کاری که با اولین دنبال کننده خودم کردم
- زمان مطالعه 4 دقیقه
- سطح متوسط
دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»
این فصل را میتوانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید
متن انگلیسی فصل
A Brief Account of What I Did About the First Man Who Was After Me
At the edge of the meadow, I sensed all was not well at camp. How I knew there was a human being there was not clear to me then. I can only say that after living so long with the birds and animals, the movement of a human is like the difference between the explosion of a cap pistol and a cannon.
I wormed towards camp. When I could see the man I felt to he there, I stopped and looked. He was wearing a forester’s uniform. Immediately I thought they had sent someone out to bring me in, and I began to shake. Then I realized that I didn’t have to go back to meet the man at all, I was perfectly free and capable of settling down anywhere. My tree was just a pleasant habit.
I circled the meadow and went over to the gorge. On the way I checked a trap. I had made it with sticks in the shape of a figure four under a big rock. The rock was down. The food was rabbit.
I picked a comfortable place just below the rim of the gorge where I could pop up every now and then and watch my tree. Here I dressed down the rabbit and fed Frightful some of the more savoury bites from a young falcon’s point of view: the liver, the heart, the brain. She ate in gulps. As I Watched her swallow I sensed a great pleasure. It is hard to explain my feelings at that moment. It seemed marvellous to see life pump through that strange little body of feathers, wordless noises, milk eyes – much as life pumped through me.
The food put the bird to sleep. I watched her eyelids close from the bottom up, and her head quiver. The fuzzy body rocked, the tail spread to steady it, and the little duck hawk almost sighed as it sank into the leaves, sleeping.
I had lots of time. I was going to wait for the man to leave. So I stared at my bird, the beautiful details of the new feathers, the fernlike lashes along the lids, the saucy bristles at the base of the beak. Pleasant hours passed.
Frightful would awaken, I would feed her, she would fall back to sleep, and I would watch the breath rock her body ever so slightly. I was breathing the same way only not so fast. Her heart beat much faster than mine. She was designed to her bones for a swifter life.
It finally occurred to me that I was very hungry. I stood up to see if the man were gone. He was yawning and pacing.
The sun was slanting on him now, and I could see him quite well. He was a fire warden. Of course, it has not rained, I told myself, for almost three weeks, and the fire planes have been circling the mountains and valleys, patrolling the mountains. Apparently the smoke from my fire was spotted, and a man was sent to check it. I recalled the bare trampled ground around the tree, the fireplace of rocks filled with ashes, the wood chips from the making of my bed, and resolved hereafter to keep my yard clean.
So I made rabbit soup in a tin can I found at the bottom of the gorge. I seasoned it with wild garlic and jack-in-the-pulpit roots.
Jack-in-the-pulpits have three big leaves on a stalk and are easily recognized by the curly striped awning above a stiff. serious preacher named Jack. The jack-in-the-pulpits were acrid; they needed to be pounded to flour and allowed to stand, to be really good. I had to eat them bitter.
The fire I made was only of the driest wood, and I made it right at the water’s edge. I didn’t want a smoky fire on this particular evening.
After supper I made a bough bed and stretched out with Frightful beside me. Apparently, the more you stroke and handle a falcon, the easier they are to train.
I had all sorts of plans for hoods and jesses, as the straps on a falcon are called, and I soon forgot about the man.
Stretched on the boughs, I listened to the wood peewees calling their haunting good nights until I fell sound asleep.
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