[ 加] 扬·马特尔（ Yann Martel）
Life of Pi
When we reached land，Mexico to be exact，I was so
weak I barely had the strength to be happy about it. We had
great difficulty landing. The lifeboat nearly capsized in the surf. I
streamed the sea anchors — what was left of them — full open to
keep us perpendicular to the waves，and I tripped them as soon
as we began riding a crest. In this way，streaming and tripping the
anchors，we surfed in to shore. It was dangerous. But we caught
one wave at just the right point and it carried us a great distance，
past the high，collapsing walls of water. I tripped the anchors a
last time and we were pushed in the rest of the way. The boat
hissed to a halt against the sand.
I let myself down the side. I was afraid to let go，afraid that
so close to deliverance，in two feet of water，I would drown. I
looked ahead to see how far I had to go. The glance gave me one
of my last images of Richard Parker，for at that precise moment
he jumped over me. I saw his body，so immeasurably vital，
stretched in the air above me，a fleeting，furred rainbow. He
landed in the water，his back legs splayed，his tail high，and from
there，in a few hops，he reached the beach. He went to the left，
his paws gouging the wet sand，but changed his mind and spun
around. He passed directly in front of me on his way to the right.
He didn’t look at me. He ran a hundred yards or so along the
shore before turning in. His gait was clumsy and uncoordinated.
He fell several times. At the edge of the jungle，he stopped. I was
certain he would turn my way. He would look at me. He would
flatten his ears. He would growl. In some such way，he would
conclude our relationship. He did nothing of the sort. He only
looked fixedly into the jungle. Then Richard Parker，companion
of my torment，awful，fierce thing that kept me alive，moved
forward and disappeared forever from my life.
I struggled to shore and fell upon the sand. I looked about.
I was truly alone，orphaned not only of my family，but now of
Richard Parker，and nearly，I thought，of God. Of course，I
wasn’t. This beach，so soft，firm and vast，was like the cheek of
God，and somewhere two eyes were glittering with pleasure and
a mouth was smiling at having me there.
After some hours a member of my own species found me.
He left and returned with a group. They were six or seven. They
came up to me with their hands covering their noses and mouths.
I wondered what was wrong with them. They spoke to me in
a strange tongue. They pulled the lifeboat onto the sand. They
carried me away. The one piece of turtle meat I had brought from
the boat they wrenched from my hand and threw away.
I wept like a child . It was not because I was overcome at having
survived my ordeal，though I was. Nor was it the presence of
my brothers and sisters，though that too was very moving. I was
weeping because Richard Parker had left me so unceremoniously.
What a terrible thing it is to botch a farewell. I am a person who
believes in form，in the harmony of order. Where we can，we
must give things a meaningful shape. For example，I wonder —
could you tell my jumbled story in exactly one hundred chapters，
not one more，not one less？ I’ll tell you，that’s one thing I hate
about my nickname，the way that number runs on forever. It’s
important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let
go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but
never did，and your heart is heavy with remorse. That bungled
goodbye hurts me to this day. I wish so much that I’d had one
last look at him in the lifeboat，that I had provoked him a little，
so that I was on his mind. I wish I had said to him then — yes，
I know，to a tiger，but still— I wish I had said，“Richard Parker，
it’s over. We have survived. Can you believe it？ I owe you more
gratitude than I can express. I couldn’t have done it without you. I
would like to say it formally： Richard Parker，thank you. Thank you
for saving my life. And now go where you must. You have known
the confined freedom of a zoo most of your life ；now you will
know the free confinement of a jungle. I wish you all the best with