SOUND; A MURMURED RUSTLE1 in the air. Robert Neville coughed weakly, then grimaced2 as the pain filled his chest. A bubbling groan3 passed his lips and his head rolled slightly on the flat pillow. The sound grew stronger, it became a rumbling4 mixture of noises. His hands drew in slowly at his sides. Why didn't they take the fire off his chest? He could feel hot coals dropping through openings in his flesh. Another groan, agonized5 and breathless, twitched6 his graying lips. Then his eyes fluttered open.
He stared at the rough plaster ceiling for a full minute without blinking. Pain ebbed7 and swelled8 in his chest with an endless, nerve-clutching throb9. His face remained a taut10, lined mask of resistance to the pain. If he relaxed for a second, it enveloped11 him completely; he had to fight it. For the first few minutes he could only struggle with the pain, suffering beneath its hot stabbing. Then, after a while, his brain began to function; slowly, like a machine faltering12, starting and stopping, turning and jamming gears.
Where am I? It was his first thought. The pain was awful. He looked down at his chest and saw that it was bound with a wide bandage, a great, moist spot of red rising and falling jerkily in the middle of it. He closed his eyes and swallowed. I'm hurt, he thought. I'm hurt badly. His mouth and throat felt powdery dry. Where am I, what am I...
Then he remembered; the dark men and the attack on his house. And he knew where he was even before he turned his head slowly, achingly, and saw the barred windows across the tiny cubicle13. He looked at the windows for a long time, face tight, teeth clenched14 together. The sound was outside; the rushing, confused sound.
He let his head roll back on the pillow and lay staring at the ceiling. It was hard to understand the moment on its own terms. Hard to believe it wasn't all a nightmare. Over three years alone in his house. Now this.
But he couldn't doubt the sharp, shifting pain in his chest and he couldn't doubt the way the moist, red spot kept getting bigger and bigger. He closed his eyes. I'm going to die, he thought.
He tried to understand that. But that didn't work either. In spite of having lived with death all these years, in spite of having walked a tightrope15 of bare existence across an endless maw of death—in spite of that he couldn't understand it. Personal death still was a thing beyond comprehension.
He was still on his back when the door behind him opened.
He couldn't turn; it hurt too much. He lay there and listened to footsteps approach the bed, then stop. He looked up but the person hadn't come into view yet. My executioner, he thought, the justice of this new society. He closed his eyes and waited.
The shoes moved again until he knew the person was by the cot. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. He ran his tongue over his lips.
"Are you thirsty?"
He looked up with dulled eyes at her and suddenly his heart began throbbing16. The increased blood flow made the pain billow up and swallow him for a moment. He couldn't cut off the groan of agony. He twisted his head on the pillow, biting his lips and clutching at the blanket feverishly17. The red spot grew bigger.
She was on her knees now, patting perspiration18 from his brow, touching19 his lips with a cool, wet cloth. The pain began to subside20 slowly and her face came into gradual focus. Neville lay motionless, staring at her with pain-filled eyes.
"So," he finally said.
She didn't answer. She got up and sat on the edge of the bed. She patted his brow again. Then she reached over his head and he heard her pouring water into a glass.
The pain dug razors into him as she lifted his head a little so he could drink. This is what they must have felt when the pikes went into them, he thought. This cutting, biting agony, the escape of life's blood.
His head fell back on the pillow:
"Thank you," he murmured.
She sat looking down, at him, a strange mixture of sympathy and detachment on her face. Her reddish hair was drawn21 back into a tight cluster behind her head and clipped there. She looked very clean-cut and self-possessed.
"You wouldn't believe me, would you?" she said.
A little cough puffed22 out his cheeks. His mouth opened and he sucked in some of the damp morning air.
"I ... believed you," he said.
"Then why didn't you go?"
He tried, to speak but the words jumbled23 together. His throat moved and he drew in another faltering breath.
"I ... couldn't," he muttered. "I almost went several times. Once I even packed and ... started out. But I couldn't, I couldn't ... go. I was too used to the ... the house. It was a habit, just... just like the habit of living. I got... used to it."
Her eyes ran over his sweat-greased face and she pressed her lips, together as she patted his forehead again.
"It's too late now," she said then. "You know that, don't you?"
Something clicked in his throat as he swallowed.
"I know," he said.
He tried to smile but his lips only twitched.
"Why did you fight them?" she said. "They had orders to bring you in unharmed. If you hadn't fired at them they wouldn't have harmed you."
His throat, contracted.
"What difference . . ." he gasped24.
His eyes closed and he gritted25 his teeth tightly to force back the pain.
When he opened them again she was still there. The expression on her face had not changed.
His smile was weak and tortured.
"Your ... your society is ... certainly a fine one," he gasped. "Who are those ... those gangsters26 who came to get me? The ... the council of justice?"
Her look was dispassionate. She's changed, he thought suddenly.
"New societies are always primitive," she answered. "You should know that. In a way we're like a revolutionary group—repossessing society by violence. It's inevitable27. Violence is no stranger to you. You've killed. Many times."
"Only to ... to survive."
"That's exactly why we're killing28," she said calmly. "To survive. We can't allow the dead to exist beside the living. Their brains are impaired29, they exist for only one purpose. They have to be destroyed. As one who killed the dead and the living, you know that."
The deep breath he took made the pain wrench30 at his insides. His eyes were stark31 with pain as he shuddered32. It's got to end soon, he thought. I can't stand much more of this. No, death did not frighten him. He didn't understand it, but he didn't fear it either.
The swelling33 pain sank down and the clouds passed from his eyes. He looked up at her calm face.
"I hope so," he said. "But ... but did you see their faces when they ... they killed?" His throat moved convulsively. "Joy," he mumbled34. "Pure joy."
Her smile was thin and withdrawn35. She has changed, he thought, entirely36.
"Did you ever see your face," she asked, "when you killed?" She patted his brow with the cloth. "I saw it-.—remember? It was frightening. And you weren't even killing then, you were just chasing me."
He closed his eyes. Why am I listening to her? he thought. She's become a brainless convert to this new violence.
"Maybe you did see joy on their faces," she said. "It's not surprising. They're young. And they are killers37—assigned killers, legal killers. They're respected for their killing, admired for it. What can you expect from them? They're only fallible men. And men can learn to enjoy killing. That's an old story, Neville. You know that."
He looked up at her. Her smile was the tight, forced smile of a woman who was trying to forgo38 being a woman in favor of her dedication39.
"Robert Neville," she said, "the last of the old race."
"Last?" he muttered, feeling the heavy sinking of utter loneliness in him.
"As far as we know," she said casually42. "You're quite unique, you know. When you're gone, there won't be anyone else like you within our particular society."
He looked toward the window.
"Those are ... people ... outside," he said.
She nodded. "They're waiting." "For my death?"
"For your execution," she said.
He felt himself tighten41 as he looked up at her.
"You'd better hurry," he said, without fear, with a sudden defiance43 in his hoarse44 voice.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Then something seemed to give in her. Her face grew blank.
"I knew it," she said softly. "I knew you wouldn't be afraid."
Impulsively45 she put her hand over his.
"When I first heard that they were ordered to your house, I was going to go there and warn you. But then I knew that if you were still there, nothing would make you go. Then I was going to try to help you escape after they brought you in. But they told me you'd been shot and I knew that escape was impossible too."
A smile flitted over her lips.
"I'm glad you're not afraid," she said. "You're very brave." Her voice grew soft. "Robert."
They were silent and he felt her hand tighten on his.
"How is it you can ... come in here?" he asked then.
"I'm a ranking officer in the new society," she said.
His hand stirred under hers.
"Don't ... let it get . . ." He coughed up blood. "Don't let it get ... too brutal46. Too heartless."
"What can I—" she started, then stopped. She smiled at him. "I'll try," she said.
He couldn't go on. The pain was getting worse. It twisted and turned like a clutching animal in his body.
Ruth leaned over him.
"Robert," she said, "listen to me. They mean to execute you. Even though you're wounded. They have to. The people have been out there all night, waiting. They're terrified of you, Robert, they hate you. And they want your life."
She reached up quickly and unbuttoned her blouse. Reaching under her brassiere, she took out a tiny packet and pressed it into his right palm.
"It's all I can do, Robert," she whispered, "to make it easier. I warned you, I told you to go." Her voice broke a little. "You just can't fight so many, Robert."
"I know." The words were gagging sounds in his throat.
For a moment she stood over his bed, a look of natural compassion47 on her face. It was all a pose, he thought, her coming in and being so official. She was afraid to be herself. I can understand that.
Ruth bent48 over him and her cool lips pressed on his.
"You'll be with her soon," she murmured hastily.
Then she straightened up, her lips pressed together tightly. She buttoned the two top buttons of her blouse. A moment longer she looked down at him. Then her eyes glanced at his right hand.
"Take them soon," she murmured, and turned away quickly.
He heard her footsteps moving across the floor. Then the door was shutting and he heard the sound of it being locked. He closed his eyes and felt warm tears pushing out from beneath the lids. Good-bye, Ruth.
Good-bye, everything.
Then, suddenly, he drew in a quick breath. Bracing49 himself, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He refused to let himself collapse50 at the burning pain that exploded in his chest. Teeth grating together, he stood up on his feet. For a moment he almost fell, but, catching51 his balance, he stumbled across the floor on vibrating legs he could hardly feel.
He fell against the window and looked out.
The street was filled with people. They milled and stirred in the gray light of morning, the sound of their talking like the buzzing of a million insects.
He looked out over the people, his left hand gripping the bars with bloodless fingers, his eyes fever-lit.
Then someone saw him.
For a moment there was an increased babbling52 of voices, a few startled cries.
Then sudden silence, as though a heavy blanket had fallen over their heads. They all stood looking up at him with their white faces. He stared back. And suddenly he thought, I'm the abnormal one now. Normalcy was a majority concept, the standard of many and not the standard of just one man.
Abruptly53 that realization54 joined with what he saw on their faces—awe, fear, shrinking horror—and he knew that they were afraid of him. To them he was some terrible scourge55 they had never seen, a scourge even worse than the disease they had come to live with. He was an invisible specter who had left for evidence of his existence the bloodless bodies of their loved ones. And he understood what they felt and did not hate them. His right hand tightened on the tiny envelope of pills. So long as the end did not come with violence, so long as it did not have to be a butchery before their eyes.
Robert Neville looked out over the new people of the earth. He knew he did not belong to them; he knew that, like the vampires56, he was anathema57 and black terror to be destroyed. And, abruptly, the concept came, amusing to him even in his pain.
A coughing chuckle58 filled his throat. He turned and leaned against the wall while he swallowed the pills. Full circle, he thought while the final lethargy crept into his limbs. Full circle. A new terror born in death, a new superstition59 entering the unassailable fortress60 of forever.
I am legend.
收听单词发音 |
1
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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cubicle
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| n.大房间中隔出的小室 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tightrope
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| n.绷紧的绳索或钢丝 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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gritted
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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gangsters
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| 匪徒，歹徒( gangster的名词复数 ) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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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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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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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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killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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forgo
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| v.放弃，抛弃 | |
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dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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41
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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42
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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44
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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45
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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47
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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48
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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49
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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50
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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51
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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52
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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53
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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54
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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55
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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56
vampires
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| n.吸血鬼( vampire的名词复数 )；吸血蝠；高利贷者；（舞台上的）活板门 | |
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57
anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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58
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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59
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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