مهیا کننده ی پادشاه
- زمان مطالعه 8 دقیقه
- سطح ساده
دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»
این فصل را میتوانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید
متن انگلیسی فصل
The King’s Provider
Miss Turner was glad to see me. I told her I wanted some books on hawks and falcons, and she located a few, although there was not much to be had on the subject. We worked all afternoon and I learned enough. I departed when the library closed. Miss Turner whispered to me as I left, “Sam, you need a haircut.” I hadn’t seen myself for so long that this had not occurred to me. “Gee, I don’t have any scissors.”
She thought a minute, got out her library scissors, and sat me down on the back steps. She did a fine job, and I looked like any other boy who had played hard all day, and who, with a little soap and water after supper, would be going off to bed in a regular house.
I didn’t get back to my tree that night. The May apples were ripe, and I stuffed on those as I went through the woods. They taste like a very sweet banana, are earthy and a little slippery. But I liked them.
At the stream I caught a trout. Everybody thinks a trout is hard to catch because of all the fancy gear and flies and lines sold for trout fishing, but, honestly, they are easier to catch than any other fish. They have big mouths and snatch and swallow whole anything they see when they are hungry. With my wooden hook in its mouth, the trout was mine. The trouble is that trout are not hungry when most people have time to fish. I knew they were hungry that evening because the creek was swirling, and minnows and everything else were jumping out of the water. When you see that, go fish. You’ll get them.
I made a fire on a flat boulder in the stream, and cooked the trout I did this so I could watch the sky. I wanted to see the falcon again. I also put the trout head on the hook and dropped it in the pool. A snapping turtle would view a trout head with relish.
I waited for the falcon patiently. I didn’t have to go anywhere. After an hour or so, I was rewarded. A slender speck came from the valley and glided up the stream. It was still far away when it folded its wings and swooped down. I watched. it arose, clumsy and big – carrying food – and winged back to the valley.
I sprinted down the stream and made myself a lean-to near some cliffs where I thought the bird had disappeared. Having learned that day that duck hawks prefer to nest on cliffs, I settled for this site.
Early the next morning, I got up and dug the tubers of the arrow-leaf that grew along the stream bank. I baked these and boiled mussels for breakfast then I curled up behind a willow and watched the cliff.
The hawks came in from behind me and circled the stream. They had apparently been out hunting before I had got up, as they were returning with food. This was exciting news. They were feeding young, and I was somewhere near the nest.
I watched one of them swing in to the cliff and disappear. A few minutes later it winged out empty-footed. I marked the spot mentally and said, “Ha!”
After splashing across the stream in the shallows, I stood at the bottom of the cliff and wondered how on earth I was going to climb the sheer wall.
I wanted a falcon so badly, however, that I dug in with my toes and hands and started up. The first part was easy; it was not too steep. When I thought I was stuck, I found a little ledge and shinnied up to it.
I was high, and when I looked down, the stream spun. I decided not to look down any more. I edged up to another ledge and lay down on it to catch my breath. I was shaking from exertion and I was tired.
I looked up to see how much higher I had to go when my hand touched something moist I pulled it back and saw that it was white – bird droppings. Then I saw them. Almost where my hand had been sat three fuzzy whitish-grey birds. Their wide-open mouths gave them a startled look.
“Oh, hello, hello,” I said. “You are cute.”
When I spoke, all three blinked at once. All three heads turned and followed my hand as I swung it up and towards them. All three watched my hand with opened mouths. They were marvellous. I chuckled, But I couldn’t reach them.
I wormed forward, and wham! – something hit my shoulder. It hurt. I turned my head to see the big female. She had bitten me. She winged out, banked, and started back for another strike.
Now I was scared, for I was sure she would cut me wide open. With sudden nerve, I stood up, stepped forward, and picked up the biggest of the nestlings. The females are bigger than the males. They are the “falcons”. They are the pride of kings. I tucked her in my sweater and leaned against the cliff, facing the bulletlike dive of the falcon. I threw out my foot as she struck, and the sole of my tennis shoe took the blow.
The female was now gathering speed for another attack, and when I say speed, I mean 50 to 60 miles an hour. I could see myself battered and torn, lying in the valley below, and I said to myself, “Sam Gribley, you had better get down from here like a rabbit.” I jumped to the ledge below, found it was really quite wide, slid on the seat of my pants to the next ledge, and stopped. The hawk apparently couldn’t count. She did not know I had a youngster, for she checked her nest, saw the open mouths, and then she forgot me.
I scrambled to the river bed somehow, being very careful not to hurt the hot fuzzy body that was against my own. However, Frightful, as I called her right then and there because of the difficulties we had had in getting together, did not think so gently of me. She dug her talons into my skin to brace herself during the bumpy ride to the ground.
I stumbled to the stream, placed her in a nest of buttercups, and dropped beside her. I fell asleep.
When I awoke my eyes opened on two grey eyes in a white tousled head. Small pinfeathers were sticking out of the soft down, like feathers in an Indian quiver. The big blue beak curled down in a snarl and up in a smile.
“Oh, Frightful,” I said, “you are a raving beauty.”
Frightful fluffed her nubby feathers and shook. I picked her up in the cup of my hands and held her under my chin. I stuck my nose in the deep warm fuzz.
It smelled dusty and sweet.
I liked that bird. Oh, how I liked that bird from that smelly minute. It was so pleasant to feel the beating life and see the funny little awkward movements of a young thing.
The legs pushed out between my fingers, I gathered them up, together with the thrashing wings, and tucked the bird in one piece under my chin. I rocked.
“Frightful,” I said. “You will enjoy what we are going to do.”
I washed my bleeding shoulder in the creek tucked the torn threads of my sweater back into the hole they had come out of, and set out for my tree.
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