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巴金 《虎》
我不曾走入深山，见到活泼跳跃的猛虎。但是我听见过不少关于虎的故事。
在兽类中我最爱虎；在虎的故事中我最爱下面的一个：
深山中有一所古庙，几个和尚在那里过着单调的修行生活。同他们做朋友的，除了有时上山来的少数乡下人外，就是几只猛虎。虎不惊扰僧人，却替他们守护庙宇。作为报酬，和尚把一些可吃的东西放在庙门前。每天傍晚，夕阳染红小半个天空，虎们成群地走到庙门口，吃了东西，跳跃而去。庙门大开，僧人安然在庙内做他们的日课，也没有谁出去看虎怎样吃东西，即使偶尔有一二和尚立在门前，虎们也视为平常的事情，把他们看作熟人，不去惊动，却斯斯文文地吃完走开。如果看不见僧人，虎们就发出几声长啸，随着几阵风飞腾而去。
可惜我不能走到这座深山，去和猛虎为友。只有偶尔在梦里，我才见到这样可爱的动物。在动物园里看见的则是被囚在“狭的笼”中摇尾乞怜的驯兽了。
其实说“驯兽”，也不恰当。甚至在虎圈中，午睡醒来，昂首一呼，还能使猿猴颤栗。万兽之王的这种余威，我们也还可以在作了槛内囚徒的虎身上看出来。倘使放它出柙，它仍会奔回深山，重做山林的霸主。
我记起一件事情：三十一年前，父亲在广元做县官。有天晚上，一个本地猎户忽然送来一只死虎，他带着一脸惶恐的表情对我父亲说，他入山打猎，只想猎到狼、狐、豺、狗，却不想误杀了万兽之王。他绝不是存心打虎的。他不敢冒犯虎威，怕虎对他报仇，但是他又不能使枉死的虎复活，因此才把死虎带来献给“父母官”，以为可以减轻他的罪过。父亲给了猎人若干钱，便接受了这个礼物。死虎在衙门里躺了一天，才被剥了皮肢解了。后来父亲房内多了一张虎皮椅垫，而且常常有人到我们家里要虎骨粉去泡酒当药吃。
我们一家人带着虎的头骨回到成都。头骨放在桌上，有时我眼睛看花了，会看出一个活的虎头来。不过虎骨总是锁在柜子里，等着有人来要药时，父亲才叫人拿出它来磨粉。最后整个头都变成粉末四处散开了。
经过三十年的长岁月，人应该忘记了许多事情。但是到今天我还记得虎头骨的形状，和猎人说话时的惶恐表情。如果叫我把那个猎人的面容描写一下，我想用一句话：他好像做过了什么亵渎神明的事情似的。我还要补充说：他说话时不大敢看死虎，他的眼光偶尔挨到它，他就要变脸色。
死了以后，还能够使人害怕，使人尊敬，像虎这样的猛兽，的确是值得我们热爱的。
The Tiger
I have never been to the depths of remote mountains to see a lively fierce tiger, but I have heard quite a few stories about it.
Of all animals, I like the tiger best. And of all the stories about it, the following is my favorite:
There was deep in a mountain an ancient temple where several pious Buddhist monks lived a monotonous life. They had for company only a number of tigers apart from a few country folks who occasionally came up the mountain for visit. Instead of harassing the monks, the tigers voluntarily stood guard at the gate of the temple. As a reward for it, the monks would place some edibles in front of the gate for tigers to eat. Towards evening, when the setting sun had dyed half of the sky red, the tigers would come up to the gate in groups to eat their fill and then left skipping and jumping. The monks usually left the gate wide open while peacefully engaged in their daily routine of chanting Buddhist scripture inside the temple. Normally none of them came out to watch the tigers eat. Sometimes, however, one or two monks did appear standing at the gate, but the tigers would remain unalarmed and, taking the monks for their friends, did nothing to harm them. They just kept on eating unhurriedly until they finished and left. Sometimes, when they found no monks at the gate, they would whisk away like the wind after uttering several thunderous roars.
It’s a pity that I’m unable to go to the mountain to make friends with the fierce tigers. I can only see the lovely animal in my dreams once in a while. As to the tiger we see in a zoo, it is nothing but a wretched tame animal confined to a cage.
Nevertheless, it is improper to call such a tiger “tame animal” because caged as it is, the roar it raises on waking up from a nap is still such as to make monkeys tremble with terror. One can visualize in the caged animal the power of the erstwhile king of beasts. Set it free, and it will go right back to the remote mountains to lord it over the forest again.
Thirty-one years ago, I remember, when my father was magistrate of Guangyuan County a local hunter suddenly visited him one evening to present him with a dead tiger. He told my father nervously that he had killed the king of beasts by mistake for he had been to the mountains exclusively to hunt wolves, foxes, jackals and dogs. He added that he had by no means killed the tiger on purpose, that he was afraid that the mighty tiger would retaliate against him for his serious offence and that since the dead animal could not be revised, he had brought it as a gift to my father the magistrate in order to have his own crime mitigated. My father accepted it and gave him some money in return. The dead tiger lay in the yamen for a day until it was skinned and dismembered. From then on, my father had a new acquisition in his room—namely, the tiger-skin chair cushion, and people often came to our home to ask for some tiger-bone powder, with which they were to make a medicinal drink by steeping it in liquor.
Later, when my family moved back to Chengdu, we brought the tiger’s skull with us. Sometimes I would gaze at the skull on the table until it blurred before my eyes and conjured up in me visions of a live tiger’s head. But we always had it locked up in a cupboard. My father would not have it taken out to have part of it ground into powder unless when someone who needed it as medicine came to ask for it. Consequently the whole tiger skull was given away in the form of powder.
Things that happened some thirty years ago are apt to be forgotten. But even to this day I still remember the appearance of the tiger’s skull and apprehension in the hunter’s face while he addressed my father. I should say that his facial expression boiled down to this: he looked as if he had blasphemed the gods. And I would also like to add in passing that while he was talking to my father he didn’t’ even dare to take a glance at the dead tiger. He would turn pale the moment his eye accidentally fell on it.
A fierce animal like the tiger, which continues to inspire us with reverent awe even after death, really deserves our warm love.
