【饥饿游戏】33
时间：2017-03-15 07:29:15
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（单词翻译）
“What about my family?” I say. “Will they punish them?”
“Don’t think so. Wouldn’t make much sense. See they’d
have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to
have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would
need to know what you did. But they can’t since it’s secret, so
it’d be a waste of effort,” says Haymitch. “More likely they’ll
make your life hell in the
arena1.”
“Well, they’ve already promised to do that to us any way,”
says Peeta.
“Very true,” says Haymitch. And I realize the impossible has
happened. They have actually cheered me up. Haymitch picks
up a pork chop with his fingers, which makes Effie frown, and
dunks it in his wine. He rips off a hunk of meat and starts to
I can feel the edges of my mouth
tilting4 up. “Shocked. Terrified.
Uh, ridiculous, some of them.” An image pops into my
mind. “One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch.”
Haymitch
guffaws5 and we all start laughing except Effie,
although even she is suppressing a smile. “Well, it serves them
right. It’s their job to pay attention to you. And just because
you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you.”
Then her eyes
dart6 around as if she’s said something totally
outrageous7. “I’m sorry, but that’s what I think,” she says to no
one in particular.
“I’ll get a very bad score,” I say.
“Scores only matter if they’re very good, no one pays much
attention to the bad or
mediocre8 ones. For all they know, you
could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose.
People use that strategy,” said Portia.
“I hope that’s how people interpret the four I’ll probably
get,” says Peeta. “If that. Really, is anything less impressive
than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a
couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot.” I grin at him
and realize that I’m starving. I cut off a piece of pork, dunk it
in
mashed9 potatoes, and start eating. It’s okay. My family is
safe. And if they are safe, no real harm has been done.
After dinner, we go to sitting room to watch the scores
announced on television. First they show a photo of the tribute,
then flash their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally
get in the eight-to-ten range. Most of the other players average
a five. Surprisingly, little
Rue2 comes up with a seven. I
don’t know what she showed the judges, but she’s so tiny it
must have been impressive.
District 12 comes up last, as usual. Peeta pulls an eight so at
least a couple of the Gamemakers must have been watching
him. I dig my fingernails into my palms as my face comes up,
expecting the worst. Then they’re flashing the number eleven
on the screen.
Eleven!
Effie Trinket lets out a
squeal10, and everybody is slapping
me on the back and cheering and congratulating me. But it
doesn’t seem real.
“There must be a mistake. How . . . how could that happen?”
I ask Haymitch.
“Guess they liked your temper,” he says. “They’ve got a
show to put on. They need some players with some heat.”
“Katniss, the girl who was on fire,” says Cinna and gives me
a hug. “Oh, wait until you see your interview dress.”
Peeta and I congratulate each other, another awkward
moment. We’ve both done well, but what does that mean for
the other? I escape to my room as quickly as possible and
burrow12 down under the covers. The stress of the day,
particularly the crying, has worn me out. I drift off, reprieved,
relieved, and with the number eleven still flashing behind my
eyelids13. At dawn, I lie in bed for a while, watching the sun come
up on a beautiful morning. It’s Sunday. A day off at home. I
wonder if
Gale14 is in the woods yet. Usually we devote all of
Sunday to stocking up for the week. Rising early, hunting and
gathering15, then trading at the Hob. I think of Gale without me.
Both of us can hunt alone, but we’re better as a pair. Particularly
if we’re trying for bigger game. But also in the littler things,
having a partner lightened the load, could even make the arduous
task of filling my family’s table enjoyable.
I had been struggling along on my own for about six months
when I first ran into Gale in the woods. It was a Sunday in
October, the air cool and
pungent16 with dying things. I’d spent
the morning competing with the squirrels for nuts and the slightly
warmer afternoon
wading17 in shallow ponds harvesting katniss.
The only meat I’d shot was a squirrel that had practically run over
my toes in its quest for
acorns18, but the animals would still be
afoot when the snow buried my other food sources. Having strayed
farther afield than usual, I was hurrying back home,
lugging19 my
burlap sacks when I came across a dead rabbit. It was hanging by
its neck in a thin wire a foot above my head. About fifteen yards
away was another. I recognized the twitch-up
snares20 because my
father had used them. When the
prey21 is caught, it’s yanked into
the air out of the reach of other hungry animals. I’d been trying
to use snares all summer with no success, so I couldn’t help
dropping my sacks to examine this one.
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