It was true that I had feared man instinctively1 from the first, but familiarity with him had for a while overcome that fear. Now it returned, and with the fear was mingled2 another feeling—a feeling of definite hatred3. Originally, though afraid of him, I had borne man no ill-will whatever, and would have been entirely4 content to go on living beside him in peace and friendliness5, just as we lived with the deer and the beaver6. Man himself[94] made that impossible, and now I no longer wished it. I hated him—hated him thoroughly7. Had it not been for dread8 of the thunder-sticks, I should have gone down into the town and attacked the first man that I met. I would have persuaded other bears to go with me to rage through the buildings, destroying every man that we could find; and though this was impossible, I made up my mind that it would be a bad day for any man whom I might meet alone, when unprotected by the weapon that gave him so great an advantage.
Meanwhile my present business was, somehow and somewhere, to go on living. On that first evening, amid my conflict of emotions, it was some time before I could bring myself to turn my back definitely upon the town; for it was difficult to realize at once that there was in truth no longer any Kahwa there, nor any reason for my going again among the buildings, and it was late in the night before I finally started to look for my father and mother. I went, of course, to the place where I had left them, and where the fight with the stranger had taken place.
They were not there when I arrived, but I saw that they had spent the preceding day at home, and would, in all probability, be back soon after it[95] was light. So I stayed in the immediate9 neighbourhood, and before sunrise they returned. My mother was glad to see me, but I do not think I can say as much for my father. I told them where I had been, and of my visits to the town, and of poor Kahwa’s death; and though at the time father did not seem to pay much attention to what I said, next day he suggested that we should move further away from the neighbourhood of men.
The following afternoon we started, making our way back along the stream by which we had descended10, and soon finding ourselves once more in the region that had been swept by the fire. It was still desolate11, but the two months that had passed had made a wonderful difference. It was covered by the bright red flowers of a tall plant, standing12 nearly as high as a bear’s head, which shoots up all over the charred13 soil whenever a tract14 of forest is burned. Other undergrowth may come up in the following spring, but for the first year nothing appears except the red ‘fireweed,’ and that grows so thickly that the burnt wood is a blaze of colour, out of which the blackened trunks of the old trees stand up naked and gaunt.
We passed several houses of men by the waterside, and gave them a wide berth15. We learned[96] from the beavers16 and the ospreys that a number of men had gone up the stream during the summer, and few had come back, so that now there must be many more of them in the district swept by the fire than there had been before. We did not wish to live in the burnt country, however, because there was little food to be found there, and under the fireweed the ground was still covered with a layer of the bitter black stuff, which, on being disturbed, got into one’s throat and eyes and nostrils18. So we turned southwards along the edge of the track of the fire, and soon found ourselves in a country that was entirely new to us, though differing little in general appearance from the other places with which we were familiar—the same unbroken succession of hills and gulches19 covered with the dense20 growth of good forest trees. It was, in fact, bears’ country; and in it we felt at home.
For the most part we travelled in the morning and evening; but the summer was gone now, and on the higher mountains it was sometimes bitterly cold, so we often kept on moving all day. We were not going anywhere in particular: only endeavouring to get away from man, and, if possible, to find a region where he had never been. But it[97] seemed as if man now was pushing in everywhere. We did not see him, but continually we came across the traces of him along the banks of the streams. The beavers, and the kingfishers, and the ospreys, of course, know everything that goes on along the rivers. Nothing can pass upstream or down without going by the beaver-dams, and the beavers are always on the watch. You might linger about a beaver-dam all day, and except for the smell, which a man would not notice, you would not believe there was a beaver near. But they are watching you from the cracks and holes in their homes, and in the evening, if they are not afraid of you, you will be astonished to see twenty or thirty beavers come out to play about what you thought was an empty house. We never passed a dam without asking about man, and always it was the same tale. Men had been there a week ago, or the day before, or when the moon last was full. And the kingfishers and the ospreys told us the same things. So we kept on our way southward.
As the days went on I grew to think less of Kahwa; the memory of those nights spent in the town, with the lights, and the strange noises, and the warm man-smell all about me, began to fade until they all seemed more like incidents of a dream[98] than scenes which I had actually lived through only a few weeks before. I began to feel more as I used to feel in the good old days before the fire, and came again to be a part of the wild, wholesome22 life of the woods. Moreover, I was growing; my mother said that I was growing fast. No puma23 would have dared to touch me now, and my unusual experiences about the town had bred in me a spirit of independence and self-reliance, so that other cubs24 of my own age whom we met, and who, of course, had lived always with their parents, always seemed to me younger than I; and certainly I was bigger and stronger than any first-year bear that I saw. On the whole, I would have been fairly contented25 with life had it not been for the estrangement26 which was somehow growing up between my father and myself. I could not help feeling that, though I knew not why, he would have been glad to have me go away again. So I kept out of his way as much as possible, seldom speaking to him, and, of course, not venturing to share any food that he found. On the first evening after my return he had rolled over an old log, and mother and I went up as a matter of course to see what was there; but he growled27 at me in a way that made me stand off while he and mother finished the fungi[99] and the beetles28. After that I kept my distance. It did not matter much, for I was well able to forage29 for myself. But I would have preferred to have him kinder. His unkindness, however, did not prevent him from taking for himself anything which he wanted that I had found. One day I came across some honey, from which he promptly30 drove me away, and I had to look on while he and mother shared the feast between them.
At last we came to a stream where the beavers told us that no man had been seen in the time of any member of their colony then living. The stream, which was here wide enough to be a river, came from the west, and for two or three days we followed it down eastwards31, and found no trace or news of man; so we turned back up it again—back past the place where we had first struck it—and on along its course for another day’s journey into the mountains. It was, perhaps, too much to hope that we had lighted on a place where man would never come; but at least we knew that for a distance of a week’s travelling in all directions he never yet had been, and it might be many years before he came. Meanwhile we should have a chance to live our lives in peace.
Here we stayed, moving about very little, and[100] feeding as much as we could; for winter was coming on, and a bear likes to be fat and well fed before his long sleep. It rained a good deal now, as it always does in the mountains in the late autumn, and as a general rule the woods were full of mist all day, in which we went about tearing the roots out of the soft earth, eating the late blueberries where we could find them, and the cranberries32 and the elderberries, which were ripe on the bushes, now and then coming across a clump33 of nut-trees, and once in a while, the greatest of all treats, revelling34 in a feast of honey.
One morning, after a cold and stormy night, we saw that the tops of the highest mountains were covered with snow. It might be a week or two yet before the snow fell over the country as a whole, or it might be only a day or two; for the wind was blowing from the north, biting cold, and making us feel numb17 and drowsy35. So my father decided36 that it was time to make our homes for the winter. He had already fixed37 upon a spot where a tree had fallen and torn out its roots, making a cave well shut in on two sides, and blocked on a third by another fallen log; and here, without thinking, I had taken it as a matter of[101] course that we should somehow all make our winter homes together. But when that morning he started out, with mother after him, and I attempted to follow, he drove me away. I followed yet for a while, but he kept turning back and growling38 at me, and at last told me bluntly that I must go and shift for myself. I took it philosophically39, I think, but it was with a heavy heart that I turned away to seek a winter home for myself.
It did not take me long to decide on the spot. At the head of a narrow gully, where at some time or other a stream must have run, there was a tree half fallen, and leaning against the hillside. A little digging behind the tree would make as snug40 and sheltered a den21 as I could want. So I set to work, and in the course of a few hours I had made a sufficiently41 large hollow, and into it I scraped all the leaves and pine-needles in the neighbourhood, and, by working about inside and turning round and round, I piled them up on all sides until I had a nest where I was perfectly42 sheltered, with only an opening in front large enough to go in and out of. This opening I would almost close when the time came, but for the present I left it open and lived inside, sleeping[102] much of the time, but still continuing for a week or ten days to go out in the mornings and evenings for food. But it was getting colder and colder, and the woods had become strangely silent. The deer had gone down to the lower ground at the first sign of coming winter, and the coyotes and the wolves had followed to spend the cold months in the foot-hills and on the plains about the haunts of man. The woodchucks were already asleep below-ground, and of the birds only the woodpeckers and the crossbills, and some smaller birds fluttering among the pine-branches, remained. There was a fringe of ice along the edges of the streams, and the kingfishers and the ospreys had both flown to where the waters would remain open throughout the year. The beavers had been very busy for some time, but now, if one went to the nearest dam in the evening, there was not a sign of life.
At last the winter came. It had been very cold and gray for a day or two, and I felt dull and torpid43. And then, one morning towards mid-day, the white flakes44 began to fall. There had been a few little flurries of snow before, lasting45 only for a minute or two; but this was different. The great flakes fell slowly and softly, and soon the[103] whole landscape began to grow white. Through the opening in my den I watched the snow falling for some time, but did not venture out; and as the afternoon wore on, and it only fell faster and faster, I saw that it would soon pile up and close the door upon me.
There was no danger of its coming in, for I had taken care that the roof overhung far enough to prevent anything falling in from above, and the den was too well sheltered for the wind to drift the snow inside. So I burrowed46 down into my leaves and pine-needles, and worked them up on both sides till only a narrow slit47 of an opening remained, and through this slit, sitting back on my haunches against the rear of the little cave, I watched the white wall rising outside. All that night and all next day it snowed, and by the second evening there was hardly a ray of light coming in. I remember feeling a certain pride in being all alone, in the warm nest made by myself, for the first time in my life; and I sat back and mumbled48 at my paw, and grew gradually drowsier49 and drowsier, till I hardly knew when the morning came, for I was very sleepy and the daylight scarcely pierced the wall of snow outside. And before another night fell I was asleep, while outside the white[104] covering which was to shut me in for the next four months at least, was growing thicker until it was many feet deep all around, and under it I was as safe and snug up there in the heart of the mountains as ever a man could be in any house that he might build.
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1
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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8
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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9
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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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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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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16
beavers
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| 海狸( beaver的名词复数 )； 海狸皮毛； 棕灰色； 拼命工作的人 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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18
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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gulches
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| n.峡谷( gulch的名词复数 ) | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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puma
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| 美洲豹 | |
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cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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30
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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31
eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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32
cranberries
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| n.越橘( cranberry的名词复数 ) | |
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33
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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34
revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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38
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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40
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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41
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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42
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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43
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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44
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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45
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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46
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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47
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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48
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
drowsier
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| adj.欲睡的，半睡的，使人昏昏欲睡的( drowsy的比较级 ) | |
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