The Undertakers

When ye say to Tabaqui, “My Brother!” when ye call the

　　Hyena to meat,

Ye may cry the Full Truce with Jacala—the Belly that runs

　　on four feet.

Jungle Law

“Respect the aged!”

It was a thick voice—a muddy voice that would have made you shudder—a voice like something soft breaking in two. There was a quaver in it, a croak and a whine.

“Respect the aged! O Companions of the River—respect the aged!”

Nothing could be seen on the broad reach of the river except a little fleet of square-sailed, wooden-pinned barges, loaded with building-stone, that had just come under the railway bridge, and were driving downstream. They put their clumsy helms over to avoid the sand-bar made by the scour of the bridge-piers, and as they passed, three abreast, the horrible voice began again: “O Brahmins of the River—respect the aged and infirm!

A boatman turned where he sat on the gunwale, lifted up his hand, said something that was not a blessing, and the boats creaked on through the twilight. The broad Indian river, that looked more like a chain of little lakes than a stream, was as smooth as glass, reflecting the sandy-red sky in mid-channel, but splashed with patches of yellow and dusky purple near and under the low banks. Little creeks ran into the river in the wet season, but now their dry mouths hung clear above water-line. On the left shore, and almost under the railway bridge, stood a mud-and-brick and thatch-and-stick village, whose main street, full of cattle going back to their byres, ran straight to the river, and ended in a sort of rude brick pier-head, where people who wanted to wash could wade in step by step. That was the Ghaut of the village of Mugger-Ghaut.

Night was falling fast over the fields of lentils and rice and cotton in the low-lying ground yearly flooded by the river; over the reeds that fringed the elbow of the bend, and the tangled jungle of the grazing-grounds behind the still reeds. The parrots and crows, who had been chattering and shouting over their evening drink, had flown inland to roost, crossing the outgoing battalions of the flying-foxes; and cloud upon cloud of water-birds came whistling and“honking” to the cover of the reed-beds. There were geese, barrel-headed and black-backed, teal, widgeon, mallard, and sheldrake, with curlews, and here and there a flamingo.

A lumbering Adjutant-crane brought up the rear, flying as though each slow stroke would be his last.

“Respect the aged! Brahmins of the River—respect the aged!”

The Adjutant half turned his head, sheered a little in the direction of the voice, and landed stiffly on the sand-bar below the bridge. Then you saw what a ruffianly brute he really was. His back view was immensely respectable, for he stood nearly six feet high, and looked rather like a very proper bald-headed parson. In front it was different, for his Ally Sloper-like head and neck had not a feather to them, and there was a horrible raw-skin pouch on his neck under his chin—a holdall for the things his pickaxe beak might steal. His legs were long and thin and skinny, but he moved them delicately, and looked at them with pride as he preened down his ashy-grey tail-feathers, glanced over the smooth of his shoulder, and stiffened into “Stand at attention.”

A mangy little Jackal, who had been yapping hungrily on a low bluff, cocked up his ears and tail, and scuttered across the shallows to join the Adjutant.

He was the lowest of his caste—not that the best of jackals are good for much, but this one was peculiarly low, being half a beggar, half a criminal—a cleaner-up of village rubbish-heaps, desperately timid or wildly bold, everlastingly hungry, and full of cunning that never did him any good.

“Ugh!” he said, shaking himself dolefully as he landed. “May the red mange destroy the dogs of this village! I have three bites for each flea upon me, and all because I looked—only looked, mark you—at an old shoe in a cow-byre. Can I eat mud?” He scratched himself under his left ear.

“I heard,” said the Adjutant, in a voice like a blunt saw going through a thick board—“I heard there was a newborn puppy in that same shoe.”

“To hear is one thing; to know is another,” said the Jackal, who had a very fair knowledge of proverbs, picked up by listening to men round the village fires of an evening.

“Quite true. So, to make sure, I took care of that puppy while the dogs were busy elsewhere.”

“They were very busy,” said the Jackal. “Well, I must not go to the village hunting for scraps yet awhile. And so there truly was a blind puppy in that shoe?”

“It is here,” said the Adjutant, squinting over his beak at his full pouch. “A small thing, but acceptable now that charity is dead in the world.”

“Ahai! The world is iron in these days,” wailed the Jackal. Then his restless eye caught the least possible ripple on the water, and he went on quickly: “Life is hard for us all, and I doubt not that even our excellent master, the Pride of the Ghaut and the Envy of the River—”

“A liar, a flatterer, and a Jackal were all hatched out of the same egg,”said the Adjutant to nobody in particular; for he was rather a fine sort of a liar on his own account when he took the trouble.

“Yes, the Envy of the River,” the Jackal repeated, raising his voice. “Even he, I doubt not, finds that since the bridge has been built good food is more scarce. But on the other hand, though I would by no means say this to his noble face, he is so wise and so virtuous—as I, alas I am not—”

“When the Jackal owns he is grey, how black must the Jackal be!” muttered the Adjutant. He could not see what was coming.

“That his food never fails, and in consequence—”

There was a soft grating sound, as though a boat had just touched in shoal water. The Jackal spun round quickly and faced (it is always best to face) the creature he had been talking about. It was a twenty-four-foot crocodile, cased in what looked like treble-riveted boiler plate, studded and keeled and crested; the yellow points of his upper teeth just overhanging his beautifully fluted lower jaw. It was the blunt-nosed Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut, older than any man in the village, who had given his name to the village; the demon of the ford before the railway bridge, came—murderer, man-eater, and local fetish in one. He lay with his chin in the shallows, keeping his place by an almost invisible rippling of his tail, and well the Jackal knew that one stroke of that same tail in the water would carry the Mugger up the bank with the rush of a steam-engine.

“Auspiciously met, Protector of the Poor!” he fawned, backing at every word. “A delectable voice was heard, and we came in the hopes of sweet conversation. My tailless presumption, while waiting here, led me, indeed, to speak of thee. It is my hope that nothing was overheard.”

Now the Jackal had spoken just to be listened to, for he knew flattery was the best way of getting things to eat, and the Mugger knew that the Jackal had spoken for this end, and the Jackal knew that the Mugger knew, and the Mugger knew that the Jackal knew that the Mugger knew, and so they were all very contented together.

The old brute pushed and panted and grunted up the bank, mumbling, “Respect the aged and infirm!” and all the time his little eyes burned like coals under the heavy, horny eyelids on the top of his triangular head, as he shoved his bloated barrel-body along between his crutched legs. Then he settled down, and, accustomed as the Jackal was to his ways, he could not help starting, for the hundredth time, when he saw how exactly the Mugger imitated a log adrift on the bar. He had even taken pains to lie at the exact angle a naturally stranded log would make with the water, having regard to the current of the season at the time and place. All this was only a matter of habit, of course, because the Mugger had come ashore for pleasure; but a crocodile is never quite full, and if the Jackal had been deceived by the likeness he would not have lived to philosophise over it.

“My child, I heard nothing,” said the Mugger, shutting one eye. “The water was in my ears, and also I was faint with hunger. Since the railway bridge was built my people at my village have ceased to love me; and that is breaking my heart.”

“Ah, shame!” said the Jackal. “So noble a heart, too! But men are all alike, to my mind.”

“Nay, there are very great differences indeed,” the Mugger answered gently. “Some are as lean as boat-poles. Others again are fat as young ja—dogs. Never would I causelessly revile men. They are of all fashions, but the long years have shown me that, one with another, they are very good. Men, women, and children—I have no fault to find with them. And remember, child, he who rebukes the World is rebuked by the World.”

“Flattery is worse than an empty tin can in the belly. But that which we have just heard is wisdom,” said the Adjutant, bringing down one foot.

“Consider, though, their ingratitude to this excellent one,” began the Jackal tenderly.

“Nay, nay, not ingratitude!” the Mugger said. “They do not think for others; that is all. But I have noticed, lying at my station below the ford, that the stairs of the new bridge are cruelly hard to climb, both for old people and young children. The old, indeed, are not so worthy of consideration, but I am grieved—I am truly grieved—on account of the fat children. Still, I think, in a little while, when the newness of the bridge has worn away, we shall see my people's bare brown legs bravely splashing through the ford as before. Then the old Mugger will be honoured again.”

“But surely I saw Marigold wreaths floating off the edge of the Ghaut only this noon,” said the Adjutant.

Marigold wreaths are a sign of reverence all India over.

“An error—an error. It was the wife of the sweetmeat-seller. She loses her eyesight year by year, and cannot tell a log from me—the Mugger of the Ghaut. I saw the mistake when she threw the garland, for I was lying at the very foot of the Ghaut, and had she taken another step I might have shown her some little difference. Yet she meant well, and we must consider the spirit of the offering.”

“What good are marigold wreaths when one is on the rubbish-heap?” said the Jackal, hunting for fleas, but keeping one wary eye onhis Protector of the Poor.

“True, but they have not yet begun to make the rubbish-heap that shall carry me. Five times have I seen the river draw back from the village and make new land at the foot of the street. Five times have I seen the village rebuilt on the banks, and I shall see it built yet five times more. I am no faithless, fish-hunting Gavial, I, at Kasi today and Prayag tomorrow, as the saying is, but the true and constant watcher of the ford. It is not for nothing, child, that the village bears my name, and ‘he who watches long,’ as the saying is, ‘shall at last have his reward.’”

“I have watched long—very long—nearly all my life, and my reward has been bites and blows,” said the Jackal.

“Ho! ho! ho!” roared the Adjutant.

“In August was the Jackal born;

　　The Rains fell in September;

‘Now such a fearful flood as this,’

　　Says he, ‘I can't remember!’”

There is one very unpleasant peculiarity about the Adjutant. At uncertain times he suffers from acute attacks of the fidgets or cramp in his legs, and though he is more virtuous to behold than any of the cranes, who are all immensely respectable, he flies off into wild, cripple-stilt war-dances, half opening his wings and bobbing his bald head up and down; while for reasons best known to himself he is very careful to time his worst attacks with his nastiest remarks. At the last word of his song he came to attention again, ten times adjutaunter than before.

The Jackal winced, though he was full three seasons old, but you cannot resent an insult from a person with a beak a yard long, and the power of driving it like a javelin. The Adjutant was a most notorious coward, but the Jackal was worse.

“We must live before we can learn,” said the Mugger, “and there is this to say: Little jackals are very common, child, but such a mugger as I am is not common. For all that, I am not proud, since pride is destruction; but take notice, it is Fate, and against his Fate no one who swims or walks or runs should say anything at all. I am well contented with Fate. With good luck, a keen eye, and the custom of considering whether a creek or a backwater has an outlet to it ere you ascend, much may be done.”

“Once I heard that even the Protector of the Poor made a mistake,” said the Jackal viciously.

“True; but there my Fate helped me. It was before I had come to my full growth—before the last famine but three (by the Right and Left of Gunga, how full used the streams to be in those days!). Yes, I was young and unthinking, and when the flood came, who so pleased as I? A little made me very happy then. The village was deep in flood, and I swam above the Ghaut and went far inland, up to the rice-fields, and they were deep in good mud.I remember also a pair of bracelets (glass they were, and troubled me not a little) that I found that evening. Yes, glass bracelets; and, if my memory serves me well, a shoe. I should have shaken off both shoes, but I was hungry. I learned better later. Yes. And so I fed and rested me; but when I was ready to go to the river again the flood had fallen, and I walked through the mud of the main street. Who but I? Came out all my people, priests and women and children, and I looked upon them with benevolence. The mud is not a good place to fight in. Said a boatman, ‘Get axes and kill him, for he is the Mugger of the ford.’ ‘Not so,’ said the Brahmin. ‘Look, he is driving the flood before him! He is the godling of the village.’ Then they threw many flowers at me,and by happy thought one led a goat across the road.”

“How good—how very good is goat!” said the Jackal.

“Hairy—too hairy, and when found in the water more than likely to hide a cross-shaped hook. But that goat I accepted, and went down to the Ghaut in great honour. Later, my Fate sent me the boatman who had desired to cut off my tail with an axe. His boat grounded upon an old shoal which you would not remember.”

“We are not all jackals here,” said the Adjutant. “Was it the shoal made where the stone-boats sank in the year of the great drouth—a long shoal that lasted three floods?”

“There were two,” said the Mugger; “an upper and a lower shoal.”

“Ay, I forgot. A channel divided them, and later dried up again,” said the Adjutant, who prided himself on his memory.

“On the lower shoal my well-wisher's craft grounded. He was sleeping in the bows, and, half awake, leaped over to his waist—no, it was no more than to his knees—to push off. His empty boat went on and touched again below the next reach, as the river ran then. I followed, because I knew men would come out to drag it ashore.”

“And did they do so?” said the Jackal, a little awestricken. This was hunting on a scale that impressed him.

“There and lower down they did. I went no farther, but that gave me three in one day—well-fed manjis (boatmen) all, and, except in the case of the last (then I was careless), never a cry to warn those on the bank.”

“Ah, noble sport! But what cleverness and great judgment it requires!” said the Jackal.

“Not cleverness, child, but only thought. A little thought in life is like salt upon rice, as the boatmen say, and I have thought deeply always. The Gavial, my cousin, the fish-eater, has told me how hard it is for him to follow his fish and how one fish differs from the other, and how he must know them all, both together and apart. I say that is wisdom; but, on the other hand, my cousin, the Gavial, lives among his people. My people do not swim in companies, with their mouths out of the water, as Rewa does; nor do they constantly rise to the surface of the water, and turn over on their sides, like Mohoo and little Chapta; nor do they gather in shoals after flood, like Batchua and Chilwa.”

“All are very good eating,” said the Adjutant, clattering his beak.

“So my cousin says, and makes a great to-do over hunting them, but they do not climb the banks to escape his sharp nose. My people are otherwise. Their life is on the land, in the houses, among the cattle. I must know what they do, and what they are about to do; and adding the tail to the trunk, as the saying is, I make up the whole elephant. Is there a green branch and an iron ring hanging over a doorway? The old Mugger knows that a boy has been born in that house, and must some day come down to the Ghaut to play. Is a maiden to be married? The old Mugger knows, for he sees the men carry gifts back and forth; and she, too, comes down to the Ghaut to bathe before her wedding, and—he is there. Has the river changed its channel, and made new land where there was only sand before? The Mugger knows.”

“Now, of what use is that knowledge?” said the Jackal. “The river has shifted even in my little life.” Indian rivers are nearly always moving about in their beds, and will shift, sometimes, as much as two or three miles in a season, drowning the fields on one bank, and spreading good silt on the other.

“There is no knowledge so useful,” said the Mugger, “for new land means new quarrels. The Mugger knows. Oho! the Mugger knows. As soon as the water has drained off, he creeps up the little creeks that men think would not hide a dog, and there he waits. Presently comes a farmer saying he will plant cucumbers here, and melons there, in the new land that the river has given him. He feels the good mud with his bare toes. Anon comes another, saying he will put onions, and carrots, and sugar-cane in such and such places. They meet as boats adrift meet, and each rolls his eye at the other under the big blue turban. The old Mugger sees and hears. Each calls the other ‘Brother,’ and they go to mark out the boundaries of the new land. The Mugger hurries with them from point to point, shuffling very low through the mud. Now they begin to quarrel! Now they say hot words! Now they pull turbans! Now they lift up their lathis (clubs), and, at last, one falls backward into the mud, and the other runs away. When he comes back the dispute is settled, as the iron-bound bamboo of the loser witnesses. Yet they are not grateful to the Mugger. No, they cry ‘Murder!’ and their families fight with sticks, twenty a-side. My people are good people—upland Jats—Malwais of the Bet. They do not give blows for sport, and, when the fight is done, the old Mugger waits far down the river, out of sight of the village, behind the kikar-scrub yonder. Then come they down, my broad-shouldered Jats—eight or nine together under the stars, bearing the dead man upon a bed. They are old men with grey beards, and voices as deep as mine. They light a little fire—ah! how well I know that fire!—and they drink tobacco, and they nod their heads together forward in a ring, or sideways toward the dead man upon the bank. They say the English Law will come with a rope for this matter, and that such a man's family will be ashamed, because such a man must be hanged in the great square of the Jail. Then say the friends of the dead, ‘Let him hang!’ and the talk is all to do over again—once, twice, twenty times in the long night. Then says one, at last, ‘The fight was a fair fight. Let us take blood-money, a little more than i offered by the slayer, and we will say no more about it.’ Then do they haggle over the blood-money, for the dead was a strong man, leaving many sons. Yet before amratvela (sunrise) they put the fire to him a little, as the custom is, and the dead man comes to me, and he says no more about it. Aha! my children, the Mugger knows—the Mugger knows—and my Malwah Jats are a good people!”

“They are too close—too narrow in the hand for my crop,” croaked the Adjutant. “They waste not the polish on the cow's horn, as the saying is; and, again, who can glean after a Malwai?”

“Ah, I—glean—them,” said the Mugger.

“Now, in Calcutta of the South, in the old days,” the Adjutant went on, “everything was thrown into the streets, and we picked and chose. Those wore dainty seasons. But today they keep their streets as clean as the outside of an egg, and my people fly away. To be clean is one thing; to dust, sweep, and sprinkle seven times a day wearies the very Gods themselves.”

“There was a down-country jackal had it from a brother, who told me, that in Calcutta of the South all the jackals were as fat as otters in the Rains,” said the Jackal, his mouth watering at the bare thought of it.

“Ah, but the white-faces are there—the English, and they bring dogs from somewhere down the river in boats—big fat dogs—to keep those same jackals lean,” said the Adjutant.

“They are, then, as hardhearted as these people? I might have known. Neither earth, sky, nor water shows charity to a jackal. I saw the tents of a white-face last season, after the Rains, and I also took a new yellow bridle to eat. The white-faces do not dress their leather in the proper way. It made me very sick.”

“That was better than my case,” said the Adjutant. “When I was in my third season, a young and a bold bird, I went down to the river where the big boats come in. The boats of the English are thrice as big as this village.”

“He has been as far as Delhi, and says all the people there walk on their heads,” muttered the Jackal. The Mugger opened his left eye, and looked keenly at the Adjutant.

“It is true,” the big bird insisted. “A liar only lies when he hopes to be believed. No one who had not seen those boats could believe this truth.”

“That is more reasonable,” said the Mugger. “And then?”

“From the insides of this boat they were taking out great pieces of white stuff, which, in a little while, turned to water. Much split off, and fell about on the shore, and the rest they swiftly put into a house with thick walls. But a boatman, who laughed, took a piece no larger than a small dog, and threw it to me. I—all my people—swallow without reflection, and that pieceI swallowed as is our custom. Immediately I was afflicted with an excessive cold which,beginning in my crop, ran down to the extreme end of my toes, and deprived me even of speech, while the boatmen laughed at me. Never have I felt such cold. I danced in my grief and amazement till I could recover my breath and then I danced and cried out against the falseness of this world; and the boatmen derided me till they fell down. The chief wonder of the matter, setting aside that marvellous coldness, was that there was nothing at all in my crop when I had finished my lamentings!”

The Adjutant had done his very best to describe his feelings after swallowing a seven-pound lump of Wenham Lake ice, off an American ice-ship, in the days before Calcutta made her ice by machinery; but as he did not know what ice was, and as the Mugger and the Jackal knew rather less, the tale missed fire.

“Anything,” said the Mugger, shutting his left eye again—“anything is possible that comes out of a boat thrice the size of Mugger-Ghaut. My village is not a small one.”

There was a whistle overhead on the bridge, and the Delhi Mail slid across, all the carriages gleaming with light, and the shadows faithfully following along the river. It clanked away into the dark again; but the Mugger and the Jackal were so well used to it that they never turned their heads.

“Is that anything less wonderful than a boat thrice the size of Mugger-Ghaut?” said the bird, looking up.

“I saw that built, child. Stone by stone I saw the bridge-piers rise, and when the men fell off (they were wondrous sure-footed for the most part—but when they fell) I was ready. After the first pier was made they never thought to look down the stream for the body to burn. There, again, I saved much trouble. There was nothing strange in the building of the bridge,” said the Mugger.

“But that which goes across, pulling the roofed carts! That is strange,” the Adjutant repeated. “It is, past any doubt, a new breed of bullock. Some day it will not be able to keep its foothold up yonder, and will fall as the men did. The old Mugger will then be ready.”

The Jackal looked at the Adjutant and the Adjutant looked at the Jackal. If there was one thing they were more certain of than another, it was that the engine was everything in the wide world except a bullock. The Jackal had watched it time and again from the aloe hedges by the side of the line, and the Adjutant had seen engines since the first locomotive ran in India. But the Mugger had only looked up at the thing from below, where the brass dome seemed rather like a bullock's hump.

“Mm—yes, a new kind of bullock,” the Mugger repeated ponderously, to make himself quite sure in his own mind; and, “Certainly it is a bullock,” said the Jackal.

“And again it might be—” began the Mugger pettishly.

“Certainly—most certainly,” said the Jackal, without waiting for the other to finish.

“What?” said the Mugger angrily, for he could feel that the others knew more than he did. “What might it be? I never finished my words. You said it was a bullock.”

“It is anything the Protector of the Poor pleases. I am his servant—not the servant of the thing that crosses the river.”

“Whatever it is, it is white-face work,” said the Adjutant; “and for my own part, I would not lie out upon a place so near to it as this bar.”

“You do not know the English as I do,” said the Mugger. “There was a white-face here when the bridge was built, and he would take a boat in the evenings and shuffle with his feet on the bottom-boards, and whisper: ‘Is he here? Is he there? Bring me my gun.’ I could hear him before I could see him—each sound that he made—creaking and puffing and rattling his gun, up and down the river. As surely as I had picked up one of his workmen, and thus saved great expense in wood for the burning, so surely would he come down to the Ghaut, and shout in a loud voice that he would hunt me, and rid the river of me—the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut! Me! Children, I have swum under the bottom of his boat for hour after hour, and heard him fire his gun at logs; and when I was well sure he was wearied, I have risen by his side and snapped my jaws in his face. When the bridge was finished he went away. All the English hunt in that fashion, except when they are hunted.”

“Who hunts the white-faces?” yapped the Jackal excitedly.

“No one now, but I have hunted them in my time.”

“I remember a little of that Hunting. I was young then,” said the Adjutant, clattering his beak significantly.

“I was well established here. My village was being built for the third time, as I remember, when my cousin, the Gavial, brought me word of rich waters above Benares. At first I would not go, for my cousin, who is a fish-eater, does not always know the good from the bad; but I heard my people talking in the evenings, and what they said made me certain.”

“And what did they say?” the Jackal asked.

“They said enough to make me, the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut, leave water and take to my feet. I went by night, using the littlest streams as they served me; but it was the beginning of the hot weather, and all streams were low. I crossed dusty roads; I went through tall grass; I climbed hills in the moonlight. Even rocks did I climb, children—consider this well. I crossed the tail of Sirhind, the waterless, before I could find the set of the little rivers that flow Gungaward. I was a month's journey from my own people and the river that I knew. That was very marvellous!”

“What food on the way?” said the Jackal, who kept his soul in his little stomach, and was not a bit impressed by the Mugger's land travels.

“That which I could find—cousin,” said the Mugger slowly, dragging each word.

Now you do not call a man a cousin in India unless you think you can establish some kind of blood-relationship, and as it is only in old fairytales that the Mugger ever marries a jackal, the Jackal knew for what reason he had been suddenly lifted into the Mugger's family circle. If they had been alone he would not have cared, but the Adjutant's eyes twinkled with mirth at the ugly jest.

“Assuredly, Father, I might have known,” said the Jackal. A mugger does not care to be called a father of jackals, and the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut said as much—and a great deal more which there is no use in repeating here.

“The Protector of the Poor has claimed kinship. How can I remember the precise degree? Moreover, we eat the same food. He has said it,” was the Jackal's reply.

That made matters rather worse, for what the Jackal hinted at was that the Mugger must have eaten his food on that land-march fresh, and fresh every day, instead of keeping it by him till it was in a fit and proper condition, as every self-respecting mugger and most wild beasts do when they can. Indeed, one of the worst terms of contempt along the river-bed is “eater of fresh meat.” It is nearly as bad as calling a man a cannibal.

“That food was eaten thirty seasons ago,” said the Adjutant quietly. “If we talk for thirty seasons more it will never come back. Tell us, now, what happened when the good waters were reached after thy most wonderful land journey. If we listened to the howling of every jackal the business of the town would stop, as the saying is.”

The Mugger must have been grateful for the interruption, because he went on, with a rush:

“By the Right and Left of Gunga! when I came there never did I see such waters!”

“Were they better, then, than the big flood of last season?” said the Jackal.

“Better! That flood was no more than comes every five years—a handfu of drowned strangers, some chickens, and a dead bullock in muddy water with crosscurrents. But the season I think of, the river was low, smooth, and even, and, as the Gavial had warned me, the dead English came down, touching each other. I got my girth in that season—my girth and my depth. From Agra, by Etawah and the broad waters by Allahabad—”

“Oh, the eddy that set under the walls of the fort at Allahabad!” said the Adjutant. “They came in there like widgeon to the reeds, and round and round they swung—thus!”

He went off into his horrible dance again, while the Jackal looked on enviously. He naturally could not remember the terrible year of the Mutiny they were talking about. The Mugger continued:

“Yes, by Allahabad one lay still in the slack-water and let twenty go by to pick one; and, above all, the English were not cumbered with jewellery and nose-rings and anklets as my women are nowadays. To delight in ornaments is to end with a rope for a necklace, as the saying is. All the muggers of all the rivers grew fat then, but it was my Fate to be fatter than them all. The news was that the English were being hunted into the rivers, and by the Right and Left of Gunga! we believed it was true. So far as I went south I believed it to be true; and I went downstream beyond Monghyr and the tombs that look over the river.”

“I know that place,” said the Adjutant. “Since those days Monghyr is a lost city. Very few live there now.”

“Thereafter I worked upstream very slowly and lazily, and a little above Monghyr there came down a boatful of white-faces—alive! They were, as I remember, women, lying under a cloth spread over sticks, and crying aloud. There was never a gun fired at us, the watchers of the fords in those days. All the guns were busy elsewhere. We could hear them day and night inland, coming and going as the wind shifted. I rose up full before the boat, because I had never seen white-faces alive, though I knew them well—otherwise. A naked white child kneeled by the side of the boat, and, stooping over, must needs try to trail his hands in the river. It is a pretty thing to see how a child loves running water. I had fed that day, but there was yet a little unfilled space within me. Still, it was for sport and not for food that I rose at the child's hands. They were so clear a mark that I did not even look when I closed; but they were so small that though my jaws rang true—I am sure of that—the child drew them up swiftly, unhurt. They must have passed between tooth and tooth—those small white hands. I should have caught him crosswise at the elbows; but, as I said, it was only for sport and desire to see new things that I rose at all. They cried out one after another in the boat, and presently I rose again to watch them. The boat was too heavy to push over. They were only women, but he who trusts a woman will walk on duckweed in a pool, as the saying is: and by the Right and Left of Gunga, that is truth!”

“Once a woman gave me some dried skin from a fish,” said the Jackal. “I had hoped to get her baby, but horse-food is better than the kick of a horse, as the saying is. What did thy woman do?”

“She fired at me with a short gun of a kind I have never seen before or since. Five times, one after another (the Mugger must have met with an old-fashioned revolver) and I stayed open-mouthed and gaping, my head in the smoke. Never did I see such a thing. Five times, as swiftly as I wave my tail—thus!”

The Jackal, who had been growing more and more interested in the story, had just time to leap back as the huge tail swung by like a scythe.

“Not before the fifth shot,” said the Mugger, as though he had never dreamed of stunning one of his listeners—“not before the fifth shot did I sink,and I rose in time to hear a boatman telling all those white women that I was most certainly dead. One bullet had gone under a neck-plate of mine. I know not if it is there still, for the reason I cannot turn my head. Look and see, child. It will show that my tale is true.”

“I?” said the Jackal. “Shall an eater of old shoes, a bone-cracker, presume, to doubt the word of the Envy of the River? May my tail be bitten off by blind puppies if the shadow of such a thought has crossed my humble mind! The Protector of the Poor has condescended to inform me, his slave, that once in his life he has been wounded by a woman. That is sufficient, and I will tell the tale to all my children, asking for no proof.”

“Overmuch civility is sometimes no better than overmuch discourtesy, for, as the saying is, one can choke a guest with curds. I do not desire that any children of thine should know that the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut took his only wound from a woman. They will have much else to think of if they get their meat as miserably as does their father.”

“It is forgotten long ago! It was never said! There never was a white woman! There was no boat! Nothing whatever happened at all.”

The Jackal waved his brush to show how completely everything was wiped out of his memory, and sat down with an air.

“Indeed, very many things happened,” said the Mugger, beaten in his second attempt that night to get the better of his friend. (Neither bore malice, however. Eat and be eaten was fair law along the river, and the Jackal came in for his share of plunder when the Mugger had finished a meal.) “I left that boat and went upstream, and, when I had reached Arrah and the back-waters behind it, there were no more dead English. The river was empty for a while. Then came one or two dead, in red coats, not English, but of one kind all—Hindus and Purbeeahs—then five and six abreast, and at last, from Arrah to the North beyond Agra, it was as though whole villages had walked into the water. They came out of little creeks one after another, as the logs come down in the Rains. When the river rose they rose also in companies from the shoals they had rested upon; and the falling flood dragged them with it across the fields and through the Jungle by the long hair. All night, too, going North,I heard the guns, and by day the shod feet of men crossing fords, and that noise which a heavy cartwheel makes on sand under water; and every ripple brought more dead. At last even I was afraid, for I said: ‘If this thing happen to men, how shall the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut escape?’ There were boats, too, that came up behind me without sails, burning continually, as the cotton-boats sometimes burn, but never sinking.”

“Ah!” said the Adjutant. “Boats like those come to Calcutta of the South. They are tall and black, they beat up the water behind them with a tail, and they—”

“Are thrice as big as my village. My boats were low and white; they beat up the water on either side of them and were no larger than the boats of one who speaks truth should be. They made me very afraid, and I left water and went back to this my river, hiding by day and walking by night, when I could not find little streams to help me. I came to my village again, but I did not hope to see any of my people there. Yet they were ploughing and sowing and reaping, and going to and fro in their fields, as quietly as their own cattle.”

“Was there still good food in the river?” said the Jackal.

“More than I had any desire for. Even I—and I do not eat mud—even I was tired, and, as I remember, a little frightened of this constant coming down of the silent ones. I heard my people say in my village that all the English were dead; but those that came, face down, with the current were not English, as my people saw. Then my people said that it was best to say nothing at all, but to pay the tax and plough the land. After a long time the river cleared, and those that came down it had been clearly drowned by the floods, as I could well see; and though it was not so easy then to get food, I was heartily glad of it. A little killing here and there is no bad thing—but even the Mugger is sometimes satisfied, as the saying is.”

“Marvellous! Most truly marvellous!” said the Jackal. “I am become fat through merely hearing about so much good eating. And afterward what, if it be permitted to ask, did the Protector of the Poor do?”

“I said to myself—and by the Right and Left of Gunga! I locked my jaws on that vow—I said I would never go roving any more. So I lived by the Ghaut, very close to my own people, and I watched over them year after year; and they loved me so much that they threw marigold wreaths at my head whenever they saw it lift. Yes, and my Fate has been very kind to me, and the river is good enough to respect my poor and infirm presence; only—”

“No one is all happy from his beak to his tail,” said the Adjutant sympathetically. “What does the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut need more?”

“That little white child which I did not get,” said the Mugger, with a deep sigh. “He was very small, but I have not forgotten. I am old now, but before I die it is my desire to try one new thing. It is true they are a heavy-footed, noisy, and foolish people, and the sport would be small, but I remember the old days above Benares, and, if the child lives, he will remember still. It may be he goes up and down the bank of some river, telling how he once passed his hands between the teeth of the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut, and lived to make a tale of it. My Fate has been very kind, but that plagues me sometimes in my dreams—the thought of the little white child in the bows of that boat.” He yawned, and closed his jaws. “And now I will rest and think. Keep silent, my children, and respect the aged.”

He turned stiffly, and shuffled to the top of the sand-bar, while the Jacka drew back with the Adjutant to the shelter of a tree stranded on the end nearest the railway bridge.

“That was a pleasant and profitable life,” he grinned, looking up inquiringly at the bird who towered above him. “And not once, mark you, did he think fit to tell me where a morsel might have been left along the banks.Yet I have told him a hundred times of good things wallowing do wnstream. How true is the saying, ‘All the world forgets the Jackal and the Barber when the news has been told!’ Now he is going to sleep! Arrh!”

“How can a jackal hunt with a Mugger?” said the Adjutant coolly. “Big thief and little thief; it is easy to say who gets the pickings.”

The Jackal turned, whining impatiently, and was going to curl himself up under the tree-trunk, when suddenly he cowered, and looked up through the draggled branches at the bridge almost above his head.

“What now?” said the Adjutant, opening his wings uneasily.

“Wait till we see. The wind blows from us to them, but they are not looking for us—those two men.”

“Men, is it? My office protects me. All India knows I am holy.” The Adjutant, being a first-class scavenger, is allowed to go where he pleases, and so this one never flinched.

“I am not worth a blow from anything better than an old shoe,” said the Jackal, and listened again. “Hark to that footfall!” he went on. “That was no country leather, but the shod foot of a white-face. Listen again! Iron hits iron up there! It is a gun! Friend, those heavy-footed, foolish English are coming to speak with the Mugger.”

“Warn him, then. He was called Protector of the Poor by someone not unlike a starving Jackal but a little time ago.”

“Let my cousin protect his own hide. He has told me again and again there is nothing to fear from the white-faces. They must be white-faces. Not a villager of Mugger-Ghaut would dare to come after him. See, I said it was a gun! Now, with good luck, we shall feed before daylight. He cannot hear well out of water, and—this time it is not a woman!”

A shiny barrel glittered for a minute in the moonlight on the girders. The Mugger was lying on the sand-bar as still as his own shadow, his forefeet spread out a little, his head dropped between them, snoring like a—mugger.

A voice on the bridge whispered: “It's an odd shot—straight down almost—but as safe as houses. Better try behind the neck. Golly! what a brute! The villagers will be wild if he's shot, though. He's the deota [godling] of these parts.”

“Don't care a rap,” another voice answered; “he took about fifteen of my best coolies while the bridge was building, and it's time he was put a stop to. I've been after him in a boat for weeks. Stand by with the Martini as soon as I've given him both barrels of this.”

“Mind the kick, then. A double four-bore's no joke.”

“That's for him to decide. Here goes!”

There was a roar like the sound of a small cannon (the biggest sort of elephant-rifle is not very different from some artillery), and a double streak of flame, followed by the stinging crack of a Martini, whose long bullet makes nothing of a crocodile's plates. But the explosive bullets did the work. One of them struck just behind the Mugger's neck, a hand's-breadth to the left of the backbone, while the other burst a little lower down, at the beginning of the tail. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a mortally-wounded crocodile can scramble to deep water and get away; but the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut was literally broken into three pieces. He hardly moved his head before the life went out of him, and he lay as flat as the Jackal.

“Thunder and lightning! Lightning and thunder!” said that miserable little beast. “Has the thing that pulls the covered carts over the bridge tumbled at last?”

“It is no more than a gun,” said the Adjutant, though his very tail-feathers quivered. “Nothing more than a gun. He is certainly dead. Here come the white-faces.”

The two Englishmen had hurried down from the bridge and across to the sand-bar, where they stood admiring the length of the Mugger. Then a native with an axe cut off the big head, and four men dragged it across the spit.

“The last time that I had my hand in a Mugger's mouth,” said one of the Englishmen, stooping down (he was the man who had built the bridge), “it was when I was about five years old—coming down the river by boat to Monghyr. I was a Mutiny baby, as they call it. Poor mother was in the boat, too, and she often told me how she fired dad's old pistol at the beast's head.”

“Well, you've certainly had your revenge on the chief of the clan—even if the gun has made your nose bleed. Hi, you boatmen! Haul that head up the bank, and we'll boil it for the skull. The skin's too knocked about to keep. Come along to bed now. This was worth sitting up all night for, wasn't it?”

Curiously enough, the Jackal and the Adjutant made the very same remark not three minutes after the men had left.

收尸者

在你叫鬣狗前来吃肉，跟塔巴几称兄道弟的一天，

你就可以与贾喀拉——靠四只爪子跑的大肚子——全面休战。

——《丛林法规》

“尊敬老者！”

那是一种沙哑的声音，一种会使你毛骨悚然的泥糊糊的声音，一种好像是什么软不拉唧的东西破成两半时的声音，像什么东西在瑟瑟地抖，也像一只乌鸦在哑哑地叫，又像什么在呜呜地哭。

“尊敬老者！河流的伙伴们啊——尊敬老者！”

一望无际的宽阔的河面上什么也看不见，只有一队挂着方帆、木销连接起来的驳船，载着建筑石料，刚刚从铁路桥下面出来，正向下游驶去。他们转动着他们笨重的舵，避开河水冲刷桥墩形成的沙洲，就在他们三船并行开过去的时候，那可怕的声音又出现了。

“河流的婆罗门啊——尊敬老者！”

一名船夫坐在舷边上，转过身来，举起一只手，说了句不怎么中听的话，几只小船便穿过暮色咯吱咯吱向前驶去。这条宽阔的印度河流，看上去不像一条奔流不息的河，倒像是一串小湖泊，平滑如镜，河道中央映出沙红色的天，在低平的河岸附近和下面，泛荡起黄色和暗紫色的鳞波。雨季一来，条条溪流汇入这条大河，可现在它们干涸的河口清清楚楚地悬在水位上面。左岸，差不多就在铁路桥下面，坐落着一个村庄，泥屋、砖房、草棚、柴舍，乱麻麻一片，挤满了回栏牛群的主街直通河里，街的尽头就成了一个砖坯造的凸式码头，谁想洗洗涮涮，就可以一个台阶一个台阶蹚进水里。这就是湾鳄台阶村的台阶。

夜幕迅速降临，笼罩着田野，这里遍地都是庄稼，扁豆、稻子、棉花都在低地上种植，一年被河水漫一回。夜幕笼罩着河湾边上生长的芦苇，笼罩着宁静的芦苇荡后面牧场上杂乱纠结的草木。鹦鹉和乌鸦聒噪着晚饮，喝足以后飞回窝去栖宿，途中与成群结伙往外飞的狐蝠打了个照面。遮天盖地的水禽有的“吹着口哨”，有的“吹着喇叭”，飞到芦苇荡下面藏身。其中有头如圆筒、脊背乌黑的野鹅，有短颈野鸭，有赤颈鸭，有绿头鸭，有麻鸭，还有鹬，还有东一只西一只的火烈鸟。

一只笨重的鹳在殿后，翅膀扑扇得很慢，每一次扑扇就像给人一种有了这次再无下次的感觉。

“尊敬老者！河流的婆罗门啊——尊敬老者！”

鹳稍微扭了一下头，把飞行方向朝声音来的一面略微偏移了一下，然后直撅撅地落到桥下的沙洲上。你这才看见他还真有一副凶神恶煞的样子。从后面看，他的样子倒令人肃然起敬，他站在地上差不多有六英尺高，看上去俨然像一名十分可敬的秃头牧师。从前面看，就有天壤之别了，因为他那阿利·斯洛珀似的脑袋和脖子上面没有一根毛，下巴底下的脖子上有一个怪瘆人的光皮囊，把他那鹤嘴锄模样的尖嘴能偷到的东西一股脑儿装了进去。他的腿又长又细，一副皮包骨头的模样，可腿的动作十分优雅，他一边梳理自己烟灰色的羽毛，一边得意地欣赏着自己的腿，如果瞥一眼他那光滑的肩，便顿时僵化成了“立正”的姿势。

一只癞皮小豺狗子，本来在不高的陡岸上饿得汪汪直叫，这时候却竖起了耳朵和尾巴，急匆匆地跑过浅滩，来到鹳的身边。

他可是同族中最贱的贱坯，并不是说最高贵的豺狗子能好到哪里，而是说这一只特别的下贱，因为他半是叫花子半是罪犯——是村里垃圾堆的清扫工，有时胆小如鼠，有时又胆大包天，但总是饥肠辘辘，虽然老奸巨猾，但总是捞不到什么好处。

“唔！”他一上岸就忧愁地抖了两抖说道，“巴不得红皮癣把全村的狗都灭掉！因为身上的每只跳蚤我都要咬三口，就因为我看了一眼——你记住，只是看了一眼——牛棚里的一只旧鞋。难道我能吃泥巴不成？”他在左耳朵下面挠了挠。

“我听说，”鹳说，声音绝像老锯子在锯厚木板，“我可听说那只鞋里有只刚生下的小狗仔呢。”

“耳听为虚，眼见为实。”豺狗子说，他可是一肚子的谚语，那都是他听村民们晚上围着篝火扯闲篇儿，顺便拾来的牙慧。

“此话不假。为了弄明白，趁那些狗在别的地方忙活，我去关照一下狗仔。”

“他们可真够忙活的，”豺狗子说，“这下好了，我暂时就不用到村子里搜寻残羹剩饭了。这么说来，那只鞋里还真有一只没睁开眼的狗仔呢？”

“它在这儿呢，”鹳说着便从尖嘴上瞟了一眼他那满满当当的皮囊，“小不点儿一个，不过既然世界上没了慈善，东西虽小，还可以打打牙祭。”

“啊嗨！如今的世界成了铁石心肠，”豺狗子悲叹道。这时候他那骨碌骨碌的眼珠子捕捉到水上游丝一般的涟漪，便紧接着往下说，“我们大家的日子都不好过，我毫不怀疑，就我们英明的主人，台阶的骄傲，河流的艳羡——”

“谎皮瘤儿，马屁精，豺狗子统统都是从一个蛋里孵出来的。”鹳并不是专门冲着哪一个说的，因为要是费起神儿来，他本身就是一名无师自通、挺上档次的谎皮瘤儿。

“是啊，河流的艳羡。”豺狗子重复了一遍，把声音拔高了，“哪怕是他，我都不怀疑，也发现打桥修起来以后，好吃的东西更加稀缺了。不过话又说回来，尽管我是绝对不会向他直说这话的，但他这么聪明，这么有德行——哟，我不是——”

“当豺狗子说他是灰突突的时候，他一定是黑黢黢的了！”鹳嘟嘟囔囔地说，他看不清什么东西正在逼近。

“他又从来不会断顿儿，而且由于——”

出现了一种软绵绵的擦蹭声，仿佛一只小船刚刚涉入浅滩的水里。豺狗子忽地一下打了个转身，面对着（面对总是上上策）他们一直在议论的家伙。原来是一只二十四英尺长的鳄鱼，装在看上去像三层铆钉铆住的锅炉钢板的箱子里，上面还打了饰钉、龙骨和顶饰，黄灿灿的上牙尖儿正好悬在他那有凹槽的漂亮的下颚上。这就是湾鳄台阶的方头鼻子湾鳄，岁数比村子里的哪一个人都大，村名用的就是他老人家的大号。在没有铁路桥的时候，他是浅水区的魔鬼——集凶杀、吃人和当地神物于一身。他躺着，下巴搁在浅滩上，尾巴荡起几乎看不见的涟漪，以此标明他的位置。豺狗子太了解了，水里的那条尾巴摆一下就能把湾鳄送上岸，它有一台火车头的冲劲儿。

“幸会，可怜虫的保护神！”他满嘴的奉承话，边说边往后退，“一听到悦耳的声音，我们就来，满心希望来一次惬意的谈话呢。在我等候的时候，我那没有尾巴的猜想，真的，使我说起了您。但愿那些烂话没有吹进您的耳朵里。”

其实豺狗子刚才恰恰是说给湾鳄听的，因为他知道拍马屁是讨得东西吃的最好的办法。湾鳄也知道豺狗子说话的居心，豺狗子知道湾鳄知道，湾鳄也知道豺狗子知道湾鳄知道，所以他们皆大欢喜。

老家伙推着、喘着、哼着上了岸，嘴里咕哝着说，“尊敬老者！”在此期间，他四条腿叉开撑起他那臃肿的桶子身体向前推进，他那三角脑袋顶上的厚重的角质眼皮下面的一双小眼睛则像燃烧的煤球。然后他才歇了下来。豺狗子尽管对他那一套早已习以为常，但当他看见他那么惟妙惟肖地模仿一根漂到沙洲上的木头时，哪怕已经见过上百次了，还是忍不住要大吃一惊。由于考虑到那个时候那个地方的水流情况，他便煞费苦心地躺着，与一根圆木在水里自然搁浅形成的角度完全一致。当然这一切只是个习惯问题，因为湾鳄上岸是为了消闲解闷儿。不过鳄鱼的肚子是个无底洞，要是豺狗子上了这种样子相似的当，他也不会活着对它做哲学探讨了。

“我的孩子，我什么也没有听见。”湾鳄说着便闭上了一只眼睛，“我的耳朵进水了，我都饿晕了。打铁路桥修起来以后，我的村民就不再爱我了，这可让我伤心死了。”

“啊，不像话！”豺狗子说，“又是一颗这么高贵的心！不过我觉得人都是一丘之貉。”

“不对，其实差别大着呢。”湾鳄温文尔雅地答道，“有人瘦得像船篙，有人胖得像小豺——不对，像小狗。我绝对不会平白无故地骂人。人形形色色，什么样儿的都有，但日久见人心，事实证明他们个个都是好样儿的。男人、女人、小孩——我就挑不出他们的什么毛病来。记住，孩子，诟病世界者为世界所诟病。”

“灌米汤还不如把一只空罐头吞进肚子里。不过我们刚刚听到的是至理名言。”鹳说着把一只脚放了下来。

“不过要是考虑到他们对这么一个优秀人物忘恩负义……”豺狗子温存地开口道。

“不，不，不是忘恩负义！”湾鳄说道，“他们就是不为别人着想，没有别的意思。不过我躺在浅水下面自己的岗位上，注意到新桥的台阶难爬得要命，不管是对老人还是对小孩。说实在的，对老人不值得过于上心，可是我真为那些胖乎乎的小孩子伤心——真的伤心哪。不过，我仍然想，过不了多久，桥的新鲜劲儿磨掉了，我们又会看见我的村民们像从前一样，光着棕色的双腿，大摇大摆、水花四溅地蹚过河去的。那时候老湾鳄又会风光起来的。”

“可是就在今儿中午我确实看见金盏花的花环从台阶边上漂走了。”鹳说。金盏花花环在整个印度都表示尊敬。

“弄错啦——弄错啦。那是糖果店的老板娘，她的眼神儿一年不如一年了，分不清是根木头还是我——台阶的湾鳄！她把那花环一扔，我就看出了问题，因为我就在台阶脚下躺着呢，要是她再下一个台阶，我就会让她看看二者小小的差别。不过她用意挺好，我们必须重视这种奉献精神嘛。”

“一个人在垃圾堆上讨生活时，金盏花花环还有何益？”豺狗子边找跳蚤边说道，不过眼睛一直提防着这位可怜虫的保护神。

“此话不假，不过他们还没有开始造能养活我的垃圾堆呢。我看见河水从村子里退去了五次，在那条街脚下造成了新的土地。我看见村子在河岸上重建了五次，我还会看见它再建五次。我绝不是没有诚信的恒河食鱼鳄，像俗话说的，今天在格西，明天在普拉亚格，我是这浅水区的锲而不舍的守望者。村子也不是平白无故用我的名字做村名，孩子，常言道，‘长期守望者，最终有回报。’”

“我守望的时间也长了——很长很长了——几乎这辈子都守过去了，我的回报却是挨咬挨揍。”豺狗子说。

“嗬！嗬！嗬！”鹳吼道。

“八月生的豺狗子，

　　九月下的雨；

哪有大雨这样倾盆下，

　　他说，‘我可记不起！’”

鹳有一种非常讨厌的怪癖。他一阵一阵地不是烦躁难耐，就是两腿抽筋，尽管他看上去比令人肃然起敬的任何一只鹤还要道貌岸然，但到时候他就双翅半展，秃脑袋上下乱点，突然往前一飞，像踩着一高一低的高跷，狂跳起了战舞。与此同时，出于只有他心知肚明的理由，他仔细掌握时机，用最恶毒的言辞发起最凌厉的攻击。歌儿一唱完，又来了一个“立正”姿势，比方才的鹳本分十倍。

豺狗子畏缩了，尽管他已经三周岁了，但是如果受一个嘴有一码长，而且有力量把它像标枪一样投出去的家伙的侮辱，他也只能忍气吞声。鹳是臭名远扬的草鸡蛋，豺狗子更是草鸡毛。

“活着方能学习，”湾鳄说，“这句话不说不行：小豺狗子十分平常，孩子，但像我这样的湾鳄就非同寻常了。话虽这么说，我并不骄傲，因为骄傲就是灭亡。不过听好了，这是命。对于命，不管是游的、走的，还是跑的，都得三缄其口。我认命。运气好，眼睛尖，又养成了习惯，上岸前先考虑河湾或者回水是否有出路可逃，这样一来就可以办很多事情了。”

“我曾经听说就连可怜虫的保护神也有过闪失。”豺狗子居心不良地说。

“此话不假，不过命帮了我一把。那时候我还不成熟——那是在往前数第四次大饥荒之前（凭贡加河左右两岸起誓！那些日子大大小小的河流总是水满为患）。是啊，当时我少不更事，洪水来时，谁能像我这样高兴？那时候，一股小水就使我乐不可支。村子被洪水淹没了，我游到台阶上面进入远离河岸的内地，来到稻田上面，稻田上面是深深的泥浆。我还记得那天晚上我发现的一副手镯（玻璃做的，但给我带来的麻烦可大了去了）。对，玻璃手镯。如果我的记忆可靠的话，还有一只鞋。我应当把两只鞋都甩开的，可是我饿得慌。后来我本事见长了。对。于是我先让自己填填肚子，再歇歇身子。可是就在我准备回河里去的当儿，洪水退了，我就在主街的泥巴里往回爬。除了我，还有谁呢？我的村民全来啦，有祭司，有妇女，有孩子，我满怀善意瞅着他们。泥巴可不是打斗的好战场。一名船夫说：‘弄几把斧头来，宰了他，因为他是浅水区的湾鳄。’‘不行，’婆罗门说，‘瞧，他正把洪水往前赶呢！他是村神哪。’于是他们向我抛过来许多许多花儿，有个人突发妙想，还从路那边牵来了一只山羊。”

“多好啊——山羊可再好不过啦！”豺狗子说。

“毛烘烘的——毛多得很呢，如果在水里发现它，看上去像藏着的一个十字形的钓钩。不过我还是接受了那只山羊，非常风光地朝台阶游去。后来，命又把那想用斧头砍掉我尾巴的船夫送上门来。他的船在一个老滩上搁浅了，那地方你们多半记不得了。”

“我们又不都是这里的豺狗子”，鹳说，“是不是大旱那年把运石头的船弄沉的那个浅滩——一条三次洪水都没冲掉的长滩？”

“有两个浅滩呢，”湾鳄说，“一个上滩，一个下滩。”

“哎，我忘啦。一条水道把它们分开了，后来又连到一起了。”鹳说，对自己的记性十分自豪。

“在下滩上，孩子们，要看我的好下场的人的船搁了浅。他正在船头睡大觉，随后睡得迷迷糊糊，突然从船上跳下去，水漫到腰上——不，顶多漫到膝上——想把船推开。河水一冲，他的空船向前一走，却在下一段河道下面又搁浅了。我跟着，因为我知道人会来把它拖上岸去的。”

“他们真这么干了？”豺狗子说，有点儿肃然起敬了，这是给他印象深刻的大规模捕杀。

“他们在那里和下面一点干起来。我再没有往前走。但这一天我就捕获了三个猎物——都是吃得很壮实的船老大，除了最后一个（当时我马虎了），他们都没有来得及叫一声，警告警告岸上的伙伴。”

“啊，高超的捕杀！这需要多么高妙的灵巧和准确的判断啊！”豺狗子说。

“不是灵巧，孩子，是思想，就像船夫说的那样，生活中的一点点思想就像米饭上撒的盐，而我总是深思熟虑的。我的表亲，恒河食鱼鳄跟我讲过他追鱼多么困难。鱼跟鱼又是怎样的千差万别，他得怎样把它们全面了解，它们共性如何，个性又怎样。我说这就是智慧。不过话又说回来，我的表亲，恒河鳄生活在他的民众中间。我的民众不像雷华鱼把嘴伸出水面成群结伙地游泳，也不像莫霍鱼和小恰普塔鱼那样不断地浮出水面，左右翻滚，他们不像巴特欻鱼和契尔华鱼那样洪水过后聚集在浅滩上。”

“这些鱼都非常好吃。”鹳说着尖嘴就呱嗒起来。

“我的表亲也这么说，而且捕起鱼得翻江倒海，大闹一场，可是鱼儿又不能爬上岸去躲他的尖鼻子。我的民众就是另外一回事了。他们在陆地上生活，在房子里居住，在牛群里走动。我必须知道他们在干什么，他们要干什么，而且还像俗语说的，有鼻子，还要有尾巴，我才能凑足一头大象。门洞上面是不是挂着一根青枝和一个铁环？老湾鳄知道，那一家有一个男孩降生了，有一天他准会到台阶那儿玩。这个姑娘是不是要结婚了？老湾鳄知道，因为他看见男人们抬着聘礼来回奔忙，姑娘大婚前也得到台阶这儿来洗澡，可——他就在那儿呢。河流是不是改了道，在原来只有沙子的地方造成了新的土地？湾鳄知道。”

“喏，这些知识有什么用？”豺狗子说，“在我这短短的一生中河流就已经改过道了。”印度的河流总是把河床移来移去，有时候，一个季节就迁移两三英里，淹没了一边岸上的农田，在另一边的岸上铺展开肥沃的淤泥。

“再没有比这更有用的知识啦，”湾鳄说，“因为新的土地就意味着新的争吵。湾鳄知道。噢嗬！湾鳄知道。水一排走，他就爬到小河湾里，人却认为那里连一只狗都藏不住，可他却在那里等着。不久就来了一个庄稼人，说他要在这里种黄瓜，在那里种甜瓜，这些都是河流给他的新的土地。他用光脚指头碰了碰肥沃的泥土。不久又来了一个人，说他要在什么地方种洋葱，在什么地方种胡萝卜，在什么地方种甘蔗。他们相遇就像两只船漂到一起一样。蓝色的大缠头巾下面，两双眼球骨碌碌对视着。老湾鳄看在眼里，听在耳里。他们彼此以兄弟相称，开始标出新地上的地界。湾鳄急匆匆地紧跟着他们，忽而到这里，忽而到那里，拖泥带水地爬着，尽量避免引起人的注意。他们开始吵架了！他们彼此恶语相加了！他们把缠头巾扯了下来！他们举起了棍棒！终于有一个人在泥里往后栽了个四仰八叉，另一个人拔脚跑掉了。他回来以后，争端就解决了，输家的铁箍竹棒提供了见证。然而他们并不感激湾鳄。不，他们喊着‘杀人犯’，双方的家人各有二十来个开始棍棒相加。我的民众是好样儿的——高地的贾特人——也就是贝特的马尔瓦人。他们大打出手可不是闹着玩的，仗干完的时候，老湾鳄远远地在河下面等着，村子在老远的金合欢树林后面，是看不见的。后来他们来了，我的宽肩的贾特人——八九个人在一起，顶着星星，用床板抬着死人。他们都是些老汉，花白胡子，声音像我的一样深沉。他们点燃了一点儿火——啊！我对那种火可再熟悉不过了！——便吸起烟来，他们围成一圈，一起朝前点头，或者侧过去向河岸上的死人点头。他们说英国法律会拿一根绳子来处理这个问题，还说这样一个人就会使全家抬不起头来，因为这样一个人一定会在监狱的广场上被绞死。这时死者的亲友们说：‘让他吊死去吧！’夜很长，这样的车轱辘话重复了一次，两次，二十次。最后有一个人说：‘打仗事出有因，也算公平合理。我们总得拿偿命钱吧，如果比一般的凶手出的多一点儿，我们就再不提这事儿了。’于是他们又为给多少偿命钱扯起皮来，因为死者是一个壮汉，儿女成群。不过日头升起以前，他们给死人身边搁了一点儿火，这是风俗，于是死人便到我这儿来了，他对这件事再不说什么了。啊哈！我的孩子们，湾鳄知道——湾鳄知道——我的马尔瓦贾特人是好样儿的！”

“他们也太抠门儿了——对我的嗉子也太手紧了。”鹳聒噪着，“俗话说，他们不会把油糟蹋到牛角上；还说，谁会在马尔瓦人后面拾落穗呢？”

“啊，我——拾——他们。”湾鳄说。

“喏，从前在南方的加尔各答，”鹳接着说，“什么都被扔到街上，随我们挑拣。那可是些讲究吃喝的季节。可是现如今，他们的街道像鸡蛋壳外表一样干净，我的同类都飞走了。讲究干净还说得过去，可一天洒扫七回，就是神仙也烦得受不了啦。”

“有一个河口地区的豺从一个兄弟那儿得知情况，他又告诉我说，在南方的加尔各答，豺狗子个个肥得像雨季里的水獭。”豺狗子说，一想到这种情景，他就馋得口水直流。

“啊，不过白面皮（英国人）现在到了那儿，他们从什么地方坐船顺流而来，还带着狗——大肥狗——结果弄得那些豺狗子瘦了下来。”鹳说。

“这么说，他们也像这里的人一样心肠硬了？我该明白的。地也好，天也好，水也好，都不会给豺狗子发善心的。上个季节，雨季过后，我看见过一个白面皮的帐篷，还弄了一副黄颜色的新马笼头吃。那些白面皮鞣皮子不得当，吃得我好恶心呢。”

“那总比我的景况好，”鹳说，“我三季大的时候，就是一只年轻胆大的鸟儿，我下到大船行驶的河里。英国人的船有这么三个村子大。”

“他到过德里那么远的地方，他说那里的人都是倒立起来用头走路的。”豺狗子嘟嘟囔囔地说。湾鳄睁开他的左眼，死死地盯着鹳。

“千真万确，”大鸟一口咬定，“谎皮瘤儿希望人家相信的时候就扯谎。没有见过那些船的，不会相信那是实话。”

“这话说得有理。”湾鳄说，“后来呢？”

“他们从这条船里面搬出一大块一大块白东西，过了一会儿，这些东西就变成了水。其中很多都裂开了，掉到了地上，剩下的他们赶忙搬到一座墙很厚的房子里。还有一个船夫笑着拿了充其量像一只小狗那么大的一块，扔给了我。我——我们大伙儿总是不管三七二十一就一嘴吞下，所以我按照习惯把那东西吞了下去。顿时我便觉得奇冷难耐，这股子冷气，从嗉子开始，接着便蹿下去，直冷到趾尖儿，冷得我连话都说不出来了。看见我这副模样，船夫们哈哈大笑起来。我还从来没有感到过这样的寒冷。我又伤心，又惊恐，不由得连跳带舞，一直跳到缓过气儿来，然后我又跳又叫，抗议这个世界的奸诈行为。船夫们拿我开涮，一个个乐得栽倒在地上。撇开那刺骨寒冷不说，这件事主要让人纳闷儿的一点是，我呼天抢地闹腾完了以后，嗉子里空无一物了！”

鹳尽其所能描述了他吞下一块七磅重的温汉姆湖的冰疙瘩后的感受。那是从一艘美国冰船上卸下来的，那时候加尔各答当地还不能用机器制冰。可是由于他不知道冰为何物，再加上湾鳄和豺狗子更不明白，这个故事就哑火了。

“什么事情，”湾鳄说着又闭上了左眼——“从一条相当于湾鳄台阶三倍大的船上出来的什么事情都有可能。我的村子可不算小啊。”

头顶的桥上一声长鸣，德里的邮政车往前滑行，一节节车厢灯光闪闪，上行下效，影子在河面上掠过，车哐啷哐啷又驶进了黑暗。不过湾鳄和豺狗子对它早已习以为常，所以头都没有转一下。

“他的神奇不见得不如有湾鳄台阶三倍大的船吧？”鸟把头一抬说道。

“我是看着那东西造起来的，孩子。我看着一块石头加一块石头，桥墩起来了，人掉下来的时候（他们大都脚底下稳得出奇——万一掉下来）我已经做好了准备。第一座桥墩造好以后，他们就从来没有想过到沿河寻找尸体火化。这样我又省去了不少麻烦。修桥没有什么好奇怪的。”湾鳄说。

“可那拉着有房顶的大车过桥的家伙就奇怪了。”鹳不依不饶地说。

“那家伙嘛，无疑是一种新的犍牛。总有一天，它在上面一失蹄，全像人一样栽下来。那时候，老湾鳄也会做好准备的。”

豺狗子瞅瞅鹳，鹳瞅瞅豺狗子。如果有一件事情他们觉得比另一件更加确定，那就是在茫茫世界，火车头什么都是，但绝对不是一头犍牛。豺狗子从铁路线旁边的芦荟围栏里瞅了一遍又一遍，自从第一台火车头在印度跑起来，鹳一直观望着火车头。然而湾鳄仅仅是从下面看那东西，从那里望去，那铜圆顶的样子挺像牛峰。

“嗯——对，一种新犍牛。”湾鳄沉吟着重复说道，好在自己心里确信无疑。“当然是头犍牛。”豺狗子说。

“它也可能是——”湾鳄气哼哼地开口说。

“肯定——绝对肯定。”豺狗子没等对方说完就抢着说。

“什么？”湾鳄怒气冲冲地说，因为他觉得他们两个比他知道得多。“可能是什么？我还没有把话说完呢。你说它是一头犍牛。”

“可怜虫的保护神想说它是什么，它就是什么。我是他的奴才，而不是那个跨河而过的东西的奴才。”

“不管它是什么，它是白面皮的器物。”鹳说，“反正我不愿意躺在像这片沙洲这么靠近它的一个地方。”

“你对英国人的了解不如我。”湾鳄说，“修桥那会儿，这里有一个白面皮，晚上他常常坐一条小船，两只脚在船底板上趿拉来趿拉去，还悄没声儿地说：‘是不是在这儿？是不是在那儿？拿枪来。’没见他人，却听见他的声音——他发出的每一个响声——河上河下，咯吱咯吱，扑哧扑哧，他把枪摆弄得嘎嗒嘎嗒。当然，我收拾了他的一个工人，可这也省去了一大笔买木柴火化的开销啊。他确确实实来到台阶边大声叫嚷，说要捕杀我，从河里清除我——湾鳄，台阶的湾鳄呀！我！孩子们，我在他的船底下一游就是几个钟头，听见他朝圆木开枪。当我十拿九稳他已经疲倦了时，我便从他旁边蹿上来，在他的脸前张开嘴啪地咬了一下。桥修好以后他就走了。英国人统统都是那样子搞猎杀的，除了他们被猎杀的时候。”

“谁猎杀白面皮来着？”豺狗子激动地叫起来。

“现在没有，不过我年轻气盛的时候猎杀过他们。”

“那次猎杀我还有印象。那时候我还小。”鹳说，意味深长地吧嗒着尖嘴。

“那时候我在这里的地位已经确立起来。我还记得，我的村子正在进行第三次重建，这当口，我的表亲恒河食鱼鳄给我捎信儿来，说贝拿勒斯上面一片汪洋。起初我不想去，因为我那表亲只是个食鱼鳄，总是连好坏都搞不明白，但晚上我听见我的村民们的谈话，他们的一番话使我下了狠心。”

“他们说什么来着？”豺狗子问道。

“他们说的足以使我，湾鳄台阶的湾鳄，离开水，用脚走。我走的是夜路，哪怕是涓涓的细流，能行的我照用不误。不过天气刚热起来，无论大川小溪，水位都很低。我横过土路，穿越草莽，我披星戴月，爬山越岭。就是石头我也爬呀，孩子们——好好想一想此情此景吧！我越过无水的锡尔欣尾巴以后，才找到了那一条流向贡加河的小河。我离开自己的民众和我熟知的河岸，长途跋涉了一个月。这可是天下奇事！”

“一路吃什么呢？”豺狗子说，他的魂儿都牵在他那小肚子上呢，所以湾鳄的陆地旅行记在他的脑子里没有留下一点儿印象。

“找到什么吃什么呗——表兄弟啊。”湾鳄一字一板，慢条斯理地说。

在如今的印度，你可不能见谁都叫表兄弟，除非你认为你可以攀上什么血亲，因为只是在古老的童话里，湾鳄曾经和一只豺狗子结了婚，所以豺狗子知道出于什么原因，他突然受到抬举成了湾鳄家族的一员。如果只有他们俩，豺也就无所谓了，但鹳在一旁，听了这个可恶的玩笑，眼睛闪着欣喜的光。

“当然，老爷子，这我该知道。”豺狗子说。湾鳄才不乐意被人家叫作豺狗子的老爷子呢，湾鳄台阶的湾鳄也是这么说的——还说了许多用不着在这里重复的话。

“可怜虫的保护神认亲啦。具体是哪门子亲戚我怎么记得呀？再说，我们吃的东西都是一样的。这一点他已经说过了。”豺狗子是这样回答的。

这一番话让事态更加恶化了，因为豺狗子透露出的信息是，湾鳄在走旱路时一定吃的是新鲜食物，而且天天吃新鲜，而不是把吃的放到状况适当的时候再吃。每一个有自尊心的湾鳄和大多数野兽，只要能做到，都是这么吃的。说真的，河床上下最轻蔑的言辞之一就是“吃鲜肉的东西”。这句话的难听程度跟管一个人叫“吃人生番”差不多。

“那是三十个季节以前吃的，”鹳不动声色地说，“我们哪怕再谈上三十个季节，事情也一去不会复返。行啦，现在跟我们说说你那最神奇的旱路跋涉过后进入水路的情况吧。如果我们听每一只豺狗子的嚎叫，城里的事务就搁下了，俗话就是这么说的。”

湾鳄一定很感激这番打岔，因为他连忙又往下说起来：“凭贡加河的左右两岸起誓！我到达那里的时候从来没有见过那么大的水！”

“是不是比上个季节的洪水还大？”豺狗子说。

“还大！那场洪水充其量五年一回——不外乎冲下来一小撮外乡人、几只鸡，还有逆流的泥水里的一头死犍牛。但我想到的那个季节，水位低，水面平滑，而正像恒河食鱼鳄警告我的那样，英国人的尸体一个接一个漂下来。那个季节，我的腰都变粗了——腰粗了，肉厚了。从阿格拉，经过埃塔伐和阿拉哈巴德旁边的宽阔的水面——”

“啊，阿拉哈巴德堡墙下的那个旋涡哟！”鹳说，“那里来的英国人的尸体就像芦苇荡里的野鸭子一样，旋呀，旋呀——就这个样子！”

他又跳起了他那怪吓人的舞蹈，豺狗子看着，满心的羡慕。他当然记不得他们所议论的发生兵变的那可怕的年月了。湾鳄继续说道：

“走呀，在阿拉哈巴德旁边，你只有静静地躺在平流里，让二十具尸体漂过去，你从中捡起一具就行了，尤为重要的是，英国人不像当今的女人那样，身上有珠宝、鼻环、踝镯这样一些累赘。俗话说，喜欢装饰就是最后用绳子做项链。那时候，所有的河里的所有湾鳄都发福了，可我的命却比其他的湾鳄更好。有消息说英国人正遭到追猎，被赶进河里，凭贡加河的左右两岸起誓，我们相信这是真的！我到了南方，相信消息属实，我顺流而下，经过了蒙吉尔和俯瞰河流的那些坟墓。”

“我知道那个地方。”鹳说，“自那些日子起，蒙吉尔成了一座废城。现如今人烟非常稀少。”

“随后我又慢腾腾、懒洋洋地往上游走，刚走过蒙吉尔，下来了一船的白面皮——都活着！我记得她们都是些娘儿们，躺在一块用棍子撑起的布单下面大呼小叫的。那些日子，他们对我们这些浅水地带的守望者从不开枪。所有的枪都在别的地方忙活着呢。无论白天黑夜我们都能听到陆地上的枪响，随着风向的变化，枪声也时而被刮来，时而又被刮去。我在那条船前完全浮出了水面，因为我还从来没有见过活着的白面皮呢，尽管我对他们很了解——不过那都是白面皮死的时候。一个光身子白娃娃跪在船边上，弯下身来，硬要让两只手随水漂动。看见一个小娃娃怎样喜欢流水，还真是一件美不滋儿的景致。那天我已经吃过了，但肚子里还有一点儿空隙呢。不过，那纯粹是为了寻乐子，不是为了填肚子，我在娃娃的手边浮起来。目标再清楚不过了，我看都不用看一眼就凑到跟前，可是那两只手太小，尽管我的嘴巴真的吧嗒了一下——这一点我敢肯定——可那娃娃把手猛地一抽，没有伤着。手肯定是从牙缝里抽出去的——那双小白手。我应当横着咬他的胳膊肘儿才对；不过，我说过，我浮起来只是为了寻乐子，想看看新鲜事儿罢了。船上的人大呼小叫起来，我立即又浮起来看个究竟。船太沉，掀不翻。她们都是些娘儿们，俗话说，谁相信娘儿们，谁就会踩着浮萍行走——凭贡加河的左右两岸起誓，此话不假。”

“有一回一个女人给了我一些干鱼皮。”豺狗子说，“我本来希望弄到他的宝宝，可是俗话说，吃马食比挨马踢强。你那个女人怎么办了？”

“她向我开了枪，用的是我先前和往后都没有见过的一种短枪。一连开了五枪（湾鳄碰到的准是一把老式左轮手枪）；我张着嘴巴傻呆着，脑袋周围全是烟。我从来没有见过这样的事情。五枪，快得就像我摆了一下尾巴——就这样！”

豺狗子对这个故事越听越入迷，但当那个像镰刀似的大尾巴甩过来时，他刚好来得及闪开。

“直到要开第五枪，”湾鳄说，仿佛他做梦也没有想到会使他的一个听众惊骇似的——“直到要开第五枪我才沉了下去，我浮上来时刚好听到一个船夫跟所有的白娘儿们说，我是必死无疑了。一颗子弹打到我的一片颈甲下面。我不知道它是不是还在那里，因为我的脑袋转不动。看见了吧，孩子。这就说明我的故事是真的。”

“我？”豺狗子说，“我一个吃旧鞋的，咬骨头的，怎么敢怀疑河流的艳羡的话呢？哪怕我的贱脑子里掠过这种想法的一点儿影子，我的尾巴就让瞎狗咬掉。可怜虫的保护神已经屈尊告诉我，他的奴才，说他这一生曾被一个女人打伤，这就够了，我要把这个故事讲给我所有的孩子听，还要什么证据呢？”

“过多的礼貌有时候并不比过多的无礼强，因为，俗话说，凝乳能够噎死客。我不想让你的哪个孩子知道湾鳄台阶的湾鳄仅受过一次伤，而且伤他的还是一个女人。要是他们弄肉吃也像他们的老爸一样惨，他们对这事就会另有想法了。”

“这事儿早就给忘了！从来没有说起过！压根儿就不存在一个白娘儿们！没有船！压根儿什么都没有发生过！”

豺狗子把他的刷子尾巴一摆，表示一切怎样从他的记忆中彻底清除了，然后便大模大样地坐下了。

“其实发生的事情多了去了。”湾鳄说，那天晚上他第二次企图占他朋友的上风，却吃了个败仗。（不过两次都不怀恶意。吃与被吃在大河上下是天公地道的法则，湾鳄吃罢以后，豺狗子来不过是分得了他那应得的一份赃物。）“我离开那条船向上游游过去，我到达阿拉和阿拉后面的滞水区时，再没有英国人的尸体了。河面上一时间空无一物。后来漂下来一两具尸体穿着红外套，不是英国人，但都是同一类人——印度人和普尔比亚人——然后五六个并排漂下来，最后从阿拉到亚格拉那面的北方，好像一个又一个的村子的人统统落了水。他们接二连三从小河里漂出来，仿佛是雨季里漂流而下的圆木。河水一涨，他们便从原来停留的浅滩上成群结队地浮起来。下降的洪水便扯着他们的长发把他们拖过田野，穿过丛林。我整夜都在北上，一路听见枪声大作，白天听见人们穿着鞋蹚过浅水区，听见沉重的大车轱辘辗着水下沙子发出的噪声，每一股涟漪都会带来更多的死人。最后连我也害怕起来，因为我说：‘如果人碰上这种事情，湾鳄台阶的湾鳄怎么会逃过这一劫？’还有船从我后面驶上来，没有挂帆，火一直在烧，就像运棉船有时候着火一样，却永远沉不下去。”

“啊！”鹳说，“这样子的船是开往南方的加尔各答的。这种船船身高，黑颜色，后面有一条尾巴打水，这种船——”

“有我的三个村子大。我的船船身低，白颜色；它们在船身的两侧打水，也没有讲真话的人的船应有的那么大。那些船使我提心吊胆，于是我离开了水，回到我的这条河里来，白天藏起来，在找不到小溪帮我的时候，就走夜路。我又回到了自己的村子，但我不指望看见我那里的什么民众了。可他们耕耘的耕耘，播种的播种，收割的收割，都在自己的地里来回奔忙，就像他们自己的牛一样平静。”

“河里还有没有好吃的东西？”豺狗子说。

“我真没有想到会有那么多。就连我——我是不吃烂泥的——就连我也累了，我记得，河里接连不断漂下来不声不响的人，我都有点儿发毛了。我听见我的村民们说英国人都死光了，可随激流漂下来的这些人，脸朝下，都不是英国人，我的村民都看见了。于是我的村民们说，最好的办法是不说话，只管缴税和耕地。过了好久好久，河里才算干净了，原来漂下来的人显然是被洪水淹死的，这一点儿我看得明白。虽说这时候弄吃的不是那么容易了，但我还是打心眼儿里高兴。有些地方杀几个人不算什么坏事情——可是正如俗话说的，就连湾鳄也有满足的时候。”

“不简单！真不简单！”豺狗子说，“只要听一听这么多好吃的，我都长胖了。那么，我可不可以问一下，后来可怜虫的保护神还干了些什么呢？”

“我对自己说——凭贡加河的左右两岸起誓！我说一不二——我说我再也不到处漫游了。于是我便在台阶旁边打发日子，十分接近我的村民，我年年关注着他们；他们也非常爱我，他们一看见我的脑袋抬起来，便朝我扔金盏花花环。是啊，我的命对我很照顾，整条河都很好，完全尊重我这可怜虚弱的样子。只不过——”

“谁也不是从嘴巴到尾巴都浑身自在的。”鹳说，满心的同情，“湾鳄台阶的湾鳄还需要什么呢？”

“我没有弄到那个小白娃娃，”湾鳄说着便长叹一声，“他小归小，但我忘不了。现在我老了，不过在我死前，我想尝个新鲜。说实在的，他们都是些笨手笨脚、吵闹不休的傻蛋，开心的活动不多，不过我还记得贝拿勒斯上面的那些日子，要是那娃娃活着，他也仍然记得。说不定他现在就在某一条河的岸上走来走去，讲他怎样有一回从湾鳄台阶的湾鳄的牙缝里把手抽出来，又怎样活下来把它编成一个故事的。我的命大，但这件事情有时候倒成了我的梦魇——对船头那个小白娃娃的念想总是挥之不去。”他打了个呵欠，闭上了嘴巴。“现在我要歇一歇，想一想了。别出声儿，我的孩子们，尊敬老者。”

他便硬撅撅地转过身，拖泥带水地爬到沙洲顶上，豺狗子和鹳连忙往后退，好在离铁路桥最近的那一头的一棵树后面躲起来。

“这日子过得蛮滋润的。”他嘴一咧笑着说，抬起头以探询的目光望着个头高出他许多的鸟儿。“你注意，他可一次也没有认为应该告诉我河岸的什么地方还落下一口吃的。我倒是上百次地告诉他河里有好东西冲下来了。俗话说得好，‘消息一来，全世界都把豺狗子和剃头匠忘在脑后。’现在他要睡觉啦！啊啦！”

“豺狗子怎么能跟着湾鳄捕猎呢？”鹳冷冷地说，“江洋大盗和小毛贼儿，谁占便宜，那还用说吗？”

豺狗子难耐地悲鸣着缩起来，他抬头一望，透过粘满烂泥的树枝看着几乎就在头顶上的桥。

“怎么啦？”鹳说着便挺不自在地张开一只翅膀。

“等等看，风是从我们这里吹到他们那里的，不过他们不是找我们的——这两个人。”

“人，是吗？我的职务就是我的保护伞。全印度都知道我神圣不可侵犯。”因为是第一流的清洁工，鹳想到哪儿就可以去哪儿，所以这一位倒是毫无畏缩的意思。

“我充其量也就是挨扔旧鞋打的货，再好一点儿的东西人家还舍不得扔呢。”豺狗子说，又张耳细听起来，“听那脚步声！”他接着说，“那可不是乡下的光脚板，而是白面皮的穿鞋的脚。再听！铁碰铁的声音！那是枪！朋友，那些笨手笨脚、傻里呱叽的英国人来找湾鳄说话了。”

“那就警告警告他，刚才他还被一个豺狗子一样的饿死鬼叫可怜虫的保护神呢。”

“让我们的表兄保护自家的皮去吧。他一而再，再而三地告诉我白面皮没有什么可怕的。他们准是白面皮。湾鳄台阶没有一个村民敢来追踪他。看，我说那是一杆枪嘛！现在，好运来了，天亮前我们就要饱餐一顿了。他一出水，耳就背了——这一回可不是个娘儿们呢！”

月光下，明晃晃的枪筒在桥的大梁上闪了片刻。湾鳄躺在沙洲上，静得像自己的影子一样，他的前爪向外伸出了一点儿，脑袋耷拉在两只爪子中间，打着鼾，鼾声当然像只——湾鳄了。

桥上有个声音悄悄地说：“那一枪打得怪——几乎是直射下去的——但绝对安全。最好在他的脖子后面来一下。好家伙！要是把他打死了，村民就撒起野来了。他是这一带的地方神啊。”

“我才不管呢，”另一个声音答道，“修桥的时候，他叼走了我的十五个最壮的苦力，现在也该收拾他了。我坐船跟了他好几个礼拜。我把这杆枪的两筒子弹一向他射去，你的马蒂尼就马上到位。”

“当心后坐力。一杆双筒四膛枪，可不是闹着玩儿的。”

“那就看他的了。开枪了！”

轰的一声响，声音就像一门小加农炮（最大型的猎象步枪跟大炮差不离），两道火光一闪，紧接着是马蒂尼刺耳的脆响，它的长子弹把鳄鱼的铠甲奈何不得。不过那两发开花弹倒还管用，一发正好打到湾鳄的脖子后面，在脊椎骨左面一掌宽的地方，另一发则在稍下面一点儿，也就是尾巴根儿上开了花。一只受了致命伤的鳄鱼，一百例中有九十九例都能爬进深水区逃之夭夭，而湾鳄台阶的湾鳄却实实在在地炸成了三截。他的脑袋都没来得及动一下就一命呜呼了，像豺狗子一样平展展地躺着。

“雷轰电闪！电闪雷轰！”那悲惨的小兽说道，“那个拉着有盖子的大车的东西是不是终于从桥下翻了下来？”

“只不过开了一枪罢了，”鹳说，尽管他的羽毛在哆嗦，“也就是开了一枪嘛。他肯定没命了。白面皮来了。”

两个英国人急匆匆地从桥上下来，跨过沙洲的时候站住对湾鳄的身长啧啧称奇。然后一个本地人用一把斧头把他的大脑袋剁了下来，四个人把它拖过了沙嘴。

“上次我把手伸进了一条湾鳄的嘴巴里，”其中一个英国人说着弯下腰来端详（他就是那个修桥的人），“那时候我约莫五岁——坐船到下游的蒙吉尔去，我是一个叛兵仔，人家就是这么叫的。可怜的妈妈也在船上，她常常给我讲她怎么拿爸爸的老式手枪朝那畜生的脑袋开枪的情景。”

“好啦，你总算在这个族长身上报了仇——尽管枪震得你流鼻血了。嘿，船夫们，把脑袋拖到岸上去。咱们煮一煮把脑壳取下来。皮打烂了没法用了。现在睡觉去吧。这样熬了一宿，也算值了，对吧？”

说也奇怪，人们走后不到三分钟，豺狗子和鹳也说了同样的一番话。