童话之谜：被窃取的孩子

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"The Stolen Child" - 这是一本由Keith Donohue创作的小说，由Nan A. Talese， Doubleday出版社出版，属于Random House, Inc.的出版系列。该书的版权属于作者Keith Donohue，2006年首次发行。在"The Stolen Child"这部小说中，作者探讨了虚构与现实之间的界限，以及个人身份的复杂性。故事可能涉及到一些奇幻元素，如童话中的“fairy”（仙女），但在这里，作者指出他们不喜欢被称作“fairies”，因为这个词现在带有太多不同的联想。在历史和神话中，"fairy"一词源于拉丁语的"Fata"，代表命运女神，而这些生物居住在介于天堂和地球之间的“faerie”领域，与水仙女(naiads)相似，但又独具特色。小说可能围绕一个或多个角色展开，特别是可能涉及一位钢琴家，他可能在故事中扮演关键角色。"Changelings"（换婴）的概念也可能被融入情节之中，这在欧洲民间传说中是指精灵将人类婴儿替换掉的现象，以此探讨身份、真实与幻觉的主题。此外，书中可能包含绑架受害者的情节，这将带来关于生存、恢复和自我发现的讨论。书名"The Stolen Child"本身就暗示了一个关于失去、成长和寻找身份的故事，可能是通过一个孩子被带走并融入不同世界的角度来讲述。故事可能探讨了个人如何在经历了非同寻常的事件后定义自我，以及这种经历如何塑造他们的世界观。此外，书中的部分情节可能设定在德国，这为故事提供了特定的历史和文化背景。这可能意味着故事不仅涉及个人层面的冲突，还可能触及更广泛的社会和历史问题。 "The Stolen Child"的第一版献给了Dorothy和Thomas，这表明了作者对他们的情感联系，可能也影响了他的创作。这本书结合了奇幻元素、现实主义、个人身份探索和可能的历史背景，提供了一部引人入胜的文学作品，挑战读者对现实和想象边界的认知。

I took care not to be such a perfect mimic around my dad.

Mary and Elizabeth, on the other hand, were too young to know any better, and they accepted

without question my budding talent for imperson-ation. Indeed, they begged for songs all the time,

especially in their cribs, where I'd trot out all the novelty tunes like "Mairzy Doats" or "Three Little

Fishies." Without fail, however, they fell asleep as if knocked unconscious every time I sang "Over the

Rainbow." I did a mean Judy Garland.

My days with the Days quickly fell into a comfortable routine, and as long as I stayed inside the

house or inside the classroom, all went well. The weather suddenly grew cooler, and almost at once the

leaves turned garish shades of yellow and red, so bold that the mere sight of trees hurt my eyes. I hated

those bright reminders of life in the forest. October proved a riot to the senses and climaxed those giddy

last weeks before Halloween. I knew that parties were involved, begging for nuts and candies, bonfires

in the square, and playing tricks on the townsfolk. Believe me, we hobgoblins did our share of

mischief—unhinging gates, smashing pumpkins, soaping the library windows with cartoon demons. What

I had not experienced was the folderol among the children and the way that even the schools had gotten

into the act. Two weeks before the big day, the nuns began planning a classroom party with

entertainment and refreshments. They hung orange and black crepe paper along the tops of the

chalkboards, pasted paper pumpkins and black cats on the walls. We dutifully cut out scary things from

construction paper and glued together our own artistic efforts, pitiable though they were. Mothers were

enlisted to bake cookies and brownies, make popcorn balls and candy apples. Costumes were

allowed—indeed, expected. I remember exactly my conversa-tion on the matter with my mother.

"We're having a party for Halloween at school, and teacher says we come dressed in our

trick-or-treat outfits instead of our uniforms. I want to be a hobgoblin."

"What was that?"

"You know, a hobgoblin."

"I'm not sure what that is. Is it anything like a monster?"

"No."

"Or a ghost? Or a ghoul?"

"Not those."

"Perhaps a little vampire?"

"I'm no bloodsucker, Mother."

"Perhaps it's a fairy?"

I howled. For the first time in nearly two months, I lost my temper and screamed in my natural wild

voice. The sound startled her.

"For the love of God, Henry. You scared the wits out of me, raising the dead and howling like a

banshee. There'll be no Halloweenin' for you."

Banshee keen, I wanted to tell her, they wail and weep, but they never howl. Instead, I turned on

the tears, bawling like the twins. She drew me to her and hugged me against her stomach.

"There now, I was only kidding." She lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes. "I just don't know

what a hobgoblin is. Listen, how about going as a pirate, you'd like that now, wouldn't you?"

• C H A P T E R 4 •

In the gloaming, the crows flew in to gather for the night in a stand of bare oaks. Bird by bird, they

soared to the rookery, black shadows against the fading light. My kidnapping, still fresh in my mind, left

me timid and battered, not trusting a soul in the woods. I missed my family, yet days and weeks passed,

marked by the routine appearance of the birds. Their arrival and departure provided reas-suring

continuity. By the time the trees lost their leaves and their naked limbs stretched to the sky, the crows no

longer frightened me. I came to look for-ward to their graceful arrival, silhouetted against the wintry sky,

a natural part of my new life.

The faeries welcomed me as their own and taught me the ways of the woods, and I grew fond of

them all. In addition to Speck, Igel, Béka and On-ions, there were seven others. The three girls were

inseparable—Kivi and Blomma, blonde and freckled, quiet and assured, and their tagalong, Chavisory, a

chatterbox who looked no more than five years old. When she grinned, her baby teeth shone like a string

of pearls, and when she laughed, her thin shoulders shook and twitched. If she found something truly

funny or exciting, she took off like a skittering bat, dancing in circles and figure eights across the clearing.

Apart from the leader Igel and the loner Béka, the boys formed two pairs. Ragno and Zanzara, as I

remember them, reminded me of the two sons of the Italian grocers in town. Thin and olive-skinned

boys, each had a thatch of dark curls on his head and was quick to anger and quicker to forgive. The

other set, Smaolach and Luchóg, behaved as brothers, though they could not be more dissimilar.

Towering over everyone but Béka, Smaolach concentrated on the task at hand, as oblivious and earnest

as a robin tugging up an earth-worm. His good friend Luchóg, smallest of us all, was forever pushing

back an untamable lock of night-black hair that curled across his forehead like the tail of a mouse. His

eyes, blue as the summer sky, gave away his fierce devotion to his friends, even when he tried to feign

nonchalance.

Igel, the eldest and leader of the band, took pains to explain the ways of the forest. He showed me

how to gig for frogs and fish, how to find water collected overnight in the hollow of fallen leaves, to

distinguish edible mush-rooms from deadly toadstools, and dozens of other survival tricks. But even the

best guide is no match for experience, and for most of my early time, I was coddled. They kept me

under constant watch by at least two others, and I was forced to stay around camp, with dire warnings

to hide away at any hint of other people.

"If they catch you, they will think you a devil," Igel told me. "And lock you away, or worse, they

will test to see if they are right by throwing you in a fire."

"And you will burn up like kindling," said Ragno.

"And be nothing more than a puff of smoke," said Zanzara, and Chavisory demonstrated by

dancing around the campfire, circling away to the edge of darkness.

When the first hard frost hit, a small party was sent away for an overnight excursion, and they came

back with armloads of sweaters, jackets, and shoes. Those of us who had stayed behind were shivering

beneath deerskins.

"Since you are the youngest," Igel told me, "you have first choice of the clothes and boots."

Smaolach, who stood over the pile of shoes, beckoned me. I noticed that his own feet were bare. I

poked through the assortment of children's saddle shoes, square-toed brogues, canvas tennis shoes, and

the odd unmated boot, choosing at last a pair of brand new black-and-white wingtips that seemed to be

my size.

"Those'll cut your ankles off."

"How about these?" I asked, holding up the tennis shoes. "I might be able to squeeze into these."

My feet felt damp and chilled on the cold ground.

Smaolach rooted around and picked out the ugliest brown shoes I had ever seen. The leather

creaked when he flexed the soles, and the laces looked like coiled snakes. Each toe was tipped with a

small steel plate. "Trust me, these will keep you warm and toasty all winter long, and a long time in the

wearing."

"But they're too small."

"Don't you know you've been shrinking yourself?" With a sly grin, he reached into his trousers

pocket and pulled out a pair of thick woolen socks. "And I found these especially for you."

The whole crowd gasped in appreciation. They gave me a cableknit sweater and an oilskin jacket,

which kept me dry on the wettest days.

As the nights lengthened and grew colder, we exchanged our grass mats and solitary beds for a

heap of animal skins and stolen blankets. The twelve of us slept together in a tangled clump. I rather

enjoyed the comfort of the situ-ation, although most of my friends had foul breath or fetid odors about

them. Part of the reason must be the change in diet, from the bounty of summer to the decay of late fall

and the deprivation of winter. Several of the poor crea-tures had been in the woods for so long that they

had given up all hope of human society. Indeed, a handful had no such desire at all, so they lived like

animals, rarely taking a bath or cleaning their teeth with a twig. Even a fox will lick its hindquarters, but

some of the faeries were the dirtiest beasts.

That first winter, I yearned to go with the hunter-gatherers on their morning forage for food and

other supplies. Like the crows that convened at dusk and dawn, those thieves enjoyed freedom away

from the roost. While I was left behind, I had to suffer babysitters like that toad Béka and his companion

Onions, or old Zanzara and Ragno, who squabbled all day and threw nutshells and stones at the birds

and squirrels poking around our hidden hoard. I was bored and cold and lonesome for adventure.

On a gray morning, Igel himself chose to stay behind to watch over me, and as luck would have it,

my friend Smaolach kept him company. They brewed a pot of tea from dried bark and peppermint, and

as we watched a cold rain fall, I pressed my case.

"Why won't you let me go with all the others?"

"My great fear is that you'll run away and try to return whence you came, but you cannot, Aniday.

You are one of us now." Igel sipped his tea and stared at a point far off. After a decent interval, letting

his wisdom sink into my mind, he continued. "On the other hand, you have proved yourself a valu-able

member of our clan. You gather the kindling, husk the acorns, and dig a new privy hole when asked.

You are learning true obedience and deference. I have watched you, Aniday, and you are a good

student of our ways."

Smaolach stared into the dying fire and said something in a secret lan-guage, all vowels and hard

consonants full of phlegm. Igel pondered over that secret sentence, then chewed on his own thoughts

before spitting them out. Then, as now, I was eternally puzzled over how people think, by what process

they solve life's riddles. Their consultation over, Igel resumed his study of the horizon.

"You're to come with Luchóg and me this afternoon," Smaolach in-formed me with a conspiratorial

wink. "We'll show you the lay of the land around these parts as soon as the rest of them get back."

"You better dress warmly," Igel advised. "This rain will changeover soon."

On cue, the first snowflakes started mixing with the raindrops, and within minutes, a heavy snow

began to fall. We were still sitting in our places when the faery troop meandered back to the camp,

chased home by the sud-den inclemency. Winter sometimes came early to our part of the country, but

usually we did not get a snowfall until after Christmas. As the squall blew in, I wondered for the first time

whether Christmas had passed altogether, or perhaps at least Thanksgiving had slipped by, and most

certainly Halloween was gone. I thought of my family, still looking for me every day in the woods.

Perhaps they thought me dead, which made me feel sorry and wish that word could be sent concerning

my welfare.

At home, Mom would be unpacking boxes of decorations, putting out the stable and the manger,

running garland up the stair rail. The past Christ-mas, my father took me out to chop down a small fir

tree for the house, and I wondered if he was sad now, without me to help him choose the right one. I

even missed my little sisters. Were they walking and talking and dreaming of Santa Claus, wondering

what had become of me?

"What day is it?" I asked Luchóg as he changed into warmer clothes.

He licked his finger and held it into the wind. "Tuesday?"

"No, I mean what day of the year? What day of the month?"

"I have no idea. Judging by the signs, could be late November, early December. But memory is a

tricky thing and unreliable when it comes to time or weather."

Christmas had not passed after all. I resolved to watch the days from then on and to celebrate the

season in an appropriate fashion, even if the rest of them did not care about holidays and such things.

"Do you know where I can get a paper and a pencil?"

He struggled into his boots. "Now, what would you want them things for?"

"I want to make a calendar."

"A calendar? Why, you would need a store of paper and any number of pencils to keep a calendar

out here. I'll teach you how to watch the sun in the sky and take notice of the living things. You'll know

time enough by them."

"But what if I want to draw a picture or write someone a note?"

Luchóg zipped up his jacket. "Write? To whom? Most of us have forgot-ten how to write entirely,

and those that haven't, didn't learn in the first place. It is better to have your say and not be putting down

in more or less a perma-nent way what you're thinking or feeling. That way lies danger, little trea-sure."

"But I do like to draw pictures."

We started across the ring, where Smaolach and Igel stood like two tall trees, conferring. Because

Luchóg was the smallest of us all, he had trouble keeping up with me. Bouncing along at my side, he

continued his disserta-tion.

"So, you're an artist, are ye? No pencil and paper? Do you know that the artists of old made their

own paper and pens? Out of animal skin and bird feathers. And ink from soot and spit. They did, and

further back still, they scratched on stones. I'll teach you how to leave your mark, and get you that paper

if you want, but in due time."

When we reached the leader, Igel clapped me on the shoulder and said, "You've earned my trust,

Aniday. Listen and heed these two."

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