作品原文

冯骥才《珍珠鸟》

真好！朋友送我一对珍珠鸟。放在一个简易的竹条编成的笼子里，笼内还有一卷干草，那是小鸟舒适又温暖的巢。

有人说，这是一种怕人的鸟。

我把它挂在窗前，那儿还有一盆异常茂盛的法国吊兰。我便用吊兰长长的、串生着小绿叶的垂蔓蒙盖在鸟笼上，它们就像躲进深幽的丛林一样安全；从中传出的笛儿般又细又亮的叫声，也就格外轻松自在了。

阳光从窗外射入，透过这里，吊兰那些无数指甲状的小叶，一半成了黑影，一半被照透，如同碧玉；斑斑驳驳，生意葱茏。小鸟的影子就在这中间隐约闪动，看不完整，有时连笼子也看不出，却见它们可爱的鲜红小嘴从绿叶中伸出来。

我很少扒开叶蔓瞧它们，它们便渐渐敢伸出小脑袋瞅瞅我。我们就这样一点点熟悉了。

三个月后，那一团愈发繁茂的绿蔓里边，发出一种尖细又娇嫩的鸣叫。我猜到，是它们，有了雏儿。我呢？决不掀开叶片往里看，连添食加水时也不睁大好奇的眼去惊动它们。过不多久，忽然有一个小脑袋从叶间探出来。更小哟，雏儿！正是这个小家伙。

它小，就能轻易地由疏格的笼子钻出身。瞧，多么像它的母亲：红嘴红脚，灰蓝色的毛，只是后背还没有生出珍珠似的圆圆的白点；它好肥，整个身子好像一个蓬松的球儿。

起先，这小家伙只在笼子四周活动，随后就在屋里飞来飞去，一会儿落在柜顶上，（一会儿神气十足地站在书架上，啄着书背上那些大文豪的名字；）一会儿把灯绳撞得来回摇动，跟着跳到画框上去了。只要大鸟在笼里生气儿地叫一声，它立即飞回笼里去。

我不管它。这样久了，打开窗子，它最多只在窗框上站一会儿，决不飞出去。

渐渐它胆子大了，就落在我书桌上。

它先是离我较远，见我不去伤害它，便一点点挨近，然后蹦到我的杯子上，俯下头来喝茶，再偏过脸瞧瞧我的反应。我只是微微一笑，依旧写东西，它就放开胆子跑到稿纸上，绕着我的笔尖蹦来蹦去；跳动的小红爪子在纸上发出嚓嚓响。

我不动声色地写，默默享受着这小家伙亲近的情意。这样，它完全放心了。索性用那涂了蜡似的、角质的小红嘴，“嗒嗒”啄着我颤动的笔尖。我用手抚一抚它细腻的绒毛，它也不怕，反而友好地啄两下我的手指。

（有一次，它居然跳进我的空茶杯里，隔着透明光亮的玻璃瞅我。它不怕我突然把杯口捂住。是的，我不会。）

白天，它这样淘气地陪伴我；天色入暮，它就在父母的再三呼唤声中，飞向笼子，扭动滚圆的身子，挤开那些绿叶钻进去。

有一天，我伏案写作时，它居然落到我的肩上。我手中的笔不觉停了，生怕惊跑它。呆一会儿，扭头看，这小家伙竟扒在我的肩头睡着了，银灰色的眼睑盖住眸子，小红脚刚好给胸脯上长长的绒毛盖住。我轻轻抬一抬肩，它没醒，睡得好熟！还呷呷嘴，难道在做梦？

我笔尖一动，流泻下一时的感受：

信赖，往往创造出美好的境界。

英文译文

Hawfinches
Feng Jicai

What a fine pair of hawfinches myfriend has given me! I put them in a simple bamboo cage with a bundle of strawto make them a warm and comfortable nest.

Some say this bird fears people.

I hung the cage in the window,where a pot of luxuriant spider plant hid the cage behind small green leaveswhich sprouted from their trailing stems, making the birds feel as peaceful asif they were in the woods. Their flute-like warbling became happy andunrestrained.

The sun shone through the windowso that the small, spear-shaped leaves sparkled like pieces of jade,fascinating and exuberant. The birds hopped hither and thither behind theleaves; neither they nor their nest could be clearly seen, only their scarletbeaks reaching out from amongst the leaves.

I would rarely part the foliage towatch them. But, gradually, they began to stretch out their heads to take alook at me. Bit by bit we became acquainted with each other.

Three months later I heard a sharpyet delicate peep from behind the lush leaves. I guessed they had a nestling. Itried not to look at it or frighten it with my curious eyes when feeding them.A few days later a tiny head appeared between the stems: the chick! So this wasthe little fellow.

It was small enough to stealbetween the bars. How much it resembled its mother: red beak and feet,grey-blue feathers, but as yet without the pearl-like white dots on the back,as plump as a ball of fluff.

To begin with it would only playnear the cage, and then it began flying about the room from the cabinet to thebookshelf — where it boldly pecked at the illustrious names of theintellectuals — sending the light cord swinging from side to side and escapingto the top of the picture frame. Yet as soon as the mother bird gave an angrypeep, it would quickly fly home.

I did not disturb it. Later when Iopened the window it just flew as far as the window sill.

Gradually it gained the confidenceto land on my desk. First it kept its distance from me, then hopped nearer,then stood upon my glass and eventually lowered its head to drink my tea. Whenit turned to look at me, I smiled and continued to write, and it plucked up thecourage to run on to my manuscript and hop around the nib of my pen, makingscratching noises with its little red claws.

I wrote on in silence, quietlyenjoying the little thing's companionship. This put it completely at ease. Itwould even peck my bobbing nib with its waxy red bill. I stroked its sleek downand instead of being afraid, it would give my fingers two friendly pecks.

In the daytime it was mymischievous companion; when the shades of night fell it flew back to the cageas its parents' repeated calls and, with a twist of its dumpy form, squeezed inbetween the green leaves.

One day it landed on my shoulderwhile I was hunched over the desk writing. I automatically halted my pen, forfear of scaring it away. I froze for a moment, and when I turned my head thelittle chap had gone to sleep perched on my shoulder, its eyes liddedsilver-grey and its little red feet covered by the long down on its breast. Igently shrugged my shoulder without waking it. It was sound asleep, its beakstill working. Was it dreaming?

Feeling flowed from my nib at thatinstant:

Trust makes a better world.