Explore Chapter 4 of 'Cat Country' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
With fate devoid of freedom (in the Cat-people's sense), what good does it do to have one's limbs unshackled? But I (the narrator) did not lose heart on that account. At least I (the narrator) had no obligation to guard this little hole for the felinoids. I took my gun and matchbox, and began hauling myself up the wall by the broken rope. Once my head cleared the wall, a deep gray expanse met my eyes. It was not like night, but like a heat haze without smoke. Over the wall I went, and jumped down. Where to go? The courage I had felt inside the wall diminished by eight-tenths. No houses, no lights, no sounds. In the distance-perhaps not far, I (the narrator) couldn't gauge the distance-there seemed to be a forest. Dare I enter the woods? What beasts might lurk there?
Thirst returned, and hunger too. Even if I didn't object to keeping company with birds and beasts, I (the narrator) lacked the skill to hunt at night. Fortunately, it wasn't cold. Here, one probably wouldn't catch a chill even if naked day and night. I leaned against the base of the small hut's wall, gazing at those few stars in the sky and the distant woods. I dared not think of anything. Even the most ridiculous thoughts could bring tears to one's eyes. Loneliness is more unbearable than pain.
I sat like this for a long time, my eyes gradually losing their strength. Yet I dared not sleep soundly. I closed them for a while, then, stirred by a sudden thought, forced them open, only to close them again. Once, I seemed to see a dark shadow, but it vanished before I could make it out. Suspecting a ghost, I chided myself and closed my eyes again. But the moment I shut them, I opened them once more, unable to rest easy. Hah! There seemed to be another shadow, glimpsed and gone in an instant. The hair on my neck stood on end. Ghost-hunting on Mars was not part of my plan. I dared not close my eyes again.
For a good while, nothing. I (the narrator) tried closing my eyes, leaving a tiny slit to peer through. Then it came-that dark shadow!
No longer afraid, this couldn't be a ghost. It was a felinoids. The visual organs of felinoids must be exceptionally developed, able to see the opening and closing of my eyes from a distance. Tense, excited, I almost held my breath, waiting. Once he came before me, I would have my own way. As if I were inherently superior to the felinoids, though on what grounds I knew not-perhaps because I had a pistol? Ridiculous.
Time held no value here. It felt like centuries before he drew near. Each step seemed to take a quarter-hour, or an hour, imbued with the caution inherited from all of history. He tested a step east, then west. He bent down, rose gently, twisted left, retreated. He flattened himself on the ground like a snowflake, crawled forward a bit, then arched his back again. A kitten practicing mouse-hunting at night must be like this, utterly fascinating.
He drew closer and closer. I could feel his warmth. He tilted his body like a relay runner preparing to take the baton, and waved his hand twice before my eyes. I gave a slight nod. He swiftly withdrew his hand, poised to run, yet didn't flee. He watched me. I nodded gently again. Still he didn't move. Very slowly, I raised both hands, showing him my open palms. He seemed to understand this "sign language," nodding in turn and retracting the leg he had stretched out far. Keeping my palms up, I curled a finger slightly as a gesture to beckon him. He nodded again. I straightened my back a bit, looked at him, and saw no intention to run. After at least half an hour of this excruciatingly comical tarrying, I stood up.
If tarrying counted as work, felinoids were masters at it. In other words, he and I had tarried for who knows how long. We gestured, nodded, pursed lips, wrinkled noses, exercising almost every muscle to convey that we meant each other no harm. We could have tarried for another hour, or even a week, had not more shadows appeared in the distance-spotted first by the felinoids. By the time I saw those shadows too, the felinoids had already taken four or five steps, running while beckoning to me. I followed him in a run.
The felinoids ran swiftly and without a sound. I was parched and starving. After running not far, stars danced before my eyes. Yet I seemed to intuit that if overtaken by those felinoids behind us, neither I nor this felinoids would fare well. I must stick with this new friend, a valuable ally in my adventures on Mars. Those pursuers must have closed in, for my friend quickened his pace. I held on a while longer, but soon I was at my limit. My heart felt as if it would leap from my mouth. Then came a sound from behind-a long, shrill howl! The felinoids must have grown desperate, else why would they make noise so readily? I knew I was about to collapse. One more step, and my life would end with a gush of blood.
Opening my eyes again: a room, gray, a ring of red light, the floor... an airplane, a patch of blood, ropes... I closed my eyes once more.
Days later, I learned: I had been dragged to his home by that felinoids, like a dead dog. Had he not told me, I would never have guessed how I came to be there. The soil on Mars is so fine and beautiful that not a scratch marred my body. Those felinoids who had pursued me were so terrified by that gunshot that they probably ran for three days without stopping. This little pistol-loaded with only twelve bullets-made me a hero renowned across Mars.