the hunger games-饥饿游戏(英文版)-第9部分

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e　white　petals。　I　knelt　down　in　the　water；　my　fingers　digging　into　the　soft　mud；　and　I　pulled　up　handfuls　of　the　roots。　Small；　bluish　tubers　that　donˇt　look　like　much　but　boiled　or　baked　are　as　good　as　any　potato。　¨Katniss；〃　I　said　aloud。　Itˇs　the　plant　I　was　named　for。　And　I　heard　my　fatherˇs　voice　joking；　¨As　long　as　you　can　find　yourself；　youˇll　never　starve。〃　I　spent　hours　stirring　up　the　pond　bed　with　my　toes　and　a　stick；　gathering　the　tubers　that　floated　to　the　top。　That　night；　we　feasted　on　fish　and　katniss　roots　until　we　were　all；　for　the　first　time　in　months；　full。
Slowly；　my　mother　returned　to　us。　She　began　to　clean　and　cook　and　preserve　some　of　the　food　I　brought　in　for　winter。　People　traded　us　or　paid　money　for　her　medical　remedies。　One　day；　I　heard　her　singing。
Prim　was　thrilled　to　have　her　back；　but　I　kept　watching；　waiting　for　her　to　disappear　on　us　again。　I　didnˇt　trust　her。　And　some　small　gnarled　place　inside　me　hated　her　for　her　weakness；　for　her　neglect；　for　the　months　she　had　put　us　through。　Prim　forgave　her；　but　I　had　taken　a　step　back　from　my　mother；　put　up　a　wall　to　protect　myself　from　needing　her；　and　nothing　was　ever　the　same　between　us　again。
Now　I　was　going　to　die　without　that　ever　being　set　right。　I　thought　of　how　I　had　yelled　at　her　today　in　the　Justice　Building。　I　had　told　her　I　loved　her；　too；　though。　So　maybe　it　would　all　balance　out。　For　a　while　I　stand　staring　out　the　train　window；　wishing　I　could　open　it　again；　but　unsure　of　what　would　happen　at　such　high　speed。　In　the　distance；　I　see　the　lights　of　another　district。　7？　10？　I　donˇt　know。　I　think　about　the　people　in　their　houses；　settling　in　for　bed。　I　imagine　my　home；　with　its　shutters　drawn　tight。　What　are　they　doing　now；　my　mother　and　Prim？　Were　they　able　to　eat　supper？　The　fish　stew　and　the　strawberries？　Or　did　it　lay　untouched　on　their　plates？　Did　they　watch　the　recap　of　the　dayˇs　events　on　the　battered　old　TV　that　sits　on　the　table　against　the　wall？　Surely；　there　were　more　tears。　Is　my　mother　holding　up；　being　strong　for　Prim？　Or　has　she　already　started　to　slip　away；　leaving　the　weight　of　the　world　on　my　sisterˇs　fragile　shoulders？
Prim　will　undoubtedly　sleep　with　my　mother　tonight。　The　thought　of　that　scruffy　old　Buttercup　posting　himself　on　the　bed　to　watch　over　Prim　forts　me。　If　she　cries；　he　will　nose　his　way　into　her　arms　and　curl　up　there　until　she　calms　down　and　falls　asleep。　Iˇm　so　glad　I　didnˇt　drown　him。
Imagining　my　home　makes　me　ache　with　loneliness。　This　day　has　been　endless。　Could　Gale　and　I　have　been　eating　blackberries　only　this　morning？　It　seems　like　a　lifetime　ago。　Like　a　long　dream　that　deteriorated　into　a　nightmare。　Maybe；　if　I　go　to　sleep；　I　will　wake　up　back　in　District　12；　where　I　belong。　
Probably　the　drawers　hold　any　number　of　nightgowns；　but　I　just　strip　off　my　shirt　and　pants　and　climb　into　bed　in　my　underwear。　The　sheets　are　made　of　soft；　silky　fabric。　A　thick　fluffy　forter　gives　immediate　warmth。
If　Iˇm　going　to　cry；　now　is　the　time　to　do　it。　By　morning；　Iˇll　be　able　to　wash　the　damage　done　by　the　tears　from　my　face。　But　no　tears　e。　Iˇm　too　tired　or　too　numb　to　cry。　The　only　thing　I　feel　is　a　desire　to　be　somewhere　else。　So　I　let　the　train　rock　me　into　oblivion。
Gray　light　is　leaking　through　the　curtains　when　the　rapping　rouses　me。　I　hear　Effie　Trinketˇs　voice；　calling　me　to　rise。　¨Up；　up；　up！　Itˇs　going　to　be　a　big；　big；　big　day！〃　I　try　and　imagine；　for　a　moment；　what　it　must　be　like　inside　that　womanˇs　head。　What　thoughts　fill　her　waking　hours？　What　dreams　e　to　her　at　night？　I　have　no　idea。
I　put　the　green　outfit　back　on　since　itˇs　not　really　dirty；　just　slightly　crumpled　from　spending　the　night　on　the　floor。　My　fingers　trace　the　circle　around　the　little　gold　mockingjay　and　I　think　of　the　woods；　and　of　my　father；　and　of　my　mother　and　Prim　waking　up；　having　to　get　on　with　things。
I　slept　in　the　elaborate　braided　hair　my　mother　did　for　the　reaping　and　it　doesnˇt　look　too　bad；　so　I　just　leave　it　up。　It　doesnˇt　matter。　We　canˇt　be　far　from　the　Capitol　now。　And　once　we　reach　the　city；　my　stylist　will　dictate　my　look　for　the　opening　ceremonies　tonight　anyway。　I　just　hope　I　get　one　who　doesnˇt　think　nudity　is　the　last　word　in　fashion。
As　I　enter　the　dining　car；　Effie　Trinket　brushes　by　me　with　a　cup　of　black　coffee。　Sheˇs　muttering　obscenities　under　her　breath。　Haymitch；　his　face　puffy　and　red　from　the　previous　dayˇs　indulgences；　is　chuckling。　Peeta　holds　a　roll　and　looks　somewhat　embarrassed。
¨Sit　down！　Sit　down！〃　says　Haymitch；　waving　me　over。　The　moment　I　slide　into　my　chair　Iˇm　served　an　enormous　platter　of　food。　Eggs；　ham；　piles　of　fried　potatoes。　A　tureen　of　fruit　sits　in　ice　to　keep　it　chilled。　The　basket　of　rolls　they　set　before　me　would　keep　my　family　going　for　a　week。　Thereˇs　an　elegant　glass　of　orange　juice。　At　least；　I　think　itˇs　orange　juice。　Iˇve　only　even　tasted　an　orange　once；　at　New　Yearˇs　when　my　father　bought　one　as　a　special　treat。　A　cup　of　coffee。　My　mother　adores　coffee；　which　we　could　almost　never　afford；　but　it　only　tastes　bitter　and　thin　to　me。　A　rich　brown　cup　of　something　Iˇve　never　seen。
¨They　call　it　hot　chocolate；〃　says　Peeta。　¨Itˇs　good。〃
I　take　a　sip　of　the　hot；　sweet；　creamy　liquid　and　a　shudder　runs　through　me。　Even　though　the　rest　of　the　meal　beckons；　I　ignore　it　until　Iˇve　drained　my　cup。　Then　I　stuff　down　every　mouthful　I　can　hold；　which　is　a　substantial　amount；　being　careful　to　not　overdo　it　on　the　richest　stuff。　One　time；　my　mother　told　me　that　I　always　eat　like　Iˇll　never　see　food　again。　And　I　said；　¨I　wonˇt　unless　I　bring　it　home。〃　That　shut　her　up。
When　my　stomach　feels　like　itˇs　about　to　split　open；　I　lean　back　and　take　in　my　breakfast　panions。　Peeta　is　still　eating；　breaking　off　bits　of　roll　and　dipping　them　in　hot　chocolate。　Haymitch　hasnˇt　paid　much　attention　to　his　platter；　but　heˇs　knocking　back　a　glass　of　red　juice　that　he　keeps　thinning　　a　bottle。　Judging　by　the　fumes；　itˇs　some　kind　of　spirit。　I　donˇt　know　Haymitch；　but　Iˇve　seen　him　often　enough　in　the　Hob；　tossing　handfuls　of　money　on　the　counter　of　the　woman　who　sells　white　liquor。　Heˇll　be　incoherent　by　the　time　we　reach　the　Capitol。
I　realize　I　detest　Haymitch。　No　wonder　the　District　12　tributes　never　stand　a　chance。　It　isnˇt　just　that　weˇve　been　underfed　and　lack　training。　Some　of　our　tributes　have　still　been　strong　enough　to　make　a　go　of　it。　But　we　rarely　get　sponsors　and　heˇs　a　big　part　of　the　reason　why。　The　rich　people　who　back　tributes　　either　because　theyˇre　betting　on　them　or　simply　for　the　bragging　rights　of　picking　a　winner　　expect　someone　classier　than　Haymitch　to　deal　with。
¨So；　youˇre　supposed　to　give　us　advice；〃　I　say　to　Haymitch。
¨Hereˇs　some　advice。　Stay　alive；〃　says　Haymitch；　and　then　bursts　out　laughing。　I　exchange　a　look　with　Peeta　before　I　remember　Iˇm　having　nothing　more　to　do　with　him。　Iˇm　surprised　to　see　the　hardness　in　his　eyes。　He　generally　seems　so　mild。
¨Thatˇs　very　funny；〃　says　Peeta。　Suddenly　he　lashes　out　at　the　glass　in　Haymitchˇs　hand。　It　shatters　on　the　floor；　sending　the　bloodred　liquid　running　toward　the　back　of　the　train。　¨Only　not　to　us。〃
Haymitch　considers　this　a　moment；　then　punches　Peeta　in　the　jaw；　knocking　him　from　his　chair。　When　he　turns　back　to　reach　for　the　spirits；　I　drive　my　knife　into　the　table　between　his　hand　and　the　bottle；　barely　missing　his　fingers。　I　brace　myself　to　deflect　his　hit；　but　it　doesnˇt　e。　Instead　he　sits　back　and　squints　at　us。
¨Well；　whatˇs　this？〃　says　Haymitch。　¨Did　I　actually　get　a　pair　of　fighters　this　year？〃
Peeta　rises　from　the　floor　and　scoops　up　a　handful　of　ice　from　under　the　fruit　tureen。　He　starts　to　raise　it　to　the　red　mark　on　his　jaw。
¨No；〃　says　Haymitch；　stopping　him。　¨Let　the　bruise　show。　The　audience　will　think　youˇve　mixed　it　up　with　another　tribute　before　youˇve　even　made　it　to　the　arena。〃
¨Thatˇs　against　the　rules；〃　says　Peeta。
¨Only　if　they　catch　you。　That　bruise　will　say　you　fought；　you　werenˇt　caught；　even　better；〃　says　Haymitch。　He　turns　to　me。　¨Can　you　hit　anything　with　that　knife　besides　a　table？〃
The　bow　and　arrow　is　my　weapon。　But　Iˇve　spent　a　fair　amount　of　time　throwing　knives　as　well。　Sometimes；　if　Iˇve　wounded　an　animal　with　an　arrow；　itˇs　better　to　get　a　knife　into　it；　too；　before　I　approach　it。　I　realize　that　if　I　want　Haymitchˇs　attention；　this　is　my　moment　to　make　an　impression。　I　yank　the　knife　out　of　the　table；　get　a　grip　on　the　blade；　and　then　throw　it　into　the　wall　across　the　room。　I　was　actually　just　hoping　to　get　a　good　solid　stick；　but　it　lodges　in　the　seam　between　two　panels；　making　me　look　a　lot　better　than　I　am。
¨Stand　over　here。　Both　of　you；〃　says　Haymitch；　nodding　to　the　middle　of　the　room。　We　obey　and　he　circles　us；　prodding　us　like　animals　at　times；　checking　our　muscles；　examining　our　faces。　¨Well；　youˇre　not　entirely　hopeless。　Seem　fit。　And　once　the　stylists　get　hold　of　you；　youˇll　be　attractive　enough。〃
Peeta　and　I　donˇt　question　this。　The　Hunger　Games　arenˇt　a　beauty　contest；　but　the　best…looking　tributes　always　seem　to　pull　more　sponsors。
¨All　right；　Iˇll　make　a　deal　with　you。　You　donˇt　interfere　with　my　drinking；　and　Iˇll　stay　sober　enough　to　help　you；〃　says　Haym