(单词翻译:单击)
听力文本
Love of Life, by Jack London - Part Two. The man cursed, threw the empty gun on the ground. He uttered a cry of pain as he started to drag himself to his feet. It was a slow task. When he finally stood on his feet, he needed another minute or two to straighten himself, so that he could stand as a man should stand. He climbed a small hill and looked about. There were no trees, no bushes. There was nothing but grassy gray plants and some gray rocks and gray streams. The sky was gray. There was no sun or promise of sun. He had no idea where north was, and he had forgotten how he had come to this spot the night before. But he was not lost. He knew that. Soon he would come to the land of the little sticks. He felt that it lay to the left somewhere, not far. Possibly it was over the next low hill.
He returned to prepare his pack for traveling. He assured himself of the existence of his three separate portions of matches, although he did not stop to count them. But he did pause, trying to decide what to do about a bag made from moose skin. It was not large. It could be covered by his two hands. But he knew it weighed 15 pounds—as much as all the rest of the pack. This worried him. He finally set it to one side and proceeded to roll the pack. He paused again to gaze at the moose-skin bag. He picked it up quickly with a quick glance around him. It was as if he thought the cruel wasteland was trying to steal it. When he rose to his feet, the bag was included in the pack on his back. He started walking to the left, stopping now and again to eat muskeg berries. His ankle had stiffened, but the pain of it was nothing compared with the pain of his stomach. His hunger was so great he could not keep his mind steady on the course he had to follow to arrive at the land of the little sticks.
The berries did not help his hunger. Their bitter taste only made his tongue and mouth sore. He came to a valley where some birds rose from the rocky places. "Ker-ker-ker" was the sound of their cry. He threw stones at them but could not hit them. He placed his pack on the ground and followed them as a cat advances on a bird. The sharp rocks cut through his trousers until his knees left a trail of blood. But the hurt was lost in the pain of his hunger. He moved his body through the wet plants, becoming wet and cold in the process. But he did not notice this, so great was his desire for food. Always the birds rose before him. Their cry of "Ker-ker-ker" sounded as if they were laughing at him. He cursed them and cried aloud at them with their own cry. Once he came upon one that must have been asleep. He did not see it until it flew up in his face from behind some rocks. He grasped the air as suddenly as the rise of the bird, and there remained in his hand three tail feathers. As he watched its flight he hated it. He felt that it had done him some great wrong. Then he returned to where he had left his pack and lifted it again to his back.
As the day continued, he came into valleys where game was more plentiful. Twenty or more caribou passed by, within easy shooting distance of a gun. He felt a wild desire to run after them, certain that he could catch them. A small black animal came toward him, carrying a bird in its mouth. The man shouted. It was a fearful cry, but the animal, leaping away in fright, did not drop the bird. Late in the afternoon he followed a stream which flowed through some thick grass. He grasped these grasses firmly near the root and pulled up what looked like a vegetable. It was round and white. Eagerly he sank his teeth into it. It was tender on the outside and gave the promise of food. But its inside was hard and stringy, and, like the berries, it had no food value. Nevertheless, he threw off his pack and went among the grasses on his hands and knees, eating the grass like a cow. He was very tired and often wished to rest—to lie down and to sleep. But he was led on, not so much by his desire to find the land of the little sticks as by his hunger.
He looked into every pool of water, searching without success for things to eat. Then, as the night darkened, he discovered a single small fish in one of these pools. He plunged his whole arm in, but the fish escaped his grasp. He reached for it with both hands and stirred the mud at the bottom of the pool. During his excitement he fell in, getting wet as high as his shoulders. Then the water was too cloudy with mud to allow him to see the fish. He was forced to wait until the mud had again settled to the bottom. Then he tried again, until the water was again filled with mud. But he could not wait. He took a tin container from his pack and began to empty the water from the pool. He threw it out wildly at first, and so short a distance that it flowed into the pool again. He worked more carefully, trying to be calm, but his heart was pounding and his hands were trembling. At the end of half an hour the pool was nearly dry. Not a cupful of water remained. And there was no fish. Then he discovered a narrow opening among the stones through which it had escaped into a larger pool—a pool which he could not empty in a night and a day. If he had known of the opening, he could have closed it with a rock before he began and the fish would have been his.
Thus he thought, and he sank down upon the wet earth. At first he cried softly to himself. And then he cried loudly to the uncaring wasteland around him. He built a fire and warmed himself by drinking hot water. Then he built a camp on the rocks as he had done the night before. The last things he did were to be certain that his matches were dry and to wind his watch. The blankets were wet. His ankle pained him. But he knew only that he was hungry. Through his restless sleep he dreamed of feasts and food served in all imaginable manners. When he awakened he was cold and sick. There was no sun. The gray of earth and sky had become deeper. A cold wind was blowing and snow was whitening the hilltops. The air about him grew white with snow as he made a fire and boiled more water. But it was wet snow, half rain. At first it melted as soon as it hit the earth. But it continued falling, covering the ground and destroying his fire.
This was a signal for him to put his pack on his back and struggle forward, he knew not where. He was not concerned with the land of little sticks, nor with Bill and the cache under the upturned boat by the river Dease. He was mad because of hunger. He did not notice the course he followed, except that it led him through the bottoms of the valleys. He felt his way through the wet snow to the watery muskeg berries, and was guided by touch as he pulled up the grass by the roots. But it had no taste and did not satisfy his hunger. He had no fire that night, nor hot water. He pulled his blanket around him to sleep the broken sleep of hunger. The snow became a cold rain. He awakened many times to feel it falling on his upturned face. Day came. It was a gray day with no sun. It had ceased raining. The sharpness of his hunger had departed. There was a dull pain in his stomach, but it did not trouble him so much. He was more in control of himself. And once again he was interested in the land of little sticks and the cache by the river Dease.
He cut the remains of one of his blankets into strips and bound his bleeding feet. He used one of the strips on his swelled ankle and prepared himself for a day of travel. When he was ready to pick up his pack, he paused long before deciding to keep the moose-skin bag, but when he departed, it went with him. The snow had melted under the rain, and only the hilltops showed white. The sun appeared and he succeeded in locating the way he had been traveling. But now he knew that he was lost. Perhaps he had wandered too far to the left. He now turned to the right to return to his true course. Although the hunger pains were not as great as they had been, he realized that he was weak. He was forced to pause for frequent rests. At those times he ate the muskeg berries and grasses. His tongue felt dry and large and it tasted bitter in his mouth. His heart troubled him very much. When he had traveled a few minutes, it would begin pounding. Then it would leap in a series of beats that made him feel faint.
In the middle of the day he found two small fish in a large pool. It was impossible to empty it. But he was calmer now and he managed to catch them. They were no bigger than his little finger, but now he was not particularly hungry. The dull pain in his stomach had been growing duller. It almost seemed that his stomach was asleep. He ate the fish with great care. The eating was an act of pure reason. Although he had no desire to eat, he knew that he must eat to live. In the evening he caught three more small fish, eating two and saving the third for breakfast. The sun had dried the wet plants and he was able to build a fire. He had not traveled more than ten miles that day. The next day, traveling whenever his heart permitted, he went no more than five miles. But his stomach did not give him any pain. It seemed to be sleeping. He was now in a strange country, too, and the caribou were becoming more plentiful. There were wolves also. Their howls could be heard across the land, and once he saw three of them crossing his path.
Another night passed. And in the morning, being more reasonable, he untied the leather string that held the moose-skin bag. From its open mouth poured a yellow stream of gold dust. He divided the gold into two equal parts. One half, wrapped in a piece of a blanket, he hid among a large formation of rocks. The other half he returned to the bag. He also began to use strips of the one remaining blanket for his feet. He still kept his gun, because there were cartridges in that cache by the river Dease. This was a cloudy day, and this day hunger waked in him again. He was very weak. It was no uncommon thing now for him to fall. Once he fell into a bird's nest. There were four tiny birds, a day or so old, no more than a mouthful. He ate them greedily, putting them alive into his mouth and crushing them like eggshells between his teeth. The mother bird flew about him with cries of anger. He used his gun as a club with which to hit her, but she flew beyond his reach. He threw stones at her and by chance, one broke a wing. Then she ran away, dragging the broken wing, with him following her. The little birds had not satisfied his hunger. He jumped along on his painful ankle, throwing stones and screaming loudly at times. At other times, he struggled along silently, picking himself up patiently when he fell, or rubbing his eyes with his hand when faintness threatened to overpower him.
The bird led him across some wet ground in the bottom of the valley. He discovered footprints in the wet grasses. They were not his own. He could see that. They must be Bill's. But he could not stop, because the mother bird was running ahead. He would catch her first. Then he would return and examine the footprints. He tired the mother bird; but he tired himself also. She lay on her side breathing heavily. He lay on his side, a dozen feet away, unable to move toward her. And as he recovered, she recovered. She flew beyond reach as his hungry hand stretched out to catch her. The hunt started again. Night darkened and she escaped. He fell because of weakness, cutting his face. He did not move for a long time; then he rolled on his side. He wound his watch and lay there until morning. It was another gray day. Half of his last blanket had been used for foot-wrappings. He failed to find Bill's trail again. It was not important. His hunger drove him on. He wondered if Bill, too, were lost. By the middle of the day, the weight of his pack became too great. Again he divided the gold, this time merely pouring half of it on the ground. In the afternoon he threw away the rest of it. There remained now only the half of the blanket, the tin container, and the gun.
A hallucination began to trouble him. He felt certain that one cartridge remained. It was in his gun and he had not seen it. However, he knew all the time that the gun was empty. But the hallucination continued. He fought it for hours. Then, he opened his gun eagerly, only to find nothing inside. He struggled ahead for half an hour, when the hallucination arose again. Again he fought it, and still it continued. To give himself relief, he again opened the gun and found it empty. At times his mind wandered even further. But these moments away from reality were brief, because always the pains of hunger forced him to return. Once, as his mind was wandering, he was returned to reality by a sight that almost caused him to faint. Before him stood a horse. A horse! He could not believe his eyes. A thick cloud was in his eyes, flashing with points of light. He rubbed his eyes fiercely to clear his sight. Then he saw before him not a horse, but a great brown bear. The animal was studying him with curiosity.
重点解析
1.compare with 与......相比；和......比较
My English cannot compare with his.
我的英语不及他。
2.throw at 向......扔去；向......投掷
Don't let the little boy loose on the garden; he'll pull up all the flowers.
不要让那个小男孩倒在花园里，他会把花都拔掉的。
3.pull up 拔起；上拉
About three hundred yards farther on there is a turning to the left.
再往前大约300码有一个向左拐的拐角。
4.at first 凝视；注视
At first they all thought I was a loony.
一开始他们都以为我是个疯子。
参考译文
热爱生命，作者杰克·伦敦——第二部分。这个人骂了一句，把那支空枪扔到地上。他一面拖着身体站起来，一面大声地哼哼。他做这件事时很慢。最后，两条腿总算站住了，但又花了一、两分钟左右的工夫才挺起腰，让他能像一个人那样站得笔直。他慢腾腾地登上一个小丘，看了看周围的地形。既没有树木，也没有灌木丛，什么都没有，只看到一望无际的灰色苔藓，有点灰色的岩石和几条灰色的小溪。天空是灰色的。没有太阳，也没有太阳的影子。他不知道哪儿是北方，他已经忘掉了昨天晚上他是怎样走到这里的。不过他并没有迷失方向，他知道的。不久他就会走到那块“小棍子地”。他觉得它就在左面的什么地方，而且不远，可能翻过下一座小山头就到了。
于是他就回到原地，打好包后准备动身。他摸清楚那三包分别放开的火柴还在，不过他没有停下来再数。但他仍然踌躇了一下，盘算着用这个鹿皮做的口袋干什么。袋子并不大，他用两只手就能把它完全盖住。他知道它有十五磅重——相当于包袱里其他东西的总和——这个口袋使他发愁。最后，他把它放在一边，开始卷包袱。他又停下手，盯着那个鹿皮口袋。他匆忙地把它抓到手里，仿佛这片荒原要把它抢走似的；他站起来时，这个口袋仍然包在他背后的包袱里。他转向左面走着，不时停下来吃沼地上的浆果。扭伤的脚腕子已经僵了，但是比起肚子里的痛苦，脚疼就算不了什么。饥饿的疼痛非常剧烈，疼得他不能把思想集中在到“小棍子地”必须走的路线上。
沼地上的浆果并不能减轻这种剧痛，那种苦味反而使他的舌头和口腔热辣辣的。他走到了一个山谷，那儿有许多鸟从岩石地里飞起来。发出“咯儿-咯儿-咯儿”的叫声。他拿石子打它们，但是打不中。他把包袱放在地上，象猫捉麻雀一样地偷偷跟过去。锋利的岩石穿过他的裤子，直到膝盖流出一道血迹。但是在饥饿的痛苦中，这种疼痛也算不了什么。他在潮湿的苔藓上爬着，弄得衣服湿透，身上发冷。可是这些他都没有觉得，因为他想吃东西的念头是如此的强烈。那一群鸟却总在他面前飞起来，它们那种“咯儿-咯儿-咯儿”的叫声简直变成了对他的嘲笑。于是他就咒骂它们，随着它们的叫声对它们大喊大叫。有一次，他爬到了一定是睡着了的一只鸟旁边。他一直没有瞧见，直到它从岩石后面冲着他的脸窜起来，他才发现。他象那只起飞的鸟一样惊慌，抓了一把，只捞到了三根尾巴上的羽毛。他瞅着它飞走时，心里非常恨它，好象它做了什么对不起他的事。随后他回到原地，背起包袱。
时光渐渐消逝，他走进了山谷，这里的野物比较多。二十多头驯鹿走了过去，都呆在猎枪的射程以内。他心里有种发狂似的、想追赶它们的念头，而且相信自己能追上去捉住它们。一只黑狐狸朝他走了过来，嘴里叼着一只鸟。这个人喊了一声，那是一种可怕的喊声，狐狸被吓跑了，但却没有丢下鸟。傍晚时，他顺着一条小河走去，河水流过茂密的草地。他紧紧抓住这些草的根部，像拔起一棵蔬菜那样把它拔出来。这东西又白又圆，他的牙齿咬进去，外皮很嫩，仿佛味道很好。但里面硬硬的，很难嚼，跟浆果一样，完全没有营养。他丢开包袱，爬到草丛里，象牛似的大咬大嚼起来。他非常疲倦，总希望能歇一会——躺下来睡个觉。可是他又不得不继续挣扎前进，不过，这并不一定是因为他急于要赶到“小棍子地”，多半还是饥饿在逼着他。
他在每个小水坑里找能吃的东西，但却什么都没找到。暮色袭来时，他才在一个水坑里发现一条小鱼。他把胳膊伸下水去，但鱼溜开了。于是他用双手去捉，把池底的泥浆全搅浑了。正在紧张的关头，他掉到了坑里，水都淹到了肩膀。现在，水太浑了，看不清鱼在哪儿。他只好等着，等泥浆沉淀下。他又捉了起来，直到水又搅浑了。可是他等不及了，便拿出包裹里的铁罐子，把坑里的水舀出去。起初，他发狂一样地舀着。但因为泼出去的水离坑太近，水又流了回来。过了半小时，坑里的水差不多舀光了，剩下的连一杯也不到了。可是，并没有什么鱼。他这才发现石头里面有一条暗缝，那条鱼已经从那里钻到旁边一个大一点的坑里。这个坑里的水他一天一夜也舀不干。如果他早知道有这个暗缝，他一开始就会把它堵死，那条鱼也就归他所有了。
他这样想着，瘫倒在潮湿的地上。起初，他只是轻轻地哭，过了一会，他就对着把他团团围住的无情荒原嚎啕大哭起来。他升起一蓬火，喝了些热水让自己暖和暖和，还照昨天晚上那样在一块岩石上露宿。最后他检查了一下火柴是不是干燥，并且上好表的发条。毯子很湿，脚腕子疼得在悸动。可是他只有饿的感觉，在不安的睡眠里，他梦见了一次次盛宴和摆在桌上各种各样的食物。醒来时，他又冷又不舒服。天上没有太阳，灰蒙蒙的大地和天空变得愈来愈阴沉。一阵刺骨的寒风刮了起来，初雪铺白了山顶。他周围的空气成了白茫茫一片，这时，他已经升起火，又烧了更多的开水。天上下的一半是雨，一半是雪。起初，一落到地面就融化了，但后来越下越多，盖满了地面，淋熄了火。
这是一个警告，他得背起包袱，一瘸一拐地向前走；至于到哪儿去，他可不知道。他既不关心小棍子地，也不关心比尔和狄斯河边那条翻过来的独木舟下的地窖。他饿疯了，根本不管走的是什么路，只要能走出这个谷底就成。他在湿雪地里摸索着，走到湿漉漉的沼地浆果那儿，接着又根拔着草，一面试探着前进。不过这东西既没有味，又不能把肚子填饱。那天晚上他既没有火，也没有热水，他就钻在毯子里睡觉，而且常常饿醒。这时，雪已经变成了冰冷的雨。他觉得雨落在仰着的脸上，给淋醒了好多次。天亮了，又是灰蒙蒙的一天，没有太阳。雨已经停了。刀绞一样的饥饿感觉也消失了。他觉得胃里隐隐作痛，但并不是特别难受。他的脑子比较清醒了，又一心一意地想着“小棍子地”和狄斯河边的地窖了。
他把剩下的那条毯子扯成一条条的，裹好那双鲜血淋淋的脚。同时把肿胀的脚腕子重新捆紧，为这一天的旅行做好准备。收拾包袱时，他对着那个鹿皮口袋想了很久，但最后还是把它随身带着。雪已经给雨水淋化了，只有山头还是白色的。太阳出来了，他总算能够定出方位来了。不过，他知道现在已经迷了路。他也许走得过分偏左了，现在他则朝右面走，以便走上正确的路程。现在，虽然饿的痛苦已经不再那么敏锐，他却感到了虚弱。他常常不得不停下来休息一会，那些时候，他就嚼着浆果和草。他感觉舌头又大又干，含在嘴里发苦。他的心脏给他添了很多麻烦。他每走几分钟，心里就会猛烈地怦怦地跳一阵，然后变成一种痛苦狂跳，只让他觉得头昏眼花。
中午时分，他在一个大水坑里发现了两条小鱼。把坑里的水舀干是不可能的，但是现在他比较镇静，想法子把它们捞起来。它们只有他的小指头那么长，但是他现在并不觉得特别饿。胃里的隐痛已经愈来愈麻木。他的胃几乎像睡着了似的，他把鱼生吃下去，费劲地咀嚼着。因为吃东西已成了纯粹出于理智的动作，他虽然并不想吃，但是他知道，为了活下去，他必须吃。黄昏时候，他又捉到了三条小鱼，吃掉两条，留下一条作第二天的早饭。太阳已经晒干了苔藓，能够用来生火了。这一天，他走了不到十里路。第二天，只要心脏许可，他就往前走，只走了五里地。但是胃里却没有一点不舒服的感觉。它已经睡着了。现在，他到了一个陌生的地带，驯鹿愈来愈多，这还有狼。荒原里常常传出狼嗥的声音，有一次，他还瞧见了三只狼在他前面的路上穿过。
又过了一夜；早晨，因为头脑比较清醒，他就解开系着那鹿皮口袋的皮绳，从袋口倒出一股黄澄澄的金沙。他把这些金子分成两等份，一半裹在毯子里，藏在一大堆岩石上，把另外那半仍旧装到口袋里。同时，他又从剩下的那条毯子上撕下几条，用来裹脚。他仍然拿着他的枪，因为狄斯河边的地窖里有子弹。这是一个多云的日子，他又有了饿的感觉。他的身体非常虚弱，摔倒已经不是稀罕事了。有一次，他正好摔到一个鸟窝里。那里有四只刚孵出来的小鸟，出生才一天光景，一口就能给吞下去；他狼吞虎咽，把它们活活塞到嘴里，象嚼蛋壳似地吃起来。雌鸟大吵大叫地在他周围扑来扑去，他把枪当作棍子来打它，可是它闪开了。他投石子打它，碰巧打伤了它一个翅膀。雌鸟拍击着受伤的翅膀逃开了，他就在后面追赶。那几只小鸟只是吊起了他的胃口，他拖着那只受伤的脚腕子，时而对它扔石子，时而粗声吆喝有时候，他只是一瘸一拐，不声不响地追着，摔倒了就耐心地爬起来，或者在头晕得支持不住的时候用手揉揉眼睛。
这么一追，竟然穿过了谷底的沼地，发现了潮湿苔癣上的一些脚印。这不是他自己的脚印，他看得出来，一定是比尔的。不过他不能停下，因为雌鸟正在向前跑。他得先把它捉住，然后再回来察看脚印。雌鸟被追得精疲力尽；可是他自己也累坏了。它歪着身子倒在地上喘个不停，他也瘫倒在地上，只隔着十来尺，却没有力气爬过去。等他恢复过来后，它也缓过来了。他的饿手才伸过去，它就扑着翅膀，逃到了他抓不到的地方。这场追赶又开始了。天黑了，它终于逃掉了。他浑身软弱无力地栽倒在地，划破了脸，包袱压在背上。他一动不动地待了好久，后来才翻过身，上好表，一直在那儿躺到早晨。又是一个灰蒙蒙的日子。他剩下的那半条毯子已经有一半做了包脚布。他没能再找到比尔的踪迹。可是没有关系，饥饿感逼得他太厉害了。他又寻思是不是比尔也迷了路。走到中午时，累赘的包袱压得他受不了。于是他重新把金子分开，但这次只把其中的一半倒在地上。到了下午，他把剩下的那一点也扔掉了。现在，他只有半条毯子、那个铁罐和那支枪。
幻觉开始折磨他，他觉得有十足的把握，还剩下一粒子弹。它就在枪膛里，而他却没有想起。可是，他一直都知道枪膛里是空的。但这种幻觉总是萦回不散。他斗争了几个钟头，后来他急切地打开枪，结果发现枪膛里什么也没有。经过半个钟头的跋涉之后，这种幻觉又出现了。他于是又跟它斗争，而它依然缠住他不放。直到为了摆脱它，他又打开枪膛打消自己的念头。有时候，他越想越远。但是这类脱离现实的时刻大都维持不了多久，因为饥饿的痛苦总会把他刺醒。有一次，正在这样瞎想时，他忽然猛地惊醒过来，看到一个几乎叫他晕倒的东西。在他面前站着一匹马。一匹马！他简直不能相信自己的眼睛。他觉得眼前一片漆黑，霎时间金星乱迸。他狠狠地揉着眼睛，让自己瞧得清楚些。原来站在他面前的并不是马，而是一头大棕熊。这个畜生正在用一种好奇眼光仔细打量他。
