[转帖]骄傲的头

骄傲的头
A·库利克

是谁显示出了更大的勇气——鹿还是猎手？

为什么我放弃了打猎？咳，说来也简单，可是我怀疑你是否真的理解。

过去打猎的季节总是使我入迷。我迫不急待地想着那些干燥、寒冷的早晨，那杯热咖啡，然后手里提着一杆精良的猎枪，徒步在雪地上行走。

我没少射死过鹿。射杀鹿无疑是激动人心的。看到一头雄鹿冲出灌木丛，一种兴奋感就传遍全身，我想这种情感是从我们的祖先遗传下来。你等待着那头公鹿，只要你的手指节一弯就能置它于死地。打死了它之后的事也是美妙的。有了向朋友吹嘘的话题，漂亮的鹿头钉在墙上，的确，所有这一切都让人感到兴奋。

森林是美丽的，特别是晚秋的森林，有时候你行走在阳光斑驳的高大林木间。

森林这儿那儿地涂抹着白色、绿色和金色，深广而且寂静。森林的寂静像教堂里的肃穆一样令人起敬。

我最后一次去克莱利威尔森林的时候，森林给我的感觉就是如此，我独自一个人带着一杆枪、一暖瓶咖啡和三块厚厚的三明治。

我走进山麓小丘，向一个我知道的鹿常出没的小径走去。我估计得不错，雪地上有新的鹿蹄印。在这条小径的一边，在一个小山顶的下面恰好有一个天然的隐蔽处，我爬到那上面，把几块石头翻过来弄掉上面的积雪，然后坐了下来。天挺冷，可我并不在乎，因为我穿的挺暖和。我在那儿坐了差不多一个小时。什么也没露面。我吃了两块三明治，喝了点咖啡，还是什么也没有。树林可真安静呵，一股极微弱的风也是向我吹来的，我处在下风头。

就在这时我看见了这头鹿，一个头上长着八个美丽角叉的公鹿。它出现在距我不到20英尺远的地方。它周围30码之内没有掩蔽物。我一定能打中它！大概我必能打中这一事实导致了下面的事情。我等待着那头公鹿意识到我的存在。我等待着它喷鼻息，惊讶得目瞪口呆，然后突然转身逃跑。

但是，这头公鹿彻头彻尾地耍弄了我，它向我走过来了！我猜想它是出于好奇，或者是出于愚蠢——除此之外你还能怎样解释呢？因为这头公鹿已经不是小鹿了，而是正年富力强的公鹿。它一定已经领教了人和枪。但是它走得更近了，而我还在等待。它有一个非常美丽的头颅，一对完美无瑕的鹿角。它继续缓慢地、胸有成竹地、一步一步地向前走来。它那两只大眼睛一直盯着我的脸，毫不移动。

没错，我开始有点紧张了——谁又能不紧张呢？一头大公鹿可以造成很严重的伤害，而这头公鹿又毫无疑问，确实很大。咳，这头公鹿一直走到我坐着的地方。

这时，它停下来看着我！接下来发生的事令人难以置信，然而的的确确是真实的。而且一切似乎都十分自然。就像一头友好的小狗走近你的时候一样，我把手向上伸到它的两角之间，搔它的头。它喜欢我的抓搔。这头硕大、野性、美丽的公鹿像一匹小马似的低下了头。实际上它是在要求我给它多搔一会儿！我搔它的头，抚摸它的肋部，我用没带手套的手轻轻地在它温暖的毛皮上滑动。它的鼻子拱着我的肩膀。它甚至都不颤抖。你知道还发生了什么事吗？我把最后的一块三明治喂给它吃了！不错，我知道一头公鹿通常吃什么东西，可是这头公鹿吃了我的三明治。

它终于走了，走下山坡，沿着那条鹿的小径走上去。向它开枪吗？我不干。如果你经历了刚才发生的事，你也不会干的。我只是看着它走掉——一头长着极其威武的八个角叉的公鹿，高昂着骄傲的头走掉了。

没有更多可讲的了，我捡起我的暖瓶和包三明治的碎纸，然后把枪夹在胳膊下，向我的汽车走去。

我走到大约一半路的时候，听到了枪响，两声枪响。砰的一声沉闷的响声，过去几秒钟后又是砰的一声沉闷的响声。如果你曾多次打猎，你就会明白两枪，像那种间隔的两枪，通常意味着射杀。（当然，我可能猜错了。我真希望我猜错了！）我已经忘记了那天在那片森林里还有其他猎手。那些猎手永远也不会知道他们原可以搔它的头的……

PROUD HEAD

Why did I quit hunting？Well, it isn＇t a long story, but I wonder if you will really understand.

I used to be crazy about the hunting season. I could hardly wait for those dry, cold mornings, that cup of hot coffee and then the hike over fresh－fallen snow, a fine rifle in my hand.
I＇ve killed my share of deer, too. There＇s a thrill init, no doubt of that. It＇s something that comes down from our ancestors, I guess. An excitement that comes over you when a buck crashes out of the bush. You are waiting for him with death in the crook of your finger. It＇s good afterwards, too. There＇s the bit of bragging with the boys, the fine head mounted on the wall－－sure, there＇s a thrill in all ofit.

There＇s beauty in the woods, too, especially late in the fall. Sometimes you walk among the huge trees where the sunlight filters through. It＇s quiet and big, with touches of white and green and gold. And the silence is like that of a church.

It was like that the last time, way up in the Clareyville Woods. I was alone, packing a rifle, a thermos of coffee and three thick sandwiches.

I went up into the foothills, heading for a well－used deer trail I knew. Suree?nough, there were fresh tracks in the snow. Off to one side, just below the crest of a little hill, there was a natural hideout. I got up there, turned over a few rocks to clear the snow and settled down. It was pretty cold, but I was dressed for it and didn＇t mind.

I sat there for about an hour. Nothing showed. I ate two sandwiches and drank a little coffee. Still nothing. The woods were really quiet. What little wind was blowing came towardme.

It was then that I saw him. A buck, a big beautiful eight－point buck. He was off to my left, less than20feet away. There was no cover nearer to him within30yards. Surely I couldn＇t miss！

Maybe that＇s what didit, the fact that I couldn＇t miss. I waited for him to realize I was there. I waited for him to snort, get bug－eyed, break and run. But he fooled me completely. He came towardme！He was curious, I suppose, or maybe he was stupid－－how else can you explainit？

For this was no youngster, but a buck in his prime. He must have known about men and guns. But he came closer, and I still waited. He had a wonderful head, a perfect set of antlers. He kept putting one foot before the other, slowly and deliberately. His big eyes never moved from my face.

Yes, I was getting a bit nervous－－and who wouldn＇t？A big buck can do a lot of damage, and this one was certainly big. Well, that deer walked right up to where I was sitting. Then he stopped and looked at me！

What happened next is hard to believe, but it＇s true. And it all seemed quite natural. Just as when a friendly pup comes near you, I reached up and scratched his head, right between the horns. And he likedit. That big, wild, beautiful buck bent his head like a colt. He practically asked for more！

I scratched his head and stroked his flank. I ran my bare hand lightly along that warm hide. His nose poked at my shoulder. He didn＇t even tremble. Know something else？I fed him my last sandwich！Yes, I know what a buck eats, but that buck ate my sandwich.

Well, he finally went his way, down the hill and up the deer trail. Shoot him？Notme. You wouldn＇t have either, not after that. I just watched himgo－－a magnificent eight－point buck carrying a high, proud head.

There＇s very little more to tell. I picked up my thermos and the scraps of paper from my sandwiches. Then I tucked my rifle under my arm and started walking back to my car.

I was about halfway back when I heard the shots－－two of them. A dull slam was followed in a few seconds by another. If you＇ve hunted much you know two shots, spaced like that, usually mean a kill. Sure, I could have been wrong－－I hope I was！I had forgotten that there were other hunters in the woods that day. Those hunters would never know they could have scratched his head…