When a gun goes off on a cold winter's day, the retort echoes through the forest for miles around and every living creature stops to look and listen. The first gunshot of hunting season startled and put the faeries on alert. Scouts1 fanned out along the ridge2, searching for orange or camouflage3 vests or hats, listening for the trudge4 of men seeking out deer, pheasant, turkey, grouse5, rabbit, fox, or black bear. Sometimes the hunters brought their dogs, dumb and beautiful— mottled pointers, feathery setters, blueticks, black-and-tans, retrievers. The dogs could be more dangerous than their owners. Unless we masked our scent6 along every path, the dogs could smell us out.
My great fear in setting out alone is the chance of meeting up with a stray or worse. Years later, when we were fewer in number, a pack of hunting dogs picked up our trail and surprised us at rest in a shady grove7. They raced our way, a stream of flashing sharp teeth and howling menace, and we moved as one by instinct, scrambling8 toward the safety of a bramble thicket9. With each stride we took in retreat, the dogs gained two in pursuit. They were an army with knives drawn10, hollering a primal11 battle cry, and we escaped only by sacrificing our bare skin to the tangle12 of thorns. We were lucky when they stopped at the edge of the thicket, confused and whimpering.
But on this winter day, the dogs were far away. All we heard was the yelp13, the random14 shot, the muttered curse, or the kill. I once saw a duck fall out of the sky, instantly changing from a stretched-forward silhouette15 to a pinwheel of feathers that landed with a clap on the water. Poaching had disappeared from these hills and valleys by the middle of the decade, so we had to worry only during the hunting season, which corresponded roughly with the late fall and winter holidays. The brightness of trees gave way to bareness, then to bitter cold, and we began to listen for humans in the glens and the crack of the gun. Two or three of us went out while the other faeries hunkered down, buried beneath blankets under a coat of fallen leaves, or in holes, or hid in hollow trees. We did our best to become unseeable, as if we did not exist. The early arrival of night or dripping-wet days were our only respite16 from the tense boredom17 of hiding. The odor of our constant fear mingled18 with the rot of November.
Back to back to back in a triangle, Igel, Smaolach, and I sat watch upon the ridge, the morning sun buffered19 by low dense20 clouds, the air pregnant with snow. Ordinarily, Igel wanted nothing to do with me, not since that day years before when I nearly betrayed the clan21 by trying to speak with the man. Two sets of footsteps approached from the south; one heavy, crashing through the brush, the other soft. The humans stepped into a meadow. An air of impatience22 hung about the man, and the boy, about seven or eight years old, looked anxious to please. The father carried his shotgun, ready to fire. The son's gun was broken apart and awkward to carry as he struggled out of the brush. They wore matching plaid jackets and billed caps with the earflaps down against the chill. We leaned forward to listen to their conversation in the stillness. With practice and concentration over the years, I was now able to decipher their speech.
"I'm cold," said the boy.
"It'll toughen you up. Besides, we haven't found what we came for."
"We haven't even seen one all day."
"They're out here, Osk."
"I've only seen them in pictures."
"When you see the real thing," said the man, "aim for the little bugger's heart." He motioned for the boy to follow, and they headed east into the shadows.
"Let's go," said Igel, and we began to trail them, keeping ourselves hidden at a distance. When they paused, we paused, and at our second such stop, I tugged23 on Smaolach's sleeve.
"What are we doing?"
"Igel thinks he may have found one."
We moved on, resting again when the quarry24 paused.
"One what?" I asked.
"A child."
They led us on a circuitous25 route along empty pathways. No prey26 appeared, they never fired their weapons, and they hadn't said more than a few words. Over lunch, they maintained an uncomfortable silence, and I could not understand how these two were of any interest at all. The sullen27 pair headed back to a green pickup28 parked on the slope beside the road, and the boy stepped into the passenger's side. As he crossed the front of the truck, the father muttered, "That was a fucking mistake." Igel scrutinized29 the pair with savage30 intensity31, and as the truck pulled away, he read out the license32 plate numbers, committing them to memory. Smaolach and I lagged behind Igel as he marched home, intent on his private ruminations.
"Why did we track them all day? What do you mean, he found a child?"
"Them clouds are ready to burst." Smaolach studied the darkening sky.
"You can smell it coming."
"What is he going to do?" I yelled. Up ahead, Igel stopped in his tracks and waited for us to catch up.
"How long have you been with us, Aniday?" Igel asked. "What does your stone calendar say?"
Ever since that day when they turned on me, I had been wary33 of Igel, and had learned to be deferential34. "I don't know. December? November? 1966?"
He rolled his eyes, bit his lip, and continued. "I've been looking and waiting since you arrived, and it's my turn now and that boy may be the one. When you and Speck35 are in town with your books, keep an eye out for that green truck. If you see it again, or the boy or the father, let me know. If you have the courage to follow them and find where he lives or goes to school, or where the father works, or if he has a mother, sister, brother, friend, you let me know."
"Of course I will, Igel. I'd be happy to spy on him at the library."
He bade Smaolach to walk with him, and I brought up the rear. A bitterly freezing rain began to fall, and I ran the last few moments to escape from being drenched36. The warren excavated37 by Igel and Luchóg over the years proved an ideal shelter on such blustery nights, although most of the time claustrophobia forced me out. The cold and damp drove me into the tunnels, and with my palms I felt along in the darkness until I sensed the presence of others.
"Who's there?" I called out. No answer, only a furtive38 muffled39 sound.
I called out again.
"Go away, Aniday." It was Béka.
"You go away, you old fart. I've just come in from the rain."
"Go back the way you came. This hole is occupied."
I tried to reason with him. "Let me pass by, and I'll sleep somewhere else."
A girl screamed and so did he. "She bit my damn finger."
"Who is there with you?"
Speck shouted out in the darkness. "Just go, Aniday. I'll follow you out."
"Vermin." Béka cursed and let her go. I reached out in the darkness and she found my hand. We crawled back to the surface. Stinging rain gathered in her hair and flattened40 it against her skull41. A thin layer of ice caked over her head like a helmet, and the drops collected on our eyelashes and streamed down our faces. We stood still, unable to say anything to each other. She looked as if she wished to explain or apologize, but her lips trembled and her teeth knocked and chattered42. Grabbing my hand again, she led me to the shelter of another tunnel. We crawled in and crouched43 near to the surface, out of the rain, yet not in the cold earth. I could not stand the silence, so I yammered on about the father and son we had followed and Igel's instructions. Speck took it all in without speaking a word.
"Squeeze out that water from your hair," she said. "It will dry faster that way and stop dripping down your nose."
"What does he mean, he found a child?"
"I'm cold," she said, "and tired and sick and sore. Can't we talk about this in the morning, Aniday?"
"What did he mean that he's been waiting since I got here?"
"He's next. He's going to change places with that boy." She pulled off her coat. Even in the darkness, her white sweater threw back enough light to allow me a better sense of her presence.
"I don't understand why he gets to go."
She laughed at my naiveté. "This is a hierarchy45. Oldest to youngest. Igel makes all the decisions because he has seniority, and he gets to go next."
"How old is he?"
She calculated in her mind. "I don't know. He's probably been here about one hundred years."
"You're kidding." The number nearly fried my brain. "How old are all the others? How old are you?"
"Will you please let me sleep? We can figure this out in the morning. Now, come here and warm me up."
In the morning, Speck and I talked at length about the history of the faeries, and I wrote it all down, but those papers, like many others, are in ashes now. The best I can do is re-create from memory what we recorded that day, which was far from truly accurate to begin with, since Speck herself did not know the full story and could merely summarize or speculate. Still, I wish I had my notes, for the conversation was years ago, and my whole life seems to be nothing more than reconstructing memories.
That my good friends could one day leave profoundly saddened me. The cast of characters, in fact, constantly revolves46, but so slowly over time that they seemed permanent players. Igel was the oldest, followed by Béka, Blomma, Kivi, and the twins, Ragno and Zanzara, who came late in the nineteenth century. Onions arrived in the auspicious47 year of 1900. Smaolach and Luchóg were the sons of two families who had emigrated from the same village in Ireland in the first decades of the twentieth century, and Chavisory was a French Canadian whose parents had died in the great influenza48 epidemic49 of 1918. Besides myself, Speck was the baby, having been stolen as a four-year-old in the second year of the Great Depression.
"I was a lot younger than most of the others when I made the change," she said. "Except for the twins. From the beginning, there have been twins in this line, and they're impossible to take unless very young. And we never take babies. Too much trouble."
Vague memories stirred the sauce of my thoughts. Where had I known twins before?
"Luchóg named me, because I was a speck of a girl when they snatched me. Everyone else is ahead of me in line for the change, except you. You're the bottom of the totem pole."
"And Igel has been waiting for his turn for a whole century?"
"He's seen a dozen make the change and had to bide50 his time. Now we're all in line behind him." The mention of such a wait caused her to shut her eyes. I leaned against a tree trunk, feeling helpless for her and hopeless for myself. Escape was not a constant thought, but occasionally I allowed myself to dream of leaving the group and rejoining my family. Dejected, Speck hung her head, dark hair covering her eyes, her lips parted, drawing in air as if each breath was a chore.
"So what do we do now?" I asked.
She looked up. "Help Igel."
I noticed that her once-white sweater was fraying51 at the collar and the sleeves, and I resolved to look for a replacement52 as we searched for the boy.
In glowing red letters, the sign out front read OSCAR'S BAR, and alone in the lot behind the building, Béka found the hunter's green pickup. He and Onions jumped into its bed and rode, undetected by the drunken driver, to the man's house out in the country. She laughed when she read the name off the mailbox: LOVE'S. They memorized the location, sharing the good news with us later that night. With the information in hand, Igel set in motion our reconnaissance and assigned shifts of teams to watch the boy and his family to learn their movements and habits. He instructed us to pay close attention to the boy's character and demeanor53.
"I want a detailed54 account of his life. Does he have any brothers or sisters? Uncles or aunts? Grammy and Gramps? Does he have any friends? What sort of games does he play? Any hobbies or spare-time activities? Find all there is to know about his relationship with his parents. How do they treat him? Is he inclined to daydream55? To wander about by himself in the woods?"
I transcribed56 his words in McInnes's composition book and wondered how we might undertake such a task. Igel walked over and stood in front of me, glaring down at my scribbling57.
"You," he said, "will be our scrivener. I want a complete record. You are to be his biographer. Everyone else can tell Aniday what they learn. Don't come pestering58 me with every detail. When the story is complete, you can tell it. This will be the most perfect change in our history. Find me a new life."
Before I saw the child again, I felt as if I knew him as well as myself. Chavisory, for instance, found out that he was named after his uncle Oscar. Smaolach could do a passing imitation of his voice, and Kivi had applied59 an unknown calculus60 to plot out his height, weight, and general body type. After years of mere44 self-preservation and maintenance, the faeries' industry and devotion to the task bordered on the fanatic61.
I was assigned to watch for him at the library, but I rarely bothered to look for him there, and it is by chance that he appeared at all. His mother had dragged the poor child along and left him alone on the small playground out front. From my hiding place, direct observation was impossible, so I watched his reflection in the plate-glass windows across the street, which distorted his appearance, making him smaller and somehow transparent62.
The dark-haired, beetle-browed boy sang quietly to himself as he climbed up and swooshed off the slide over and over again. His nose ran, and every time he mounted the stairs he'd wipe the snot with the back of his hand, then wipe his hand on his greasy63 corduroys. When he tired of the sliding board, he sauntered over to the swings to pump and pull himself into the clear blue sky. His blank expression never changed, and the song under his breath never faltered64. I watched him for nearly an hour, and in that whole time, he expressed absolutely no emotion, content to play alone until his mother came. A thin smile creased65 his face when she arrived, and without a word he jumped down from the swing, grabbed her hand, and off they went. Their behavior and interaction baffled me. Parents and children take such everyday moments for granted, as if there is an endless supply.
Had my parents forgotten me completely? The man who cried after me that long-ago morning surely had been my father, and I resolved to go see him, my mother, and my baby sisters one day soon. Perhaps after we had abducted66 the poor misfortunate bastard67 from the playground. The swing stopped, and the early June day faded. A swallow appeared, chasing insects in the air above the iron bars, and all of my desires were tipped by the wings as the bird scissored away into the milky68 dusk. I felt sorry for the boy, although I knew that changing places was the natural order. His capture would mean Igel's release and one more step toward the head of the line for me.
The child was an easy mark; his parents would barely be aware of the change. He had few friends, caused neither excitement nor alarm as a student, and was so ordinary as to be almost invisible. Ragno and Zanzara, who had taken residence in the family's attic69 for months, reported that aside from peas and carrots, the boy ate anything, preferred chocolate milk with his meals, slept on rubber sheets, and spent a lot of time in the living room watching a small box that let one know when to laugh and how to schedule bedtime. Our boy was a good sleeper70, too, up to twelve hours at a stretch on weekends. Kivi and Blomma reported that he liked to play outdoors in a sandbox by the house, where he had set up an elaborate tableau71 of small plastic dolls in blue and gray. The doleful fellow seemed satisfied to go on living life as it is. I envied him.
No matter how we pestered72 him, Igel refused to hear our report. We had been spying on Oscar for over a year, and everyone was ready for the change. I was running out of paper in McInnes's book, and one more dispatch from the field would not only be a waste of time, but a waste of precious paper as well. Haughty74, distracted, and burdened by the responsibilities of leadership Igel kept to himself, as if he both yearned75 for and flinched76 at the possibility of freedom. His normally stoic77 disposition78 changed to a general peevishness79. Kivi came to dinner once with a red welt under her eye.
"What happened to you?"
"That son of a bitch. Igel hit me, and all I asked him was if he was ready. He thought I meant ready to go, but all I meant was for dinner."
No one knew what to say to her.
"I can't wait till he leaves. I am sick and tired of the old crab80. Maybe the new boy will be nice."
I stood up from the meal and stormed through the camp, looking for Igel, resolving to confront him, but he was not to be found in his usual places. I poked81 my head into the entranceway of one of his tunnels and called out, but no answer. Perhaps he had gone out to spy on the boy. Nobody knew where he might be found, so I spent several hours walking in circles, until chancing upon him alone down by the river, where he was staring at his reflection in the broken surface of water. He looked so alone that I forgot my anger and quietly crouched down beside him.
"Igel? Are you all right?" I addressed the image on the water.
"Do you remember," he asked, "your life before this life?"
"Vaguely. In my dreams, sometimes my father and mother and a sister, or maybe two. And a woman in a red coat. But no, not really."
"I have been gone so long. I'm not sure I know how to go back."
"Speck says there are three choices but only one ending for us all."
"Speck." He spat73 out her name. "She is a foolish child, almost as foolish as you, Aniday."
"You should read our report. It will help you make the change."
"I will be glad to be rid of such fools. Have her come see me in the morning. I don't want to talk to you, Aniday. Have Béka make your report."
He stood up, brushed dirt from the seat of his pants, and walked away. I hoped he would disappear forever.
一个寒冷的冬日，响起一记枪声，回声在森林中传出数公里远，所有的动物纷纷驻足观望、倾听。猎季的第一枪打响了，仙灵们心头一惊，警惕起来。侦察员们沿着山岭分兵搜寻橘红色和迷彩色的背心和帽子，听着他们在林中跋涉，搜猎鹿、野鸡、火鸡、松鸡、野兔、狐狸和黑熊。有时猎人会带狗，那些狗愚蠢而漂亮——斑点指示犬、猎鸟蹲伏犬、布鲁特克犬、黑棕犬、寻猎犬。狗比它们的主人更为可怕。除非我们掩盖自己留在林中路径上的气味，否则它们就会把我们嗅出来。
我最害怕的是，单独出去时会遇上一只迷路狗，或者有更糟的情况发生。几年后，我们人数已减少，有一群猎犬跟踪我们的痕迹而来，当我们在果园的树阴下休息时，它们出其不意地把我们吓了一跳。它们撵着我们，尖利的牙齿闪着光，咆哮着发出恐吓的声音，我们的第一反应是一起逃命，奔向悬钩子灌木丛的安全地带。
我们每逃跑一步，狗就追上两步。它们是刀剑在手的军队，发出古战场上的呐喊，我们在荆棘丛中牺牲了赤裸的皮肤才逃过一劫。它们停在灌木丛外围，迷惑不解地低声叫唤，我们可够幸运的。
然而在那个冬日里，狗还都远在天边。我们只能听见吠声，偶尔一记枪响，嘀咕的咒骂声，或者是猎杀的动静。我有一次看到一只鸭子从天空坠落下来，前一刻还在挣扎着往前飞，后一刻就成了一把飞转的羽毛，“啪”的掉进了水里。那是一九六五或六六年的时候，偷猎已经从山谷中绝迹，因此我们需要担心的只是猎季，时间大概是在晚秋和寒假。灿烂明亮的树林落尽了树叶，接着严寒降临，我们开始在幽谷中倾听人类的声音和枪声。我们会出去两三个人，其余则留守在山洞中或树洞里，身上盖着毯子，上面再压一层落叶。我们努力不被发现，就好像我们根本不存在一样。夜晚早早来临的时候和阴雨连绵的日子，我们就可以从紧张而无聊的躲藏生活中喘口气了。我们长期害怕的气味和十一月的腐败气味混杂在一处。
伊格尔、斯茂拉赫和我，三人背靠背坐在山岭上观望，朝阳被低垂的层云遮挡，空气中孕育着雪意。通常伊格尔不会来理睬我，自从几年前我因为想和那个人说话而差点背叛大家之后，他就不睬我了。
两组脚步声从南边过来，一组沉重地从灌木丛中踏踩而过，另一组落脚轻轻的。
人类踏入了草地。那个男人有种不耐烦的感觉，而那个大约七、八岁的男孩，表现出急切的讨好模样。父亲扛着枪，随时准备开火。儿子的枪裂开了，他从灌木丛中钻出来时，很不得劲地扛着。他们穿相同的花呢格子夹克，戴着鸭舌帽，护耳翻下来保暖。我们往前凑了凑身子，一动不动地听他们的谈话。经过这些年来的练习和集中注意力，现在我已经能够窃听到他们的话了。
“我冷。”男孩说。
“这能让你受锻炼。再说，我们还没有找到要找的东西。”
“我们一整天什么也没看到。”
“它们就在这周围，奥斯卡。”
“我只在图片上见过它们。”
“你看到真家伙，”男人说，“就对准小东西的心脏。”他示意男孩跟上，他们朝东边的背光处去了。
“我们走。”伊格尔说。我们开始跟踪他们，远远地藏好自己。他们停步，我们也停步。我们第二次这样停下来时，我扯了扯斯茂拉赫的袖子。
“我们在干什么? ”
“伊格尔认为他可能会找到一个。”
我们继续前进，目标停下时，我们又止步。
“一个什么? ”我问。
“一个孩子。”
他们领着我们迂回曲折地走在空荡荡的林径上。没有猎物出现，他们没有打响武器，话也只说了几句。午饭时，他们保持着不快的沉默，我没法理解这两位怎么一点兴致都没有。这两个郁闷的人回到停在路边斜坡上的一辆绿色小货车旁，男孩跨进乘客席。他从卡车前面爬过去时，父亲咕哝了一句：“该死的错误。”伊格尔全神贯注地观察着这两个人，卡车开走时，他读出了牌照号码，并牢牢记住。
回家时，斯茂拉赫和我落在后面，伊格尔走在前面，一心思考自己的问题。
“我们为什么要整天跟着他们? 他找到一个孩子，你这是什么意思? ”
“云层快要撑不住了。”斯茂拉赫查看着暗下来的天空，“你能闻到雨快来了。”
“他要干什么? ”我叫道。伊格尔在前头停下脚步，等我们赶上去。
“你和我们在一起多久了，安尼戴? ”伊格尔问道，“你的石头日历怎么说? ”
自从那天他们对付我后，我就提防着伊格尔，而且学会了恭顺，“我不知道。
十二月? 十一月?1966 年? ”
他转着眼珠，咬了咬嘴唇，又说，“自从你来了以后，我就在寻找、等待，现在轮到我了，那个孩子可能就是目标。你和斯帕克去镇上看书时，对那辆绿色卡车留个心眼。如果你又看到它，或看到那个男孩或父亲，就告诉我。如果你有勇气跟着他们，找到他生活、读书的地方，他父亲的工作单位，他是否有母亲、姐妹、兄弟、朋友，你就告诉我。”
“当然我会的，伊格尔。我很高兴在图书馆侦查他。”
他让斯茂拉赫和他同行，我跟在后头。冰冷的寒雨落下来了，最后一刻我奔跑起来，总算没有被淋得湿透。伊格尔和鲁契克这些年来挖掘的防空洞在这样狂风呼啸的夜晚倒是一个理想的去处，虽然大多数时候，我都会因为幽闭恐惧症而待不下去。寒冷和潮湿把我赶进了地道，我两只手在黑暗中摸索着，后来我感觉到还有别人在。
“谁在那里? ”我喊道。没有回答，只有一个鬼鬼祟祟的模糊声音。
我又喊了一声。
“走开，安尼戴。”是贝卡。
“你走开，讨厌鬼。我是来躲雨的。”
“你哪里来的哪里去。这个洞已经有人了。”
我想和他理论，“让我过去，我会去别处睡觉。”
一个女孩尖叫起来，他也叫起来，“该死，她咬我手指。”
“谁和你在一起? ”
斯帕克在黑暗中叫道：“走，安尼戴。我会跟着你出去。”
“可恶。”贝卡咒骂着放她走。我在黑暗里伸出手，她摸到了我的手。我们爬到地面上。她的头发被刺骨的雨浸湿了，紧紧地贴在脑袋上。她头上结了一层薄冰，就像戴了个头盔，水珠凝聚在我们的眼睫毛上，顺着脸颊滑下。我们静静地站着，什么都说不出来。她看起来像是要解释或是道歉，但她的嘴唇颤抖着，牙齿碰得咯咯响。她握着我的手，带我去到另一处地道。我们爬进去，蜷缩在靠近地面的地方，这样既淋不到雨，又碰不到冰冷的泥土。我受不了这样的沉默，就念叨起我们跟踪的那对父子，还有伊格尔的指示。斯帕克只是听着，一言不发。
“把你头发里的水挤干，”她说，“这样会干得快些，水也不会顺着你的鼻子淌。”
“他是什么意思，他找到了一个孩子? ”
“我冷，”她说，“又累又难受还生气。我们能不能到早上再说这个，安尼戴?”
“他说我到了这里之后他一直在等，是什么意思? ”
“他是下一个。他要和那个男孩交换。”她脱下外套。即使在黑暗中，她白套衫上的反光也足以让我看清她在哪里。
“我不明白他为什么要走。”
她笑我天真，“这是等级制度。从年纪最大的排到年纪最小的。
伊格尔发号施令，是因为他是最大的，也是下一个要走的。”
“他多大了? ”
她在心里算了算，“我不知道。他大概在这里待了一百年了。”
“你开玩笑，”这个数字差点把我的脑子给炸了，“其他人多大? 你多大了? ”
“你能让我睡觉吗? 我们早上再算这个问题。好了，过来给我取暖。”
到了早晨，斯帕克和我终于谈到了仙灵的历史，我全部写了下来，但那些纸和其他东西一样，都化为灰烬了。我所能做的只是从记忆中把我当日记录的事重新写下来，开头部分是很不准确了，因为斯帕克自己也不知道事情的始末，只能概括或推想。但我还是希望自己能有一份笔记，因为那次谈话已经过去多年，而我整个生命似乎也不过是重建的记忆而已。
我的好朋友们终有一天会离开，这让我深感悲伤。这群人其实在不停地轮换，但轮换的速度如此缓慢，他们看起来就像是永恒的选手了。伊格尔是最大的，挨下来是贝卡、布鲁玛、齐维以及双胞胎劳格诺和赞扎拉，他们是十九世纪晚期才来的。
奥尼恩斯是在幸运的1900年来的。斯茂拉赫与鲁契克各是两家的孩子，他们的家庭在二十世纪初年时从爱尔兰的一个村庄中迁出。卡维素芮是法裔加拿大人，她的父母在1918年的大流感中丧命。除我之外，斯帕克也很小，她在大萧条的第二年被偷走时才四岁。
“我被交换时，比大多数人都小得多，”她说，“双胞胎除外。起初，序列中有双胞胎，他们只能在很小的时候被偷走。我们又不偷婴儿，那太麻烦了。”
模糊的回忆刺激了我思想的源头。我在哪里认识过双胞胎? “鲁契克给我取了名，因为他们抓住我时，我是个脸上长雀斑的女孩。大家都排在我前面换生，除了你。你是图腾柱的底端。”
“伊格尔等了一个世纪才等到他? ”
“他见识过十二位换生的过程，他得等时间。现在我们都排在他后面。”提到这样的等待，她合上了眼睛。我靠在树干上，为她觉得无助，为自己觉得无望。我并不总想着逃脱，但偶然也会让自己梦想着离开群体，回到自己家中。斯帕克沮丧地垂下脑袋，黑发遮住眼睛，嘴唇张开着，每呼吸一口空气都好像不胜其烦。
“那么我们现在做什么呢? ”我问。
她抬起眼，“帮助伊格尔。”
我注意到，她一度洁白的套衫现在领口和袖口都磨损了，我决心在调查那个男孩的时候，再去找一件来。
前门的招牌上红色闪光的字读作“奥斯卡酒吧”，贝卡发现，建筑物后面的空地上停着一辆车，正是那辆猎人的绿色小货车。他和奥尼恩斯跳进后车厢，没有被醉醺醺的司机发现，一路坐到了那个人的乡下房子。他读出信箱上的姓“拉甫”，就笑了起来。他们记住了地点，当晚回来和我们分享这个好消息。手中掌握了信息，伊格尔就启动了侦查任务，轮流派遣队伍去观察那个男孩及其家人，了解他们的活动和习惯。他指示我们要密切关注男孩的性格举止。
“我要知道他的详细生活。他有没有兄弟姐妹、叔叔阿姨、爷爷奶奶? 他有没有朋友? 他玩什么游戏? 有什么爱好或者业余活动? 了解这些就知道他和他父母的关系。他们对他怎么样? 他是不是喜欢做白日梦? 有没有一个人在林子里散步? ”
我把他的话记录在麦克伊内斯的作文簿上，寻思我们该如何开展这项任务。伊格尔走过来站在我面前，低头看我记录。
“你，”他说，“就是我们的记录员。我要一份完整的记录。你去当他的传记作者。其他每个人都把自己的所见所闻告诉安尼戴。不要每件小事都来烦我。事情写完后，你就讲出来。这将是我们历史上最完美的转折。给我找一个新生活。”
在我再次见到那个孩子之前，我觉得就像熟知自己一般熟知了他。比方说，卡维素芮发现他跟了叔叔奥斯卡的名。斯茂拉赫能短暂地模仿他的嗓音，齐维运用一种不知名的微积分学来探测他的身高、体重和大致体形。多年来，仙灵们只是混日子，如今他们勤奋起来，几近狂热地投入这项工作。
我被分派到图书馆观察他，但我几乎懒得费工夫去那里找他，他也难得出现一次。他母亲把可怜的孩子一起带出来，留他独自在前面的一块小运动场上。从我的藏身处直接观察是不可能的，因此我就看着他在街那头窗玻璃上的影子，他的形象被扭曲了，变得更小，有点透明。
这个黑头发、浓眉毛的孩子悄悄地唱着歌，爬上一架滑梯，滑下来好几次。他流着鼻涕，每次爬滑梯时就用手背擦掉鼻涕，再把手往油光光的灯芯绒裤上一擦。
当他厌倦了滑梯，就走到秋千那里，在明净的蓝天下一下一下地荡着自己。他一直面无表情，而比呼吸声还低的哼歌也总是不变。我观察了他将近一个小时，在那段时间里，他压根没有表达任何情绪，只是满足于自己玩耍，直到他母亲回来。她一来，他的脸上就浮起一个浅笑，一言不发地从秋千上跳下来，拉住她的手，他们就走了。他们的行为和交流把我弄糊涂了。父母和孩子都把这些日常时刻视为理所当然，好像会永无止境一样。
我的父母是否已经完全忘记了我? 在许久之前的清晨在我背后大声喊叫的男人必定是我的父亲，我决定要在近日去见他，见我母亲，还有我襁褓中的妹妹。或许就在我们在运动场上绑架了这个不幸的可怜虫之后。秋千停下了，六月初的白天渐渐暗了下来。一只燕子飞来，追逐着铁杆上方的飞虫。这只鸟儿剪动尾巴融入乳白色的薄暮时，我所有的希冀都因这对翅膀而蠢蠢欲动。我为男孩感到难过，但我也知道交换生活是自然法则。他被抓住就意味着伊格尔被释放，对我而言，也就朝队伍的尽头迈了一步。
这孩子不难办到。他的父母几乎不会注意到他的改变，而他朋友极少，因为他是个不会大惊小怪的学生，普普通通，几乎可以让人视而不见。劳格诺和赞扎拉在那家的阁楼里住了几个月，报告说除了豌豆和胡萝卜，那孩子什么都吃，吃饭时爱喝巧克力牛奶，睡在橡胶席上，他很多时间都在起居室中看一个小盒子，那个盒子叫人知道何时该笑，何时睡觉。我们的孩子也很能睡，周末一口气能睡上十二个小时。齐维和布鲁玛报告说，他喜欢在屋子附近的一个沙池里玩耍，他已经在那里用蓝色和灰色的小塑料娃娃堆起了一个生动的场面。这个寂寞的孩子看来满足于就这样子生活下去。我嫉妒他。
无论我们怎么缠伊格尔，他都拒绝听我们的报告。我们已经侦查了奥斯卡一年，大家都为换生做好了准备。麦克伊内斯的纸已快被我用完，再往外派遣任务，不仅浪费时间，也浪费宝贵的纸张。伊格尔目中无人，心烦意乱，又被领导的责任所累，他把自己封闭了起来，好像既渴望得到自由，又对自由畏首畏尾。他以往的坚忍克制变成了暴躁易怒。一次，齐维来吃饭时，眼睛底下红肿了一块。
“你怎么啦? ”
“那狗娘养的。伊格尔打了我，我只不过问他准备好了没有。他以为我说的是准备好要走，但我指的是准备好吃饭。”
没有人知道该对她说什么才好。
“我等不及他走了。我烦死这只老螃蟹了。或许新来的孩子会好。”
我从餐桌旁站起来，冲出营寨找伊格尔，决定跟他把话说清楚，但他不在他通常待的地方。我把头探入他一条地道的入口，大声呼叫，但没有回音。也许他去侦查那个男孩了。没有人知道他在哪里，我几个小时都在绕圈，后来无意问看到他独自待在河边，盯着自己在水面涟漪上的倒影。他看起来如此孤独，我忘记了愤怒，静静地蹲在他身旁。
“伊格尔，你还好吧? ”我对水里的倒影说。
“你还记得吗? ”他问，“你的前生? ”
“隐约记得。我有时梦见我父母和一个妹妹，有时候是两个姊妹。还有一个穿红衣服的女人。但不是，不是很真切。”
“我已经离开了这么长时间。我不确信自己知道该怎么回去。”
“斯帕克说有三个选择．但我们都只右一个结局．”
“斯帕克，”他啐了口她的名字，“她是个笨孩子，几乎和你一样笨，安尼戴。”
“你应该读我们的报告，那能帮助你换生。”
“我会很高兴摆脱这些蠢蛋。让她早上来见我。安尼戴，我不想和你说话。让贝卡来做你的报告。”
他站起来，拍拍裤子上的泥土，走开了。我希望他就此永远消失。
收听单词发音 |
1
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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trudge
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| v.步履艰难地走；n.跋涉，费力艰难的步行 | |
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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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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primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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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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buffered
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| [医]缓冲的 | |
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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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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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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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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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excavated
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| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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hierarchy
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| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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revolves
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的第三人称单数 )；细想 | |
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auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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influenza
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| n.流行性感冒，流感 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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51
fraying
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| v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的现在分词 ) | |
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52
replacement
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| n.取代，替换，交换；替代品，代用品 | |
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53
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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54
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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56
transcribed
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| （用不同的录音手段）转录( transcribe的过去式和过去分词 )； 改编（乐曲）（以适应他种乐器或声部）； 抄写； 用音标标出（声音） | |
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57
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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pestering
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的现在分词 ) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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calculus
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| n.微积分；结石 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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abducted
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| 劫持，诱拐( abduct的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（肢体等）外展 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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pestered
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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peevishness
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| 脾气不好；爱发牢骚 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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