Stories by Doris Lessing- 第3部分

not　that　i　haven’t　seen　lions。　i　have　encountered　them；　and　other　interesting　animals；　in　the　london　zoo；　where　i　go　to　look　at　them　from　time　to　time。　and　on　my　home　ground；　which　is　mashonaland；　southern　rhodesia；　fauna　of　every　kind　used　to　flourish　and；　for　all　i　know；　flourish　yet。　i　do　not　care。　i　never　did。

along　with　my　indifference　toward　big　and　little　game　goes　the　fact　that　this　whole　plex　is　linked　irretrievably　with　my　sibling　rivalry　（for　my　brother）　and　my　masculine　protest　（against　practically　everything）。　it　all　started　very；　early；　when　my　brother　was　given　a　。22　rifle—　but　perhaps　it　would　be　best　to　go　even　further　back；　to　his　bicycle；　which　he　rode　perfectly　at　the　first　attempt；　whereas　i　could　only　look　at　it　and　shudder　with　fear。　i　decided　it　was　not　being　for　a　girl　to　ride　a　boy’s　bicycle；　and　stuck　out　for　one　of　my　own；　knowing　full　well　that　the　state　of　the　family’s　finances　would　put　off　the　evil　hour　indefinitely。

in　the　light　of　this　discreditable　and　evasive　behavior；　it　is　easy　to　understand　what　happened　when　the　。22　rifle　appeared；　during　one　of　my　brother’s　holidays　from　school。　he　picked　it　up；　took　aim　at　a　small　bird　sitting　on　a　twig　a　hundred　yards　away；　judiciously　pressed　the　trigger；　and　the　bird　fell　dead。　i　remember　he　felt　bad　because　the　shot　had　not　gone　through　the　eye。　to　him；　therefore；　sport　immediately　took　on　its　proper　colors；　to　fire　at　a　sitting　bird　was　altogether　beneath　him；　and　unless　he　could　get　in　a　good　oblique　shot　at　a　bird　hovering　widdershins　a　hundred　and　fifty　yards　off；　with　a　strong　wind　between　him　and　it；　he　would　not　shoot。　as　for　duikerbok—small　antelope；　which　are　not　only　plentiful　in　our　parts　but　very　good　to　eat—he　would　not　kill　one　unless　he　had　first　arranged　an　exhausting　crawl　through　thick　bush；　preferably　in　heavy　mud。

when；　one　day；　he　handed　the　rifle　to　me；　i　said　i　did　not　care　for　it。　why　i　did　not　stick　to　this　simple　truth　i　cannot　imagine。　i　did　point　out　that　even　people　like　hunter　jim　and　elephant　bill　used　shotguns　for　birds　on　the　wing　and　deer　on　the　run；　and　that　it　would　never　have　entered　their　heads　to　use　a　。22　rifle；　but　my　brother　was　not　moved。　i　did　not　expect　him　to　be。

after　he　had　gone　back　to　school；　i　crept　to　his　room　and　took　the　。22　from　the　bed　of　oiled　waste　in　which　he　had　laid　it　away　for　the　duration　of　the　term。　i　spent　a　week　or　more　gingerly　opening　and　shutting　the　thing；　and　putting　bullets　in　and　taking　them　out。　when　i　could　do　this　without　flinching；　i　went　out　into　the　bush　with　it。

there　was　a　lot　of　bush　all　around　our　house—in　fact；　miles　of　it　in　every　direction；　wild；　uninhabited；　a　perfect　paradise　for　sportsmen。　i　remember　clearly　how；　that　first　day；　i　mooned　along；　thinking　about　guinevere　and　anne　of　green　gables；　until　a　fine　kudu　bull　（fauna　of　the　most　covetable　sort；　antelope　the　size　of　a　horse）　that　had　apparently　been　scrutinizing　me　from　an　anthill　took　to　its　hoofs　and　fled。　i　watched　it　go。　（my　brother；　needless　to　say；　had　already　shot　half　a　dozen　kudu　through　the　eye　under　impossible　handicaps。）

next　appeared　a　duiker；　and　i　put　the　gun　to　my　shoulder　and　fired　repeatedly　but　without　result；　since　the　creature　had　vanished　before　i　could　manage　to　sight　it。

that　was　a　discouraging　day；　and　those　that　followed　it　were　no　better。　one　day；　i　was　sitting　on　a　rock　in　a　clearing　when　a　guinea　fowl　trotted　past；　followed　soon　by　about　twenty　other　guinea　fowl；　in　single　file。　i　lifted　my　gun　and　shot　at　each　of　them。　it　was　exactly　like　shooting　in　a　fun　fair；　with　rabbits；　or　what　you　like；　moving　before　you　on　a　band。　i　missed　all　twenty　of　the　guinea　fowl；　and　thought　how　much　easier　it　would　be　if　only　they　were　prepared　to　keep　still。　from　this　thought　my　success　was　born；　and　since　it　was　based　entirely　on　the　habits　of　guinea　fowl；　i　shall　now　describe　them—from　a　sportsman’s；　not　a　naturalist’s；　point　of　view。

guinea　fowl　move　in　flocks　of　anywhere　from　ten　to　two　hundred。　they　can　be　heard　a　long　way　off；　because　of　a　chink；　chink；　chinking　sound　they　make；　like　stones　rubbing　together　under　water。　when　disturbed；　which　they　regularly　are；　since　this　chinking　advertises　their　presence　to　every　enemy　for　miles　around；　they　set　up　a　raucous　plaint　and　run　extremely　fast　in　all　directions。　if　they　stuck　to　doing　this；　they　would　be　practically　invulnerable；　but；　no—curiosity　is　their　downfall。　more　often　than　not；　before　they　have　run　any　distance　they　fly　up　into　trees　to　see　what　is　going　on。　their　wings　are　weak；　and　once　in　the　trees　they　are　reluctant　to　launch　themselves　into　space。

having　considered　these　facts　and　all　their　implications；　i　set　out　one　day　with　the　rifle　and　wandered　around　until　i　heard　the　“chink；　chink。”　i　crept　toward　it。　then　i　heaved　a　large　stone　at　it。　there　was　a　scurrying；　and　presently　seventy…four　guinea　fowl　flew　up　into　trees　all　around　me。　i　knew　there　were　seventy…four　because　i　sat　on　a　log　counting　them　and　deciding　which　looked　the　youngest　and　fattest。　i　then　carefully　aimed　at　this　one　and　fired。　the　bird　started　perceptibly；　and　settled　back　and　watched　a　leaf　that　had　been　dislodged　from　a　frond　three　feet　above　its　head　float　down　to　my　feet。　i　tried　again。　how　difficult　it　is　to　keep　a　gun　barrel　still　became　apparent　to　me　only　now　that　i　had　all　the　time　in　the　world　to　practice　it。　i　walked　to　a　nearby　tree　and　laid　the　barrel　against　its　trunk　for　support。

the　bird　i　had　chosen　was　about　four　yards　away。　i　kept　the　rifle　steady　long　enough　to　shoot　it　in　the　crop。　it　fell；　and　i　dispatched　it　with　another　shot；　in　the　eye；　and　went　home　with　it。　the　family；　naturally；　assumed　it　had　been　shot　on　the　wing；　and　in　the　eye　at　that—the　first　shot　going　unnoticed—and　a　letter　with　this　news　was　at　once　sent　to　my　brother。

thereafter；　my　technique；　while　remaining　substantially　the　same；　developed　small　refinements。　for　instance；　though　a　properly　trained　dog　would　have　been　useless　to　me；　we　did　have　a　dog　perfect　for　my　purposes。　i　took　him　along。　he　went　full　pelt　toward　the　“chink；　chink”　as　soon　as　he　heard　it；　and　by　the　time　i　arrived；　dozens　of　guinea　fowl　were　already　perched　on　every　tree；　watching　the　dog；　who　was　bouncing　and　yelling　below　them；　satisfactorily　distracting　their　attention　from　me　while　i　arranged　myself　and　chose　my　bird　at　leisure。

a　guinea　fowl　beset　by　a　yapping　dog　tends　to　show　uneasiness　by　turning　slowly　around　and　around　on　its　perch；　but　it　turns　on　its　own　axis　and　so　presents　a　more　or　less　stable　target。　there　was　one　occasion　when　a　bird　sitting　on　a　low　bush　was　so　fascinated　by　the　dog　that　i　was　able　to　lean　over　and　pluck　it　off　the　branch　by　the　legs。　then　i　wrung　its　neck。　i　have　never　before　revealed　this　deplorable　incident　to　a　soul。　when　i　took　the　fowl　home；　i　explained　that　the　bullet　had　struck　its　beak　and　stunned　it；　and　said　carelessly　that　it　sounded　very　like　one　of　my　brother’s　more　tortuous　feats。

i　knew　very　well　that　when　my　brother　came　home；　that　would　be　the　end　of　me。　and；　in　fact；　on　the　evening　of　his　arrival　my　brother　took　me　into　the　bush；　saying；　“now；　let’s　see　you　do　it。”

the　dog　went　yapping　off　after　a　flock　of　guinea　fowl。　i　shot　negligently　at　a　bird　rising　into　a　tree；　shrugged；　and　said　self…critically；　“damned　bad　shot。”　my　brother；　of　course；　saw　at　once　that　all　sport　with　that　flock　was　at　an　end；　but　the　dog　continued　to　whine　pointedly　under　various　plump　birds　while　my　brother　and　i　walked　off　in　search　of　airborne　targets。

this　happened　several　times。　my　mother　plained　that　the　larder　was　empty。　then；　luckily；　my　brother　got　a　duiker　that　had　presented　a　long　shot　downhill　in　bad　light。　we　ate　the　duiker　for　a　whole　week　（the　main　disadvantage　of　living　in　a　sportsman’s　paradise　is　the　tedium　of　the　diet）　and　i　was　able　to　say　that　it　was　altogether　unsporting　to　kill　things　while　we　were　in　no　need　of　meat。　but　then　there　were　ten　days　more　of　my　brother’s　holidays　to　get　through；　and　my　exposure　was　clearly　imminent。　i　tried　to　defer　it　by　saying　that　i　was　incapable；　for　psychological　reasons；　of　shooting　anything　while　watched。　i　went　off　into　the　bush　by　myself；　and　my　brother　secretly　followed　and　caught　me　in　the　act　of　shooting　a　sitting　bird　at　four　or　five　yards。　i　told　him　his　behavior　was　sneaking　and　caddish；　but　he　was　too　shocked　to　listen。　he　felt　the　blow　to　the　family　honor　so　profoundly　that　he　said　nothing　that　evening　at　supper。　i　think　he　was　wondering　how　to　break　it　to　my　father　in　the　least　traumatic　way。

that　night；　my　brother　went　out　spot…shooting—hunting　with　a　light。　spot…shooting　the　way　he　did　it　was　not　unsporting；　because　he　saw　to　it　that　the　chances　were　substantially　on　the　other　side。　only　crude　types　use　the　headlights　of　cars；　my　brother　fixed　a　weak　bicycle　lamp　to　his　forehead　and　went　forth　into　the　night　like　a　quixotic　cyclops。　the　usual　practice　is　to　fix　the　eyes　of　an　animal　with　the　light；　then　walk　as　close　as　possible　to　the　hypnotized　creature　and　shoot　it。　my　brother’s　method　meant　that　the　creature　would　be　interested　but　not　fixed。　it　would　have　plenty　of　opportunity　to　run　away。

he　returned　from　that　expedition