有声双语经典奇幻森林/(英国)鲁德亚德.吉卜林

第1章 毛克利的兄弟们 黑夜被蝙蝠芒恩放出， 又被老鹰齐尔带回家中。 牛群啊，被关进了牛棚和小屋。 躁起来啊闹起来！ 不到天亮绝不放松！ 趁此时此刻，显出神通。 张牙舞爪吧，守卫尊荣！ 听见了吗？欢呼阵阵—— 狩猎成功！ 遵守丛林法则的兽众！ ——丛林小夜曲 这是西奥尼山上一个温暖的夜晚。七点钟的时候，狼爸爸醒了，他已经睡了整整一天。他挠挠自己，打了个哈欠，然后伸直爪子甩了甩，想赶走爪尖里的困意。 四只小狼崽躺在那儿，边打滚边叫唤。狼妈妈陪孩子们一起躺着，不时用她灰色的大鼻子去蹭蹭他们。月光洒了下来，照进这一大家子居住的洞穴门口。 “嗷呜！”狼爸爸开口道，“又到了打猎的时间！”说着他就要跳下山去。这时，一个拖着毛尾巴的小身影出现在洞口，嘀咕道：“狼老大，祝你好运呀！哦，也祝你尊贵的孩子们好运！愿他们都能长出一口尖锐锋利的白牙。希望他们千万别忘了，世上还有饿着肚子没东西吃的动物们哪！” 说话的是塔比克。他是一只豺狗，一个以捡剩饭剩菜为生的家伙。塔比克是个惹祸精，成天搬弄是非，所以印度的狼群很是看不起他。不过大家也怕他，因为他太容易发疯了，丛林里没有任何一种动物能赶得上他。他一发起疯来就忘了形，根本不记得自己曾经害怕过所有动物，无所顾忌地在丛林里乱窜，见一个咬一个。 小个子塔比克疯起来的时候，连老虎都避之不及，只能跑得远远的躲起来。野兽们*丢脸的事情就是染上疯病了。这就是我们说的“狂犬病”，他们却有一种专门的叫法——“蒂万泥”，也就是疯病。遇上犯这种病的动物，他们就跑。 “那行，你就进来看看。”狼爸爸不带任何感情地说，“但是家里没吃的。” “对于狼来说是没有啊，”塔比克说，“但是对我这样下贱的豺狗来说，一根干骨头就是顿大餐啦！豺狗算什么？有资格挑三拣四吗？”他一溜儿小跑到了洞底，发现了一根带一点点肉的雄鹿骨头，便心满意足地坐着啃了起来，吃得津津有味。 “多谢这顿大餐。”塔比克舔了舔自己的嘴唇。随后他不怀好意地说：“大块头谢尔可汗要换地儿打猎啦。下个月他会来这边的山头打猎。这可是他告诉我的。” 谢尔可汗是一只老虎，住在二十英里外的维恩贡嘎河边。 “他没这个权利！”狼爸爸生气地说，“根据‘丛林法则’，不预先通知就没有权利换地儿打猎！他会吓坏方圆十英里内的所有猎物的。我*近每天要打双倍的猎物才够呢。” “谢尔可汗打一出生就瘸了一条腿，所以他打猎的时候才认准了耕牛。现在维恩贡嘎河的村民们都对他恼羞成怒了，他就跑这儿来招惹我们的村民。不过事实上，我们还是要感激谢尔可汗的。”狼妈妈平静地说道。 “那么需要我向他转达你们的谢意吗？”塔比克说。 “滚出去！”狼爸爸厉声说，“滚出去跟你主子一起打猎去。” “我走就是了。”塔比克平心静气地说。 狼爸爸听见下面通往一条小河的山谷中一阵喧闹。一只老虎打猎时一无所获，发出了怒不可遏的牢骚声。 “蠢货！”狼爸爸说，“晚上刚开工就发出这样的噪声。难道他以为我们这儿的雄鹿跟维恩贡嘎河边肥肥的犍牛一个德性？” “他今晚的目标不是雄鹿，也不是犍牛。”狼妈妈说，“是人类！” “吃人？”狼爸爸说，露出了满口白牙，“难道甲虫和青蛙还不够他吃的？” CHAPTER 1 Mowgli’s Brothers Now Chil the Kite brings home the night That Mang the Bat sets free— The herds are shut in barn and hut, For loosed till dawn are we. This is the hour of pride and power, Talon and tush and claw. Oh, hear the call! Good hunting, all That keep the Jungle Law! —Night Song in the Jungle It was seven o’clock on a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills. Father Wolf woke up from his day’s rest, scratched himself, and yawned. He spread out his paws to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big, gray nose across her four tumbling, squealing cubs. The moon shone into the mouth of the cave where they all lived. “Augrh!” said Father Wolf. “It is time to hunt again.” He was going to spring downhill when a little shadow with a bushy tail crossed the threshold. It whined, “Good luck go with you, O Chief of the Wolves. Good luck and strong white teeth go with noble children. May they never forget the hungry in this world.” It was the Jackal, Tabaqui the Dish-licker. The wolves of India despise Tabaqui because he runs about making mischief and telling tales. But they are afraid of him, too. More than anyone else in the jungle, Tabaqui is apt to go mad. Then he forgets that he is ever afraid of anyone and runs through the forest biting everything in his way. Even the tiger runs and hides when little Tabaqui goes mad. Madness is the most disgraceful thing that can overtake a wild creature. We call it rabies, but they call it dewanee—the madness—and run. “Enter and look, then,” said Father Wolf stiffly. “But there is no food here.” “For a wolf, no,” said Tabaqui. “But for myself a dry bone is a good feast. Who are the Gidur-log—the Jackal People—to pick and choose?” He scuttled to the back of the cave. He found the bone of a buck with some meat on it and sat cracking the end merrily. “All thanks for this good meal,” he said, licking his lips. Then he said spitefully, “Shere Khan, the Big One, has shifted his hunting grounds. He has told me that he will hunt among these hills for the next moon.” Shere Khan was the tiger who lived near the Waingunga River, twenty miles away. “He has no right!” Father Wolf began angrily. “By the Law of the Jungle he has no right to change without warning. He will frighten every head of game within ten miles. And I have to kill for two these days.” Mother Wolf said quietly, “He has been lame in one foot from his birth. That is why he has only killed cattle. Now the villagers of the Waingunga are angry with him and he has come here to make our villagers angry. Indeed, we are very grateful to Shere Khan!” “Shall I tell him of your gratitude?” said Tabaqui. “Out!” snapped Father Wolf. “Out and hunt with your master.” “I go,” said Tabaqui quietly. Below in the valley that ran down to a little river, Father Wolf heard a noise. It was the snarly, singsong whine of a tiger who has caught nothing.