frost; and judged it must be below and far below sixty

below。  In truth; that day at Fort Yukon; the spirit thermometer

registered seventy…five degrees below zero; which; since freezing…

point is thirty…two above; was equivalent to one hundred and seven

degrees of frost。



Slowly Tarwater's brain reasoned to action。  Here; in the vast

alone; dwelt Death。  Here had come two wounded moose。  With the

clearing of the sky after the great cold came on; he had located

his bearings; and he knew that both wounded moose had trailed to

him from the east。  Therefore; in the east; were men … whites or

Indians he could not tell; but at any rate men who might stand by

him in his need and help moor him to reality above the sea of dark。



He moved slowly; but he moved in reality; girding himself with

rifle; ammunition; matches; and a pack of twenty pounds of moose…

meat。  Then; an Argus rejuvenated; albeit lame of both legs and

tottery; he turned his back on the perilous west and limped into

the sun…arising; re…birthing east。 。 。 。



Days later … how many days later he was never to know … dreaming

dreams and seeing visions; cackling his old gold…chant of Forty…

Nine; like one drowning and swimming feebly to keep his

consciousness above the engulfing dark; he came out upon the snow…

slope to a canyon and saw below smoke rising and men who ceased

from work to gaze at him。  He tottered down the hill to them; still

singing; and when he ceased from lack of breath they called him

variously:  Santa Claus; Old Christmas; Whiskers; the Last of the

Mohicans; and Father Christmas。  And when he stood among them he

stood very still; without speech; while great tears welled out of

his eyes。  He cried silently; a long time; till; as if suddenly

bethinking himself; he sat down in the snow with much creaking and

crackling of his joints; and from this low vantage point toppled

sidewise and fainted calmly and easily away。



In less than a week Old Tarwater was up and limping about the

housework of the cabin; cooking and dish…washing for the five men

of the creek。  Genuine sourdoughs (pioneers) they were; tough and

hard…bitten; who had been buried so deeply inside the Circle that

they did not know there was a Klondike Str

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