Obviously enough (because otherwise I should have to introduce at this point some fantastic explanation of my continued presence in this 'mortal coil'), you may number me amongst those whom the war of '65 failed to obliterate2.
Spittoon-brained, Saleem suffered a merely partial erasure3, and was only wiped clean whilst others, less fortunate, were wiped out; unconscious in the night-shadow of a mosque4, I was saved by the exhaustion5 of ammunition6 dumps.
Tears - which, in the absence of the Kashmir! cold, have absolutely no chance of hardening into diamonds - slide down the bosomy contours of Padma's cheeks. 'O, mister, this war tamasha, kills the best and leaves the rest!' Looking as though hordes7 of snails8 have recently crawled down from her reddened eyes, leaving their glutinous9 shiny trails upon her face, Padma mourns my bomb-flattened clan10.
I remain dry-eyed as usual, graciously refusing to rise to the unintentional insult implied by Padma's lachrymose11 exclamation12.
'Mourn for the living,' I rebuke13 her gently, 'The dead have their camphor gardens.' Grieve for Saleem! Who, barred from celestial14 lawns by the continued beating of his heart, awoke once again amid the clammy metallic15 fragrances16 of a hospital ward18; for whom there were no houris, untouched by man or djinn, to provide the promised consolations19 of eternity20 - I was lucky to receive the grudging21, bedpan-clattering ministrations of a bulky male nurse who, while bandaging my head, muttered sourly that, war or no war, the doctor sahibs liked going to their beach shacks22 on Sundays. 'Better you'd stayed knocked out one more day,' he mouthed, before moving further down the ward to spread more good cheer.
Grieve for Saleem - who, orphaned23 and purified, deprived of the hundred daily pin-pricks24 of family life, which alone could deflate the great ballooning fantasy of history and bring it down to a more manageably human scale, had been pulled up by his roots to be flung unceremoniously across the years, fated to plunge25 memoryless into an adulthood26 whose every aspect grew daily more grotesque27.
Fresh snail-tracks on Padma's cheeks. Obliged to attempt some sort of "There, there', I resort to movie-trailers. (How I loved them at the old Metro28 Cub29 Club! O smacking30 of lips at the sight of the title NEXT ATTRACTION, superimposed on undulating blue velvet31! O anticipatory32 salivation before screens trumpeting33 COMING SOON! -Because the promise of exotic futures34 has always seemed, to my mind, the perfect antidote35 to the disappointments of the present.) 'Stop, stop," I exhort36 my mournfully squatting38 audience, I'm not finished yet! There is to be electrocution and a rain-forest; a pyramid of heads on a field impregnated by leaky marrowbones; narrow escapes are coming, and a minaret39 that screamed! Padma, there is still plenty worth telling: my further trials, in the basket of invisibility and in the shadow of another mosque; wait for the premonitions of Resham Bibi and the pout40 of Parvati-the-witch! Fatherhood and treason also, and of course that unavoidable Widow, who added to my history of drainage-above the final ignominy of voiding-below ... in short, there are still next-attractions and coming-soons galore; a chapter ends when one's parents die, but a new kind of chapter also begins.'
Somewhat consoled by my offers of novelty, my Padma sniffs41; wipes away mollusc-slime, dries eyes; breathes in deeply ... and, for the spittoon-brained fellow we last met in his hospital bed, approximately five years pass before my dung-lotus exhales42.
(While Padma, to calm herself, holds her breath, I permit myself to insert a Bombay-talkie-style close-up - a calendar ruffled43 by a breeze, its pages flying off in rapid succession to denote the passing of the years; I superimpose turbulent long-shots of street riots, medium shots of burning buses and blazing English-language libraries owned by the British Council and the United States Information Service; through the accelerated flickering45 of the calendar we glimpse the fall of Ayub Khan, the assumption of the presidency46 by General Yahya, the promise of elections... but now Padma's lips are parting, and there is no time to linger-on the angrily-opposed images of Mr Z. A. Bhutto and Sheikh Mujib-ur-Rahman; exhaled47 air begins to issue invisibly from her mouth, and the dream-faces of the leaders of the Pakistan People's Party and the Awami League shimmer48 and fade out; the gusting49 of her emptying lungs paradoxically stills the breeze blowing the pages of my calendar, which conies to rest upon a date late in 1970, before the election which split the country in two, before the war of West Wing against East Wing, P.P.P. against Awami League, Bhutto against Mujib ... before the election of 1970, and far away from the public stage, three young soldiers are arriving at a mysterious camp in the Murree Hills.)
Padma has regained50 her self-control. 'Okay, okay,' she expostulates, waving an arm in dismissal of her tears, 'Why you're waiting? Begin,' the lotus instructs me loftily, 'Begin all over again.'
The camp in (he hills will be found on no maps; it is too far from the Murree road for the barking of its dogs to be heard, even by the sharpest-eared of motorists. Its wire perimeter51 fence is heavily camouflaged52; the gate bears neither symbol nor name. Yet it does, did, exist; though its existence has been hotly denied - at the fall of Dacca, for instance, when Pakistan's vanquished53 Tiger Niazi was quizzed on this subject by his old chum, India's victorious54 General Sam Manekshaw, the Tiger scoffed55: 'Canine56 Unit for Tracking and Intelligence Activities? Never heard of it; you've been misled, old boy. Damn ridiculous idea, if you don't mind my saying.' Despite what the Tiger said to Sam, I insist: the camp was there all right ...
... 'Shape up!' Brigadier Iskandar is yelling at his newest recruits, Ayooba Baloch, Farooq Rashid and Shaheed Dar. 'You're a CUTIA unit now!' Slapping swagger-stick against thigh57, he turns on his heels and leaves them standing58 on the parade-ground, simultaneously59 fried by mountain sun and frozen by mountain air. Chests out, shoulders back, rigid60 with obedience61, the three youths hear the giggling62 voice of the Brigadier's batman, Lala Moin: So you're the poor suckers who get the man-dog!'
In their bunks63 that night: 'Tracking and intelligence!' whispers Ayooba Baloch, proudly. 'Spies, man! O.S.S. 117 types! Just let us at those Hindus - see what we don't do! Ka-dang! Ka-pow! What weaklings, yara, those Hindus! Vegetarians64 all! Vegetables,' Ayooba hisses65, 'always lose to meat.' He is built like a tank.
His crew-cut begins just above his eyebrows66.
And Farooq, 'You think there'll be war?' Ayooba snorts. 'What else? How not a war? Hasn't Bhutto sahib promised every peasant one acre of land? So where it'll come from? For so much soil, we must conquer Punjab and Bengal! Just wait only; after the election, when People's Party has won - then Ka-pow! Ka-blooey!'
Farooq is troubled: 'Those Indians have Sikh troops, man. With so-long beards and hair, in the heat it pricks like crazy and they all go mad and fight like hell ...!'
Ayooba gurgles with amusement. 'Vegetarians, I swear, yaar ... how are they going to beat beefy types like us?' But Farooq is long and stringy.
Shaheed Dar whispers, 'But what did he mean: man-dog?' ... Morning. In a hut with a blackboard, Brigadier Iskandar polishes knuckles67 on lapels while one Sgt-Mjr Najmuddin briefs new recruits. Question-and-answer format44; Najmuddin provides both queries68 and replies. No interruptions are to be tolerated. While above the blackboard the garlanded portraits of President Yahya and Mutasim the Martyr69 stare sternly down. And through the (closed) windows, the persistent70 barking of dogs... Najmuddin's inquiries71 and responses are also barked. What are you here for? - Training. In what field? - Pursuit-and-capture. How will you work? - In canine units of three persons and one dog. What unusual features? - Absence of officer personnel, necessity of taking own decisions, concomitant requirement for high Islamic sense of self-discipline and responsibility.
Purpose of units? - To root out undesirable72 elements. Nature of such elements? - Sneaky, well-disguised, could-be-anyone. Known intentions of same? - To be abhorred73: destruction of family life, murder of God, expropriation of landowners, abolition74 of film-censorship. To what ends? - Annihilation of the State, anarchy75, foreign domination. Accentuating76 causes of concern? - Forthcoming elections; and subsequently, civilian78 rule. (Political prisoners have been are being freed. All types of hooligans are abroad.) Precise duties of units? -To obey unquestioningly; to seek unflaggingly; to arrest remorselessly.
Mode of procedure? - Covert79; efficient; quick. Legal basis of such detentions80? - Defence of Pakistan Rules, permitting the pick-up of undesirables81, who may be held incommunicado for a period of six months. Footnote: a renewable period of six months. Any questions? - No. Good. You are CUTIA Unit 22. She-dog badges will be sewn to lapels. The acronym82 CUTIA, of course, means bitch.
And the man-dog?
Cross-legged, blue-eyed, staring into space, he sits beneath a tree. Bodhi trees do not grow at this altitude; he makes do with a chinar. His nose: bulbous, cucumbery, tip blue with cold. And on his head a monk's tonsure83 where once Mr Zagallo's hand. And a mutilated finger whose missing segment fell at Masha Miovic's feet after Glandy Keith had slammed. And stains on his face like a map ... 'Ekkkhh-thoo!' (He spits.)
His teeth are stained; betel-juice reddens his gums. A red stream of expectorated paan-fluid leaves his lips, to hit, with commendable84 accuracy, a beautifully-wrought silver spittoon, which sits before him on the ground. Ayooba Shaheed Farooq are staring in amazement85. 'Don't try to get it away from him," Sgt-Mjr Najmuddin indicates the spittoon, 'It sends him wild.' Ayooba begins, 'Sir sir I thought you said three persons and a -', but Najmuddin barks, 'No questions! Obedience without queries! This is your tracker; that's that.
Dismiss.'
At that time, Ayooba and Farooq were sixteen and a half years old. Shaheed (who had lied about his age) was perhaps a year younger. Because they were so young, and had not had time to acquire the type of memories which give men a firm hold on reality, such as memories of love or famine, the boy soldiers were highly susceptible86 to the influence of legends and gossip. Within twenty-four hours, in the course of mess-hall conversations with other CUTIA units, the man-dog had been fully37 mythologized ... 'From a really important family, man!' - 'The idiot child, they put him in the Army to make a man of him!' - 'Had a war accident in '65, yaar, can't won't remember a thing about it!' - 'Listen, I heard he was the brother of - 'No, man, that's crazy, she is good, you know, so simple and holy, how would she leave her brother?' - 'Anyway he refuses to talk about it.' - 'I heard one terrible thing, she hated him, man, that's why she!' - 'No memory, not interested in people, lives like a dog!' - 'But the tracking business is true all right! You see that nose on him?' - 'Yah, man, he can follow any trail on earth!' - 'Through water, baba, across rocks! Such a tracker, you never saw!' - 'And he can't feel a thing! That's right! Numb1, I swear; head-to-foot numb! You touch him, he wouldn't know - only by smell he knows you're there!' - 'Must be the war wound!' - 'But that spittoon, man, who knows? Carries it everywhere like a love-token!' - 'I tell you, I'm glad it's you three; he gives me the creeps, yaar, it's those blue eyes.' - 'You know how they found out about his nose? He just wandered into a minefield, man, I swear, just picked his way through, like he could smell the damn mines!' - 'O, no, man, what are you talking, that's an old story, that was that first dog in the whole CUTIA operation, that Bonzo, man, don't mix us up!' - Hey, you Ayooba, you better watch your step, they say V.I.P.s are keeping their eyes on him!' - 'Yah, like I told you, Jamila Singer ..." - 'O, keep your mouth shut, we all heard enough of your fairy-tales!'
Once Ayooba, Farooq and Shaheed had become reconciled to their strange, impassive tracker (it was after the incident at the latrines), they gave him the nickname of buddha87, 'old man'; not just because he must have been seven years their senior, and had actually taken part in the six-years-ago war of '65, when the three boy soldiers weren't even in long pants, but because there hung around him an air of great antiquity88. The buddha was old before his time.
O fortunate ambiguity89 of transliteration! The Urdu word 'buddha', meaning old man, is pronounced with the Ds hard and plosive. But there is also Buddha, with soft-tongued Ds, meaning he-who-achieved-enlightenment-under-the-bodhi-tree ...
Once upon a time, a prince, unable to bear the suffering of the world, became capable of not-living-in-the-world as well as living in it; he was present, but also absent; his body was in one place, but his spirit was elsewhere. In ancient India, Gautama the Buddha sat enlightened under a tree at Gaya; in the deer park at Sarnath he taught others to abstract themselves from worldly sorrows and achieve inner peace; and centuries later, Saleem the buddha sat under a different tree, unable to remember grief, numb as ice, wiped clean as a slate90 ... With some embarrassment91, I am forced to admit that amnesia92 is the kind of gimmick93 regularly used by our lurid94 film-makers. Bowing my head slightly, I accept that my life has taken on, yet again, the tone of a Bombay talkie; but after all, leaving to one side the vexed95 issue of reincarnation, there is only a finite number of methods of achieving rebirth. So, apologizing for the melodrama96, I must doggedly97 insist that I, he, had begun again; that after years of yearning98 for importance, he (or I) had been cleansed99 of the whole business; that after my vengeful abandonment by Jamila Singer, who wormed me into the Army to get me out her sight, I (or he) accepted the fate which was my repayment100 for love, and sat uncomplaining under a chinar tree; that, emptied of history, the buddha learned the arts of submission101, and did only what was required of him. To sum up: I became a citizen of Pakistan.
It was arguably inevitable102 that, during the months of training, the buddha should begin to irritate Ayooba Baloch. Perhaps it was because he chose to live apart from the soldiers, in a straw-lined ascetic's stall at the far end of the kennel-barracks; or because he was so often to be found sitting cross-legged under his tree, silver spittoon clutched in hand, with unfocused eyes and a foolish smile on his lips - as if he were actually happy that he'd lost his brains! What's more, Ayooba, the apostle of meat, may have found his tracker insufficiently103 virile104. 'Like a brinjal, man,' I permit Ayooba to complain, 'I swear - a vegetable!'
(We may also, taking the wider view, assert that irritation105 was in the air at the year's turn. Were not even General Yahya and Mr Bhutto getting hot and bothered about the petulant106 insistence107 of Sheikh Mujib on his right to form the new government? The wretched Bengali's Awami League had won 160 out of a possible 162 East Wing seats; Mr Bhutto's P.P.P. had merely taken 81 Western constituencies. Yes, an irritating election. It is easy to imagine how irked Yahya and Bhutto, West Wingers both, must have been! And when even the mighty108 wax peevish109, how is one to blame the small man? The irritation of Ayooba Baloch, let us conclude, placed him in excellent, Dot to say exalted110 company.)
On training manoeuvres, when Ayooba Shaheed Farooq scrambled111 after the buddha as he followed the faintest of trails across bush rocks streams, the three boys were obliged to admit his skill; but still Ayooba, tank-like, demanded: 'Don't you remember really? Nothing? Allah, you don't feel bad? Somewhere you've maybe got mother father sister,' but the buddha interrupted him gently: 'Don't try and fill my head with that history. I am who I am, that's all there is.' His accent was so pure, 'Really classy Lucknow-type Urdu, wah-wah!' Farooq said admiringly, that Ayooba Baloch, who spoke112 coarsely, like a tribesman, fell silent; and the three boys began to believe the rumours113 even more fervently114. They were unwillingly115 fascinated by this man with his nose like a cucumber and his head which rejected memories families histories, which contained absolutely nothing except smells ... 'like a bad egg that somebody sucked dry,' Ayooba muttered to his companions, and then, returning to his central theme, added, 'Allah, even his nose looks like a vegetable.'
Their uneasiness lingered. Did they sense, in the buddha's numbed117 blankness, a trace of 'undesirability'? - For was not his rejection118 of past-and-family just the type of subversive119 behaviour they were dedicated120 to 'rooting out'? The camp's officers, however, were deaf to Ayooba's requests of 'Sir sir can't we just have a real dog sir?' ... so that Farooq, a born follower121 who had already adopted Ayooba as his leader and hero, cried, 'What to do? With that guy's family contacts, some high-ups must've told the Brigadier to put up with him, that's all.'
And (although none of the trio would have been able to express the idea) I suggest that at the deep foundations of their unease lay the fear of schizophrenia, of splitting, that was buried like an umbilical cord in every Pakistani heart. In those days, the country's East and West Wings were separated by the unbridgeable land-mass of India; but past and present, too, are divided by an unbridgeable gulf122. Religion was the glue of Pakistan, holding the halves together; just as consciousness, the awareness123 of oneself as a homogeneous entity124 in time, a blend of past and present, is the glue of personality, holding together our then and our now. Enough philosophizing: what I am saying is that by abandoning consciousness, seceding125 from history, the buddha was setting the worst of examples - and the example was followed by no less a personage than Sheikh Mujib, when he led the East Wing into secession and declared it independent as 'Bangladesh'! Yes, Ayooba Shaheed Farooq were right to feel ill-at-ease - because even in those depths of my withdrawal126 from responsibility, I remained responsible, through the workings of the metaphorical127 modes of connection, for the belligerent128 events of 1971.
But I must go back to my new companions, so that I can relate the incident at the latrines: there was Ayooba, tank-like, who led the unit, and Farooq, who followed contentedly129. The third youth, however, was a gloomier, more private type, and as such closest to my heart. On his fifteenth birthday Shaheed Dar had lied about his age and enlisted130. That day, his Punjabi sharecropper father had taken Shaheed into a field and wept all over his new uniform. Old Dar told his son the meaning of his name, which was 'martyr', and expressed the hope that he would prove worthy131 of it, and perhaps become the first of their family members to enter the perfumed garden, leaving behind this pitiful world in which a father could not hope to pay his debts and also feed his nineteen children. The overwhelming power of names, and the resulting approach of martyrdom, had begun to prey132 heavily on Shaheed's mind; in his dreams, he began to see his death, which took the form of a bright pomegranate, and floated in mid-air behind him, following him everywhere, biding133 its time. The disturbing and somewhat unheroic vision of pomegranate death made Shaheed an inward, unsmiling fellow.
Inwardly, unsmilingly, Shaheed observed various CUTIA units being sent away from the camp, into action; and became convinced that his time, and the time of the pomegranate, was very near. From departures of three-men-and-a-dog units in camouflaged jeeps, he deduced a growing political crisis; it was February, and the irritations134 of the exalted were becoming daily more marked. Ayooba-the-tank, however, retained a local point of view. His irritation was also mounting, but its object was the buddha.
Ayooba had become infatuated with the only female in the camp, a skinny latrine cleaner who couldn't have been over fourteen and whose nipples were only just beginning to push against her tattered135 shirt: a low type, certainly, but she was all that there was, and for a latrine cleaner she had very nice teeth and a pleasant line in saucy136 over-the-shoulder glances ... Ayooba began to follow her around, and that was how he spied her going into the buddha's straw-lined stall, and that was why he leaned a bicycle against the building and stood on the seat, and that was why he fell off, because he didn't like what he saw. Afterwards he spoke to the latrine girl, grabbing her roughly by the arm: 'Why do it with that crazy - why, when I, Ayooba, am, could be - ?' and she replied that she liked the man-dog, he's funny, says he can't feel anything, he rubs his hosepipe inside me but can't even feel, but it's nice, and he tells that he likes my smell. The frankness of the urchin137 girl, the honesty of latrine cleaners, made Ayooba sick; he told her she had a soul composed of pig-droppings, and a tongue caked with excrement138 also; and in the throes of his jealousy139 he devised the prank140 of the jump-leads, the trick of the electrified141 urinal. The location appealed to him; it had a certain poetic142 justice.
'Can't feel, huh?' Ayooba sneered143 to Farooq and Shaheed, 'Just wait on: I'll make him jump for sure.'
On February loth (when Vahya, Bhutto and Mujib were refusing to engage in high-level talks), the buddha felt the call of nature. A somewhat concerned Shaheed and a gleeful Farooq loitered by the latrines; while Ayooba, who had used jump-leads to attach the metal footplates of the urinals to the battery of a jeep, stood out of sight behind the latrine hut, beside the jeep, whose motor was running. The buddha appeared, with his eyes as dilated144 as a charas-chewer's and his gait of walking-through-a-cloud, and as he floated into the latrine Farooq called out, 'Ohe! Ayooba, yara!' and began to giggle145. The childsoldiers awaited the howl of mortified146 anguish147 which would be the sign that their vacuous148 tracker had begun to piss, allowing electricity to mount the golden stream and sting him in his numb and urchin-rubbing hosepipe.
But no shriek149 came; Farooq, feeling confused and cheated, began to frown; and as time went by Shaheed grew nervous and yelled over to Ayooba Baloch, 'You Ayooba! What you doing, man?' To which Ayooba-the-tank, 'What d'you think, yaar, I turned on the juice five minutes ago!' ... And now Shaheed ran - FULL TILT150! - into the latrine, to find the buddha urinating away with an expression of foggy pleasure, emptying a bladder which must have been filling up for a fortnight, while the current passed up into him through his nether151 cucumber, apparently152 unnoticed, so that he was filling up with electrkity and there was a blue crackle playing around the end of his gargantuan153 nose; and Shaheed who didn't have the courage to touch this impossible being who could absorb electricity through his hosepipe screamed, 'Disconnect, man, or he'll fry like an onion here!' The buddha emerged from the latrine, unconcerned, buttoning himself with his right hand while the left hand held his silver spittoon; and the three child-soldiers understood that it was really true, Allah, numb as ice, anaesthetized against feelings as well as memories ... For a week after the incident, the buddha could not be touched without giving an electric shock, and not even the latrine girl could visit him in his stall.
Curiously154, after the jump-lead business, Ayooba Baloch stopped resenting the buddha, and even began to treat him with respect; the canine unit was forged by that bizarre moment into a real team, and was ready to venture forth77 against the evildoers of the earth.
Ayooba-the-tank failed to give the buddha a shock; but where the small man fails, the mighty triumph. (When Yahya and Bhutto decided155 to make Sheikh Mujib jump, there were no mistakes.)
On March 15th, 1971, twenty units of the CUTIA agency assembled in a hut with a blackboard. The garlanded features of the President gazed down upon sixty-one men and nineteen dogs; Yahya Khan had just offered Mujib the olive branch of immediate156 talks with himself and Bhutto, to resolve all irritations; but his portrait maintained an impeccable poker-face, giving no clue to his true, shocking intentions ... while Brigadier Iskandar rubbed knuckles on lapels, Sgt-Mjr Najmuddin issued orders: sixty-one men and nineteen dogs were instructed to shed their uniforms. A tumultuous rustling157 in the hut: obeying without query158, nineteen individuals remove identifying collars from canine necks. The dogs, excellently trained, cock eyebrows but refrain from giving voice; and the buddha, dutifully, begins to undress. Five dozen fellow humans follow his lead; five dozen stand to attention in a trice, shivering in the cold, beside neat piles of military berets pants shoes shirts and green pullovers with leather patches at the elbows. Sixty-one men, naked except for imperfect underwear, are issued (by Lala Moin the batman) with Army-approved mufti. Najmuddin barks a command; and then there they all are, some in lungis and kurtas, some in Pathan turbans. There are men in cheap rayon pants and men in striped clerks' shirts.
The buddha is in dhoti and kameez; he is comfortable, but around him are soldiers squirming in ill-fitting plain-clothes. This is, however, a military operation; no voice, human or canine, is raised in complaint.
On March 15th, after obeying sartorial159 instructions, twenty CUTIA units were flown to Dacca, via Ceylon; among them were Shaheed Dar, Farooq Rashid, Ayooba Baloch and their buddha. Also flying to the East Wing by this circuitous160 route were sixty thousand of the West Wing's toughest troops: sixty thousand, like sixty-one, were all in mufti. The General Officer Commanding (in a nattily161 blue double-breasted suit) was Tikka Khan; the officer responsible for Dacca, for its taming and eventual162 surrender, was called Tiger Niazi. He wore bush-shirt, slacks and a jaunty163 little trilby on his head.
Via Ceylon we flew, sixty thousand and sixty-one innocent airline passengers, avoiding overflying India, and thus losing our chance of watching, from twenty thousand feet, the celebrations of Indira Gandhi's New Congress Party, which had won a landslide164 victory - 350 out of a possible 515 seats in the Lok Sabha - in another recent election. Indira-ignorant, unable to see her campaign slogan, GARIBI HATAO, Get Rid of Poverty, blazoned165 on walls and banners across the great diamond of India, we landed in Dacca in the early spring, and were driven in specially-requisitioned civilian buses to a military camp. On this last stage of our journey, however, we were unable to avoid hearing a snatch of song, issuing from some unseen gramophone. The song was called 'Amar Sonar Bangla' ('Our Golden Bengal', author: R. Tagore) and ran, in part: 'During spring the fragrance17 of your mango-groves maddens my heart with delight.' However, none of us could understand Bengali, so we were protected against the insidious166 subversion167 of the lyric168, although our feet did inadvertently tap (it must be admitted) to the tune169.
At first, Ayooba Shaheed Farooq and the buddha were not told the name of the city to which they had come. Ayooba, envisaging170 the destruction of vegetarians, whispered: 'Didn't I tell you? Now we'll show them! Spy stuff, man! Plain clothes and all! Up and at 'em, Number 22 Unit! Ka-bang! Ka-dang! Ka-pow!'
But we were not in India; vegetarians were not our targets; and after days of cooling our heels, uniforms were issued to us once again. This second transfiguration took place on March 25th.
On March 25th, Yahya and Bhutto abruptly171 broke off their talks with Mujib and returned to the West Wing. Night fell; Brigadier Iskandar, followed by Najmuddin and Lala Moin, who was staggering under the weight of sixty-one uniforms and nineteen dog-collars, burst into the CUTIA barracks. Now Najmuddin: 'Snap to it! Actions not words! One-two double-quick time!' Airline passengers donned uniforms and took up arms; while Brigadier Iskandar at last announced the purpose of our trip. 'That Mujib,' he revealed, 'We'll give him what-for all right. We'll make him jump for sure!'
(It was on March 25th, after the breakdown172 of the talks with Bhutto and Yahya, that Sheikh Mujib-ur-Rahman proclaimed the state of Bangladesh.)
CUTIA units emerged from barracks, piled into waiting jeeps; while, over the loudspeakers of the military base, the recorded voice of Jamila Singer was raised in patriotic173 hymns174. (And Ayooba, nudging the buddha: 'Listen, come on, don't you recognize - think, man, isn't that your own dear - Allah, this type is good for nothing but sniffing175!')
At midnight - could it, after all, have been at any other time? -sixty thousand crack troops also left their barracks; passengers-who-had-flown-as-civilians now pressed the starter buttons of tanks. Ayooba Shaheed Farooq and the buddha, however, were personally selected to accompany Brigadier Iskandar on the greatest adventure of the night. Yes, Padma: when Mujib was arrested, it was I who sniffed176 him out. (They had provided me with one of his old shirts; it's easy when you've got the smell.)
Padma is almost beside herself with anguish. 'But mister, you didn't, can't have, how would you do such a thing ... ?' Padma: I did. I have sworn to tell everything; to conceal177 no shred178 of the truth. (But there are snail-tracks on her face, and she must have an explanation.)
So - believe me, don't believe, but this is what it was like! - I must reiterate179 that everything ended, everything began again, when a spittoon hit me on the back of the head. Saleem, with his desperation for meaning, for worthy purpose, for genius-like-a-shawl, had gone; would not return until a jungle snake - for the moment, anyway, there is was only the buddha; who recognizes no singing voice as his relative; who remembers neither fathers nor mothers; for whom midnight holds no importance; who, some time after a cleansing180 accident, awoke in a military hospital bed, and accepted the Army as his lot; who submits to the life in which he finds himself, and does his duty; who follows orders; who lives both in-the-world and not-in-the-world; who bows his head; who can track man or beast through streets or down rivers; who neither knows nor cares how, under whose auspices181, as a favour to whom, at whose vengeful instigation he was put into uniform; who is, in short, no more and no less than the accredited182 tracker of CUTIA Unit 22.
But how convenient this amnesia is, how much it excuses! So permit me to criticize myself: the philosophy of acceptance to which the buddha adhered had consequences no more and no less unfortunate than his previous lust-for-centrality; and here, in Dacca, those consequences were being revealed.
'No, not true,' my Padma wails183; the same denials have been made about most of what befell that night.
Midnight, March 25th, 1971: past the University, which was being shelled, the buddha led troops to Sheikh Mujib's lair184. Students and lecturers came running out of hostels185; they were greeted by bullets, and Mercurochrome stained the lawns. Sheikh Mujib, however, was not shot; manacled, manhandled, he was led by Ayooba Baloch to a waiting van. (As once before, after the revolution of the pepperpots ... but Mujib was not naked; he had on a pair of green-and-yellow striped pajamas186.) And while we drove through city streets, Shaheed looked out of windows and saw things that weren't-couldn't-have-been true: soldiers entering women's hostels without knocking; women, dragged into the street, were also entered, and again nobody troubled' to knock. And newspaper offices, burning with the dirty yellowblack smoke of cheap gutter187 newsprint, and the offices of trade unions, smashed to the ground, and roadside ditches filling up with people who were not merely asleep - bare chests were seen, and the hollow pimples188 of bullet-holes. Ayooba Shaheed Farooq watched in silence through moving windows as our boys, our soldiers-for-Allah, our worth-ten-babus jawans held Pakistan together by turning flamethrowers machine-guns hand-grenades on the city slums.
By the time we brought Sheikh Mujib to the airport, where Ayooba stuck a pistol into his rump and pushed him on to an aircraft which flew him into West Wing captivity189, the buddha had closed his eyes. ('Don't fill my head with all this history,' he had once told Ayooba-the-tank, 'I am what I am and that's all there is.')
And Brigadier Iskandar, rallying his troops: 'Even now there are subversive elements to be rooted out.'
When thought becomes excessively painful, action is the finest remedy ...
dog-soldiers strain at the leash190, and then, released, leap joyously191 to their work. O wolfhound chases of undesirables! O prolific192 seizings of professors and poets! O unfortunate shot-while-resisting arrests of Awami Leaguers and fashion correspondents! Dogs of war cry havoc193 in the city; but although tracker-dogs are tireless, soldiers are weaker: Farooq Shaheed Ayooba take turns at vomiting194 as their nostrils195 are assailed196 by the stench of burning slums. The buddha, in whose nose the stench spawns197 images of searing vividness, continues merely to do his job. Nose them out: leave the rest to the soldier-boys. CUTIA units stalk the smouldering wreck198 of the city. No undesirable is safe tonight; no hiding-place impregnable. Bloodhounds track the fleeing enemies of national unity199; wolfhounds, not to be outdone, sink fierce teeth into their prey.
How many arrests - ten, four-hundred-and-twenty, one-thousand-and-one? - did our own Number 22 Unit make that night? How many intellectual lily-livered Daccans hid behind women's saris and had to be yanked into the streets? How often did Brigadier Iskandar -'Smell this! That's the stink200 of subversion!' - unleash201 the war-hounds of unity? There are things which took place on the night of March 25th which must remain permanently202 in a state of confusion.
Futility203 of statistics: during 1971, ten million refugees fled across the borders of East Pakistan-Bangladesh into India - but ten million (like all numbers larger than one thousand and one) refuses to be understood. Comparisons do not help: 'the biggest migration204 in the history of the human race' - meaningless. Bigger than Exodus205, larger than the Partition crowds, the many-headed monster poured into India. On the border, Indian soldiers trained the guerrillas known as Mukti Bahini; in Dacca, Tiger Niazi ruled the roost.
And Ayooba Shaheed Farooq? Our boys in green? How did they take to battling against fellow meat-eaters? Did they mutiny? Were officers - Iskandar, Najmuddin, even Lala Moin - riddled206 with nauseated207 bullets? They were not.
Innocence208 had been lost; but despite a new grimness about the eyes, despite the irrevocable loss of certainty, despite the eroding209 of moral absolutes, the unit went on with its work. The buddha was not the only one who did as he was told ... while somewhere high above the struggle, the voice of Jamila Singer fought anonymous210 voices singing the lyrics211 of R. Tagore: 'My life passes in the shady village homes filled with rice from your fields; they madden my heart with delight.'
Their hearts maddened, but not with delight, Ayooba and company followed orders; the buddha followed scent212-trails. Into the heart of the city, which has turned violent maddened bloodsoaked as the West Wing soldiers react badly to their knowledge-of-wrongdoing, goes Number 22 Unit; through the blackened streets, the buddha concentrates on the ground, sniffing out trails, ignoring the ground-level chaos213 of cigarette-packs cow-dung fallen-bicycles abandoned-shoes; and then on other assignments, out into the countryside, where entire villages are being burned owing to their collective responsibility for harbouring Mukti Bahini, the buddha and three boys track down minor214 Awami League officials and well-known Communist types. Past migrating villagers with bundled possessions on their heads; past torn-up railway tracks and burnt-out trees; and always, as though some invisible force were directing their footsteps, drawing them into a darker heart of madness, their missions send them south south south, always nearer to the sea, to the mouths of the Ganges and the sea.
And at last - who were they following then? Did names matter any more? - they were given a quarry215 whose skills must have been the equal-and-opposite of the buddha's own, otherwise why did it take so long to catch him? At last - unable to escape their training, pursue-relentlessly-arrest-remorselessly, they are in the midst of a mission without an end, pursuing a foe216 who endlessly eludes217 them, but they cannot report back to base empty-handed, and on they go, south south south, drawn218 by the eternally-receding scent-trail; and perhaps by something more: because, in my life, fate has never been unwilling116 to lend a hand.
They have commandeered a boat, because the buddha said the trail led down the river; hungry unslept exhausted219 in a universe of abandoned rice-paddies, they row after their unseen prey; down the great brown river they go, until the war is too far away to remember, but still the scent leads them on. The river here has a familiar name: Padma. But the name is a local deception220; in reality the river is still Her, the mother-water, goddess Ganga streaming down to earth through Shiva's hair. The buddha has not spoken for days; he just points, there, that way, and on they go, south south south to the sea.
A nameless morning. Ayooba Shaheed Farooq awaking in the boat of their absurd pursuit, moored221 by the bank of Padma-Ganga - to find him gone. 'Allah-Allah,'
Farooq yelps222, 'Grab your ears and pray for pity, he's brought us to this drowned place and run off, it's all your fault, you Ayooba, that trick with the jump-leads and this is his revenge!' ... The sun, climbing. Strange alien birds in the sky. Hunger and fear like mice in their bellies223: and whatif, whatif the Mukti Bahini... parents are invoked224. Shaheed has dreamed his pomegranate dream.
Despair, lapping at the edges of the boat. And in the distance, near the horizon, an impossible endless huge green wall, stretching right and left to the ends of the earth! Unspoken fear: how can it be, how can what we are seeing be true, who builds walls across the world? ... And then Ayooba, 'Look-look, Allah!' Because coming towards them across the rice-paddies is a bizarre slow-motion chase: first the buddha with that cucumber-nose, you could spot it a mile off, and following him, splashing through paddies, a gesticulating peasant with a scythe225, Father Time enraged226, while running along a dyke227 a woman with her sari caught up between her legs, hair loose, voice pleading screaming, while the scythed228 avenger229 stumbles through drowned rice, covered from head to foot in water and mud. Ayooba roars with nervous relief: 'The old billy-goat! Couldn't keep his hands off the local women! Come on, buddha, don't let him catch you, he'll slice off both your cucumbers!' And Farooq, 'But then what? If the buddha is sliced, what then?' And now Ayooba-the-tank is pulling a pistol out of its holster. Ayooba aiming: both hands held out in front, trying not to shake, Ayooba squeezing: a scythe curves up into the air. And slowly slowly the arms of a peasant rise up as though in prayer; knees kneel in paddy-water; a face plunges230 below the water-level to touch its forehead to the earth. On the dyke a woman wailing231. And Ayooba tells the buddha: 'Next time I'll shoot you instead.'
Ayooba-the-tank shaking like a leaf. And Time lies dead in a rice-paddy.
But there is still the meaningless chase, the enemy who will never be seen, and the buddha, 'Go that way,' and the four of them row on, south south south, they have murdered the hours and forgotten the date, they no longer know if they are chasing after or running from, but whichever it is that pushes them is bringing them closer closer to the impossible green wall, 'That way,' the buddha insists, and then they are inside it, the jungle which is so thick that history has hardly ever found the way in. The Sundarbans: it swallows them up.
收听单词发音 |
1
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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erasure
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| n.擦掉，删去；删掉的词；消音；抹音 | |
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mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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snails
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| n.蜗牛；迟钝的人；蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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glutinous
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| adj.粘的，胶状的 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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lachrymose
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| adj.好流泪的，引人落泪的；adv.眼泪地，哭泣地 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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fragrances
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| n.芳香，香味( fragrance的名词复数 )；香水 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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shacks
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| n.窝棚，简陋的小屋( shack的名词复数 ) | |
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orphaned
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| [计][修]孤立 | |
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pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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adulthood
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| n.成年，成人期 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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metro
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| n.地铁；adj.大都市的；(METRO)麦德隆(财富500强公司之一总部所在地德国，主要经营零售) | |
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cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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anticipatory
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| adj.预想的，预期的 | |
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trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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futures
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| n.期货，期货交易 | |
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antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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exhort
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| v.规劝，告诫 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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minaret
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| n.（回教寺院的）尖塔 | |
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pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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sniffs
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的第三人称单数 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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exhales
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的第三人称单数 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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format
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| n.设计，版式；[计算机]格式，DOS命令:格式化(磁盘)，用于空盘或使用过的磁盘建立新空盘来存储数据；v.使格式化，设计，安排 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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47
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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49
gusting
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| （风）猛刮（gust的现在分词形式） | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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perimeter
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| n.周边，周长，周界 | |
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camouflaged
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| v.隐蔽( camouflage的过去式和过去分词 )；掩盖；伪装，掩饰 | |
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53
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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63
bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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vegetarians
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| n.吃素的人( vegetarian的名词复数 )；素食者；素食主义者；食草动物 | |
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hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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72
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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73
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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76
accentuating
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| v.重读( accentuate的现在分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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detentions
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| 拘留( detention的名词复数 )； 扣押； 监禁； 放学后留校 | |
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undesirables
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| 不受欢迎的人，不良分子( undesirable的名词复数 ) | |
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acronym
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| n.首字母简略词，简称 | |
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tonsure
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| n.削发；v.剃 | |
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commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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85
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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86
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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87
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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88
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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89
ambiguity
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| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
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90
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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91
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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92
amnesia
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| n.健忘症，健忘 | |
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93
gimmick
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| n.(为引人注意而搞的)小革新，小发明 | |
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94
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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95
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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96
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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97
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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98
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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99
cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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101
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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102
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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103
insufficiently
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| adv.不够地，不能胜任地 | |
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104
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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105
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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106
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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107
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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108
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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109
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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110
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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111
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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112
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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113
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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114
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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115
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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116
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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117
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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119
subversive
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| adj.颠覆性的，破坏性的；n.破坏份子，危险份子 | |
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120
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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121
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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122
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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123
awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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124
entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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125
seceding
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| v.脱离，退出( secede的现在分词 ) | |
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126
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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127
metaphorical
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| a.隐喻的，比喻的 | |
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128
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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129
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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130
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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131
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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132
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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133
biding
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| v.等待，停留( bide的现在分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待；面临 | |
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134
irritations
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| n.激怒( irritation的名词复数 )；恼怒；生气；令人恼火的事 | |
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135
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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136
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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137
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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138
excrement
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| n.排泄物，粪便 | |
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139
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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140
prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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141
electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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142
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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143
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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146
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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147
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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148
vacuous
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| adj.空的，漫散的，无聊的，愚蠢的 | |
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149
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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150
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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151
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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152
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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153
gargantuan
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| adj.巨大的，庞大的 | |
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154
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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155
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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156
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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157
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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158
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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159
sartorial
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| adj.裁缝的 | |
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160
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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161
nattily
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| adv.整洁地，帅地 | |
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162
eventual
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| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
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163
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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164
landslide
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| n.(竞选中)压倒多数的选票；一面倒的胜利 | |
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165
blazoned
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| v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布；夸示；装饰 | |
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166
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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167
subversion
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| n.颠覆，破坏 | |
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168
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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169
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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170
envisaging
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| 想像，设想( envisage的现在分词 ) | |
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171
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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172
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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173
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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174
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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175
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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176
sniffed
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|
| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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177
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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178
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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179
reiterate
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| v.重申，反复地说 | |
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180
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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181
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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182
accredited
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| adj.可接受的；可信任的；公认的；质量合格的v.相信( accredit的过去式和过去分词 )；委托；委任；把…归结于 | |
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183
wails
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| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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184
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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185
hostels
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| n.旅舍，招待所( hostel的名词复数 )；青年宿舍 | |
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186
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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187
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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188
pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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189
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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190
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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191
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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192
prolific
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| adj.丰富的，大量的；多产的，富有创造力的 | |
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193
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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194
vomiting
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| 吐 | |
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195
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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196
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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197
spawns
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| （鱼、蛙等的）子，卵( spawn的名词复数 ) | |
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198
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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199
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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200
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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201
unleash
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| vt.发泄，发出；解带子放开 | |
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202
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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203
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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204
migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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205
exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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206
riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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207
nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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208
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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209
eroding
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| 侵蚀，腐蚀( erode的现在分词 )； 逐渐毁坏，削弱，损害 | |
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210
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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211
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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212
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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213
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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215
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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216
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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217
eludes
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的第三人称单数 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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218
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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219
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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220
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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221
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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222
yelps
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| n.（因痛苦、气愤、兴奋等的）短而尖的叫声( yelp的名词复数 )v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的第三人称单数 ) | |
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223
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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224
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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225
scythe
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| n. 长柄的大镰刀，战车镰； v. 以大镰刀割 | |
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226
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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227
dyke
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| n.堤，水坝，排水沟 | |
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228
scythed
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| v.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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229
avenger
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| n. 复仇者 | |
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230
plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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231
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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