Explore Chapter 7 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.
In my view, the relationship between Scorpion and me was never going to be one of close friendship. That's how I saw it. He might have had a measure of sincerity, but I couldn't appreciate it; any sincerity he-or any cat-person-possessed was entirely self-centered. Using others for one's own gain seemed to be his main reason for forging ties. For three or four months, not a day went by that I didn't think of visiting the remains of my dead friend, but Scorpion used every means to stop me. On one hand, this revealed his selfishness; on the other, it showed that cat-people simply had no concept of "friend." Selfish, because guarding his intoxicating leaves appeared to be my only duty since coming to Mars; and lacking the concept, because he kept saying, "He's dead, already dead. Why go see him?" First, he refused to tell me the direction or path to where the plane had crashed; second, he kept me under constant watch. In truth, by searching slowly-if I'd just followed the riverbank, I'd have found it-I could have located the spot eventually. But whenever I ventured more than half a mile from the groves, he would always materialize as if from heaven itself to intercept me. Having intercepted me, he wouldn't force me back; instead, he could spin his self-centered tales with such pathos that I'd end up feeling sorry for him. It was like listening to a widow pour out her woes, with great sobs and sniffles that made me set aside my own affairs. I figured he must be smirking behind my back, thinking me a fool, but even that thought couldn't harden my heart against him. I almost came to admire him.
I no longer fully believed what he said; I wanted to see everything for myself. But he was ready for that. He wasn't the only one in the groves. Yet he never let the others get near me. I'd only seen them from afar: the moment I rushed toward them, they'd vanish instantly-obeying Scorpion's orders, no doubt.
I made up my mind: no more intoxicating leaves. Scorpion's advice was couched in the most tactful and earnest terms possible: I must eat them, or I'd die of thirst, and water was hard to come by. And then there was bathing to consider, such a nuisance-they knew from experience. I must eat them, because other food was far too expensive. The cost was one thing, but worse still, they didn't even taste good. I must eat them, because of the poisonous vapors-without the leaves, I'd surely die... My decision stood. Out came the sobs and sniffles again; I knew this was his final tactic. I couldn't soften. Turning me into a creature like the cat-people by getting me hooked on the leaves was part of Scorpion's plan, and I wouldn't be completely manipulated; I'd been docile enough already. I wanted to reclaim a human life-to eat, to drink, to bathe properly. I refused to become a half-dead thing. If I could live without the leaves, live a reasonable life, even if only for ten days or a fortnight, I'd take those ten days or fortnight gladly. To live half-dead, even for eighteen thousand years, was something I'd never accept. I told Scorpion as much. Of course he couldn't understand. He must have thought my brain was stone. Whatever he thought, my mind was made up.
Three days of negotiation got us nowhere. The pistol was my only recourse. But I hadn't forgotten fair play. I placed the pistol on the ground and told Scorpion, "You shoot me, I shoot you-it makes no difference if you force me to eat that stuff! You choose!" At that, Scorpion scuttled back more than twenty feet. He couldn't shoot me; the pistol in his hand was less use than a straw to a foreigner. What he wanted was *me*, not the pistol.
We reached a compromise: I would eat one piece of intoxicating leaf each morning. "One piece, just that little sliver of treasure, to ward off the poison," said Scorpion-having asked me to put the pistol away, and sitting face-to-face with me-holding up a stubby finger. He would provide me with one evening meal. Drinking water was the real problem. I suggested going to the river daily to bathe and bringing back a jug of water. He wouldn't hear of it. Why trek all that way just to bathe? A foolish notion, and carrying a jug besides. Why not enjoy the intoxicating leaves in comfort? "Can't recognize good fortune when you see it"-I knew that's what he wanted to say, though the words never left his mouth. Moreover-and this was his real concern-he would have to accompany me. I didn't need a minder. He was afraid I'd run off, that was what mattered most to him. But really, if I was determined to escape, what use would his company be? I put the question to him plainly. His mouth snapped shut for a good ten minutes; I thought I'd frightened him to death.
I was livid. This was a direct insult, right to my face. I grabbed the fine hair on his head. It was the first time I'd resorted to force. He hadn't expected it, or he'd have bolted long ago. He truly hadn't, because he was telling the truth. He tore himself free, leaving behind a clump of fine hair and possibly a bit of scalp, and scurried off. Then he explained to me: in cat-people history, oath-taking had been common practice, but in the last five hundred years, too many oaths had been broken, so except in play, nobody bothered with them anymore. While keeping one's word wasn't a bad thing in itself, from a practical standpoint it was rather inconvenient; this reform was clearly a step forward, Scorpion remarked, rubbing his scalp without any particular displeasure. Since oaths weren't meant to be kept anyway, children found them most amusing in their games. That was a fact.
"Whether you keep your word or not is none of my concern. My oath is still an oath!" I stated firmly. "I will never sneak away. When the time comes for me to leave you, I'll tell you to your face."
The evening meal wasn't bad; cat-people are quite decent cooks. But the greenbottles were a plague. I plucked some broad blades of grass, wove them into lids, and told the cat-person on dinner duty to use them. He seemed thoroughly unimpressed, even amused. Bound by Scorpion's orders not to speak to me, he could only shake his head faintly. I knew that to a cat-person, filth was a historical virtue. There was no way to make him see sense. Ashamed as I was to pull rank, I had to resort to authority: every time I saw the food left uncovered, I'd get Scorpion to have a word. A grave miscalculation. One day, no food came at all. The next day it arrived, not under my lids, but under a fresh blanket of buzzing greenbottles. By appealing to Scorpion to instruct the servant, I had earned the contempt of them both. To lash out on a whim was the privilege of a high-born cat-person, and the lower orders thought nothing of it either. What was I to do? I had no desire to hit anyone. 'Man' was the noblest ideal I knew. But if I didn't resort to force, not only would my meals stop coming, I'd likely lose what little security I had on Mars. There was no choice. I had to claim a small piece of a cat-person's scalp-a very small piece, in all conscience. It worked. The grass lids saw use again. The whole affair nearly brought me to tears. What manner of history could make a being forget the dignity of being human?
Going down to the river to bathe at dawn was the first real pleasure I'd had since coming to Mars. I always left the groves for the sandy shore before sunrise, a walk of just over a mile. It was enough to work up a slight sweat and loosen my limbs. On the sand, where the water just covered my feet, I'd wade about, waiting for the sun. The scene before sunrise was supremely quiet and beautiful: the grey sky held no mist yet, some of the larger stars were still visible, and all around was utterly silent save for the soft whisper of water over sand. When the sun rose, I'd move into the river proper. Crossing the sand, the water grew deeper; after half a mile it was up to my chest, and there I'd swim a good, hard stretch. I swam until I felt hungry, which usually took about half an hour. Then I'd walk back onto the sand to dry off. My tattered trousers, pistol, and matchbox lay together on a large rock. I stood naked under that immense grey sky. I felt utterly without care, the most natural and free of beings-in the cat-people's sense of the word. The sun grew steadily hotter. Mist rose from the river, and the air felt close; true enough, Scorpion hadn't lied, there were indeed poisonous miasmas here. Time to go back and eat that piece of intoxicating leaf.
Even this small pleasure wasn't to last, thanks again to Scorpion. It must have been around the seventh day of my bathing ritual. I'd barely reached the sandy shore when I saw dark shapes moving in the distance. I didn't pay them much mind, intent as I was on the sunrise. The east slowly turned a greyish red. Soon, scattered thick clouds deepened into great blossoms of purple. Suddenly, the light intensified; the stars vanished. The clouds merged into horizontal banks, the purple shifting to a deep orange brushed with a thin wash of pale grey and watery green, edged in bright silver. The bank of cloud split; great black patches appeared on the orange. Strong shafts of golden light shot upwards, and golden threads still glimmered from behind the black. Then, a mass of blood-red leaped from the fissure. Not perfectly round, it seemed to waver a moment before steadying. Somehow, the fractured cloud mass had shattered into small pieces. They linked into scales of gold. The river brightened, awash in a golden glow. The morning colours grew ever thinner and more fragmented, gradually dissolving until only a few wisps of pale peach gauze remained. The sun climbed higher. The whole sky became a silver-grey, with hints of blue showing through here and there.
I was staring, transfixed, when I happened to turn my head-good heavens! Lined up along the riverbank, about a hundred feet away, stood a whole troop of cat-people! I was baffled. Maybe something was happening, I thought, but I paid no heed and went about my bathing. As I walked into deeper water, the whole troop shifted in unison. When I finally plunged into the river, I heard a chorus of horrified shrieks. I surfaced and dove a few times. Standing up in the shallows near the bank, I looked again. Another collective cry, and the cat-people all retreated several steps. Then I understood. They'd come to watch the show.
Watching someone bathe, if you'd never seen it before, wasn't such a big deal, I reasoned. The cat-people certainly hadn't come to see my body; nudity held no novelty for them, as they wore no clothes themselves. They must have come to see how I swam. Should I carry on swimming, to give them a proper spectacle, or stop? It was hard to decide. Just then, I spotted Scorpion. He was closest to the bank, standing a good twenty feet ahead of the crowd. A show of fearlessness, I thought to myself. He bounded forward a few more steps and waved at me, motioning for me to jump into the river. From my three or four months of experience, I could guess that obeying his gesture would greatly enhance his prestige. But I couldn't stomach that. I'd always despised using an outsider's influence to bully one's own. I walked back toward the sandy shore. Scorpion advanced again, until he was forty or fifty feet from the bank. I picked up the pistol from the rock and leveled it at him.
Back in the groves, who was to stop me from breaking off a whole branch? I couldn't be bothered with the walk! And sure enough, they still had intoxicating leaves in their hands, one already half-eaten. I took them all. I ate one piece and walked on, following the riverbank.