i think. sing what? i do know a few songs. believe it or
not, there was once music in my house, too. music i helped
make. my father pulled me in with that remarkable voice —
but i haven’t sung much since he died. except when prim is
very sick. then i sing her the same songs she liked as a baby.
sing. my throat is tight with tears, hoarse from smoke and
fatigue. but if this is prim’s, i mean, rue’s last request, i have
to at least try. the song that comes to me is a simple lullaby,
one we sing fretful, hungry babies to sleep with, it’s old, very
old i think. made up long ago in our hills. what my music
teacher calls a mountain air. but the words are easy and
soothing, promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than this
awful piece of time we call today.
i give a small cough, swallow hard, and begin:
deep in the meadow, under the willow
a bed of grass, a soft green pillow
lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
and when again they open, the sun will rise.
here it’s safe, here it’s warm
here the daisies guard you from every harm
231
here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them
true
here is the place where i love you.
rue’s eyes have fluttered shut. her chest moves but only
slightly. my throat releases the tears and they slide down my
cheeks. but i have to finish the song for her.
deep in the meadow, hidden far away
a cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray
forget your woes and let your troubles lay
and when again it’s morning, they’ll wash away.
here it’s safe, here it’s warm
here the daisies guard you from every harm
the final lines are barely audible.
here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them
true
here is the place where i love you.
everything’s still and quiet. then, almost eerily, the mock-
ingjays take up my song.
for a moment, i sit there, watching my tears drip down on
her face. rue’s cannon fires. i lean forward and press my lips
against her temple. slowly, as if not to wake her, i lay her head
back on the ground and release her hand.
232
they’ll want me to clear out now. so they can collect the
bodies. and there’s nothing to stay for. i roll the boy from dis-
trict 1 onto his face and take his pack, retrieve the arrow that
ended his life. i cut rue’s pack from her back as well, knowing
she’d want me to have it but leave the spear in her stomach.
weapons in bodies will be transported to the hovercraft. i’ve
no use for a spear, so the sooner it’s gone from the arena the
better.
i can’t stop looking at rue, smaller than ever, a baby animal
curled up in a nest of netting. i can’t bring myself to leave her
like this. past harm, but seeming utterly defenseless. to hate
the boy from district 1, who also appears so vulnerable in
death, seems inadequate. it’s the capitol i hate, for doing this
to all of us.
gale’s voice is in my head. his ravings against the capitol
no longer pointless, no longer to be ignored. rue’s death has
forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelty, the in-
justice they inflict upon us. but here, even more strongly than
at home, i feel my impotence. there’s no way to take revenge
on the capitol. is there?
then i remember peeta’s words on the roof. “only i keep
wishing i could think of a way to . . . to show the capital they
don’t own me. that i’m more than just a piece in their games.”
and for the first time, i understand what he means.
i want to do something, right here, right now, to shame
them, to make them accountable, to show the capitol that
whatever they do or force us to do there is a part of every tri-
233
bute they can’t own. that rue was more than a piece in their
games. and so am i.
a few steps into the woods grows a bank of wildflowers.
perhaps they are really weeds of some sort, but they have
blossoms in beautiful shades of violet and yellow and white. i
gather up an armful and come back to rue’s side. slowly, one
stem at a time, i decorate her body in the flowers. covering
the ugly wound. wreathing her face. weaving her hair with
bright colors.
they’ll have to show it. or, even if they choose to turn the
cameras elsewhere at this moment, they’ll have to bring them
back when they collect the bodies and everyone will see her
then and know i did it. i step back and take a last look at rue.
she could really be asleep in that meadow after all.
“bye, rue,” i whisper. i press the three middle fingers of my
left hand against my lips and hold them out in her direction.
then i walk away without looking back.
the birds fall silent. somewhere, a mockingjay gives the
warning whistle that precedes the hovercraft. i don’t know
how it knows. it must hear things that humans can’t. i pause,
my eyes focused on what’s ahead, not what’s happening be-
hind me. it doesn’t take long, then the general birdsong begins
again and i know she’s gone.
another mockingjay, a young one by the look of it, lands on
a branch before me and bursts out rue’s melody.
my song, the hovercraft, were too unfamiliar for this novice
to pick up, but it has mastered her handful of notes. the ones
that mean she’s safe.
234
“good and safe,” i say as i pass under its branch. “we don’t
have to worry about her now.” good and safe.
i’ve no idea where to go. the brief sense of home i had that
one night with rue has vanished. my feet wander this way and
that until sunset. i’m not afraid, not even watchful. which
makes me an easy target. except i’d kill anyone i met on sight.
without emotion or the slightest tremor in my hands. my ha-
tred of the capitol has not lessened my hatred of my competi-
tors in the least. especially the careers. they, at least, can be
made to pay for rue’s death.
no one materializes though. there aren’t many of us left
and it’s a big arena. soon they’ll be pulling out some other de-
vice to force us together. but there’s been enough gore today.
perhaps we’ll even get to sleep.
i’m about to haul my packs into a tree to make camp when
a silver parachute floats down and lands in front of me. a gift
from a sponsor. but why now?
本文链接:
http://m.picdg.com/33_33872/5086193.html