英文短篇小说欣赏-The Ushuaia Rabbit
The Ushuaia RabbitFernando Sorrentino
Translated by Michele Aynesworth
I just read this in a newspaper: "After long months of futile attempts and
several expeditions, a group of Argentine scientists has succeeded in capturing
an Ushuaia rabbit, thought to be extinct for over a century. The scientists,
headed by Dr. Adri Bertoni, caught the rabbit in one of the many forests that
surround the Patagonian city. . . ."
As I prefer specifics to generalities, and precision to transience, I would
have said "in such and such a forest located in such a spot in relation to the
capital of Tierra del Fuego." But we can't expect blood from a turnip or any
intelligence whatsoever from journalists. Dr. "Adri醤 Bertoni" is yours truly,
and of course they had to misspell my name. My exact name is Andrés Bertoldi,
and I am, in fact, a doctor of natural sciences, specializing in Zoology and
Extinct, or Endangered, Species.
The Ushuaia rabbit is not actually a lagomorph, much less a leporid. It's
not even certain that its habitat is the forests of Tierra del Fuego. Moreover,
not one has ever lived on the Isla de los Estados. The rabbit I caught ?I alone,
with no special equipment or help from anyone ?showed up in the city of Buenos
Aires near the embankment of the San Martín railroad, which runs parallel to
Avenue Juan B. Justo where it crosses Soler Street in the district of
Palermo.
Far from looking for the Ushuaia rabbit, I had other worries and was headed
down the sidewalk of Juan B. Justo, a bit downcast. It was hot, and I had some
unpleasant, not to say worrisome, business to do at the bank on Santa Fe Avenue.
Between the embankment and the sidewalk there is a wire mesh fence supported by
a low wall; on the other side of the fence, I spotted the Ushuaia rabbit.
I recognized it instantly, how could I not? But I was struck by the fact
that it remained so still, for this animal is normally jumpy and restless. I
thought it might be wounded.
Be that as it may, I backed up a few meters, climbed the fence, and lowered
myself catlike to the ground. I advanced stealthily, fearing at each moment that
the Ushuaia rabbit would take fright, and in that case, who could catch it? It
is one of the fastest animals in creation; though the cheetah is swifter in
absolute terms, it is not in relative terms.
The Ushuaia rabbit turned and looked at me. Contrary to my expectations,
however, it did not flee, but kept still, with the sole exception of the silver
tuft of feathers that shook as if to challenge me.
I took off my shirt and waited, stock still and bare-skinned.
"Easy, easy, easy . . ." I kept saying.
When I got close I slowly deployed the shirt as if it were a net, and
suddenly, in one quick swoop, I had it over the rabbit, wrapping it up in a neat
package. Using the sleeves and the shirttail, I tied a strong knot, allowing me
to hold the bundle in my right hand and use my left to negotiate the fence once
more and return to the sidewalk.
I could not, of course, show up at the bank shirtless, much less with the
Ushuaia rabbit. Thus I headed home. I have an eighth-floor apartment on
Nicaragua Street, between Carranza and Bonpland. At a hardware store I picked up
a birdcage of considerable size.
The doorkeeper was washing the sidewalk in front of our building. Seeing me
bare-chested, with a cage in my left hand and a restless white bundle in my
right, he looked at me with more astonishment than disapproval.
As bad luck would have it, a neighbor followed me in from the street and
into the elevator. With her was her little dog, an ugly, disgusting animal. Upon
picking up the smell 杣nnoticed by human beings ?of the Ushuaia rabbit, it
erupted in earsplitting barks. On the eighth floor I was able to rid myself of
that woman and her stentorious nightmare.
I locked the door with my key, prepared the cage, and with infinite care
began unwrapping the shirt, trying not to upset, or worse, to hurt the Ushuaia
rabbit. However, being shut in had angered it, and when I opened the cage door I
couldn't stop the rabbit from hitting my arm with a stinger. I had sufficient
presence of mind not to let the pain induce me to let go, and I finally managed
to maneuver it safely back into the cage.
In the bathroom I washed the wound with soap and water, and, right away,
with medicinal alcohol. It then occurred to me that I ought to head to the
pharmacy for a tetanus shot, which I did without wasting any time.
From the pharmacy I went straight to the bank to conclude the cursed
business that had been postponed because of the Ushuaia rabbit. On the way back
I picked up supplies.
Since it lacks a masticatory apparatus during the day, the most practical
thing was to cut up the lights into little pieces and mix in some milk and
chickpeas; I then stirred it all together with a wooden spoon. After sniffing
the concoction, the Ushuaia rabbit absorbed it with no problem, just very
slowly.
Its process of expansion begins at sunset. I therefore transferred the few
pieces of living room furniture ?two modest armchairs, a loveseat, and an end
table ?to the dining room, pushing them up against the dining table and
chairs.
Before it was too big to get past the door, I made sure it left the cage.
Now free and comfortable, it was able to grow as needed. In this new state, it
completely lost its aggressivity, and now became apathetic and lazy. When I saw
its violet scales pop out ?a sign of sleepiness ?I headed for the bedroom, went
to bed, and called it a day.
The next morning the Ushuaia rabbit had returned to the cage. In view of
this docility, I felt it was unnecessary to shut the door. Let it decide when to
be inside or out of its prison.
The instincts of the Ushuaia rabbit are infallible. Every evening it would
leave the cage and expand like a fairly thick pudding on the living room
floor.
As is well known, its feces are produced at midnight on odd days. If one
collects (in the spirit of play, naturally) these little green metallic
polyhedrons in a sack and shakes them, they make a lovely sound, with a rather
Caribbean rhythm.
To tell the truth, I have little in common with Vanesa Gonlves, my
girlfriend. She is considerably different from me. Instead of admiring the many
positive qualities of the Ushuaia rabbit, she thought best to skin it in order
to have a fur coat made for herself. This can be done at night when the animal
is elongated and the surface of its skin is broad enough that the cartilaginous
ridges are displaced to the edges and don't get in the way of the incision and
cutting. I did not want to help her do this operation. Armed with only
dressmaking scissors, Vanesa relieved the Ushuaia rabbit of all the skin on its
back. In the bathtub, with detergent and running water, a brush and bleach, she
washed off any amber or bile that remained on the skin. Then she dried it with a
towel, folded it, put it in a plastic bag, and very happily took it off to her
house.
It only takes eight to ten hours for the skin to completely regenerate.
Vanesa had visions of a great scheme: each night she could skin the Ushuaia
rabbit and sell its fur. I would not allow it. I did not want to convert a
scientific discovery of such importance into a vulgar commercial enterprise.
However, an ecological society reported the deed, and a paid announcement
came out in the papers accusing "Valeria Gonz醠ez" ?and, by association, me ?of
cruelty to animals.
As I knew would happen, the onset of autumn restored the rabbit's
telepathic language, and although its cultural milieu is limited, we were able
to have agreeable conversations and even to establish a kind of, how shall I
say, code of coexistence.
The rabbit let me know that it was not partial to Vanesa, and I had no
trouble understanding why. I asked my girlfriend not to come to the house any
more.
Perhaps in gratitude, the Ushuaia rabbit perfected a way of expanding less
at night, so that I was able to bring all the furniture back to the living room.
It sleeps on the loveseat and deposits its metallic polyhedrons on the rug. It
never eats to excess, and in this as in everything else, its conduct is measured
and worthy of praise and respect.
The rabbit's delicacy and efficiency reached the extreme of asking me what
would be, for me, its ideal daytime size. I said I would have preferred the size
of a cockroach, but I realized that such a small size put the Ushuaia rabbit in
danger of being stepped on (though not of being killed).
After several attempts, we decided that at night the Ushuaia rabbit would
continue to expand to the size of a very large dog or even a leopard. During the
day, the ideal would be that of a medium-sized cat.
This allows me, when I am watching television, for example, to have the
Ushuaia rabbit on my lap where I can stroke it absentmindedly. We have formed a
solid friendship, and sometimes we need only look at each other for mutual
understanding. Nevertheless, these telepathic faculties that function during the
winter months disappear with the first warm spells.
We are now in the last month of winter. The Ushuaia rabbit is aware that
for the next six months it will not be able to ask me questions or make
suggestions or receive advice or congratulations from me.
Lately it's fallen into a kind of repetitive mania. It tells me, as if I
didn't know, that it is the only surviving Ushuaia rabbit in the world. It knows
it has no way of reproducing, but ?though I have asked many times ?the rabbit
has never said whether it is bothered by this or not.
Moreover, the rabbit continuously asks me ?every day and several times a
day ?whether there is any use for it to go on living like this, alone in the
world, with me yes, but without other creatures of its own kind. There is no way
it can kill itself, and there is no way I could ?and even if there were, I would
never do it ?kill such a sweet, affectionate animal.
And so, as long as we experience the last cold spells of the year, I
continue to converse with the Ushuaia rabbit, stroking it absentmindedly. When
warm weather returns, I shall only be able to stroke it.
页:
[1]