the hunger games-饥饿游戏(英文版)-第3章
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h she
barely manages to fend off。
The mayor looks distressed。 Since all of this is being televised； right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem； and he knows it。 He quickly tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket。
Bright and bubbly as ever； Effie Trinket trots to the podium and gives her signature； ¨Happy Hunger Games！ And may the odds be ever in your favor！〃 Her pink hair must be a wig because her curls have shifted slightly off…center since her encounter with Haymitch。 She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here； although everyone knows sheˇs just aching to get bumped up to a better district where they have proper victors； not drunks who molest you in front of the entire nation。
Through the crowd； I spot Gale looking back at me with a ghost of a smile。 As reapings go； this one at least has a slight entertainment factor。 But suddenly I am thinking of Gale and his forty…two names in that big glass ball and how the odds are not in his favor。 Not pared to a lot of the boys。 And maybe heˇs thinking the same thing about me because his face darkens and he turns away。 ¨But there are still thousands of slips；〃 I wish I could whisper to him。
Itˇs time for the drawing。 Effie Trinket says as she always does； ¨Ladies first！〃 and crosses to the glass ball with the girlsˇ names。 She reaches in； digs her hand deep into the ball； and pulls out a slip of paper。 The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop； and Iˇm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that itˇs not me； that itˇs not me； that itˇs not me。
Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium； smoothes the slip of paper； and reads out the name in a clear voice。 And itˇs not me。
Itˇs Primrose Everdeen。
2
One time； when I was in a blind in a tree； waiting motionless for game to wander by； I dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground； landing on my back。 It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from my lungs； and I lay there struggling to inhale； to exhale； to do anything。
Thatˇs how I feel now； trying to remember how to breathe； unable to speak； totally stunned as the name bounces around the inside of my skull。 Someone is gripping my arm； a boy from the Seam； and I think maybe I started to fall and he caught me。
There must have been some mistake。 This canˇt be happening。 Prim was one slip of paper in thousands！ Her chances of being chosen so remote that Iˇd not even bothered to worry about her。 Hadnˇt I done everything？ Taken the tesserae； refused to let her do the same？ One slip。 One slip in thousands。 The odds had been entirely in her favor。 But it hadnˇt mattered。
Somewhere far away； I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always do when a twelve…year…old gets chosen because no one thinks this is fair。 And then I see her； the blood drained from her face； hands clenched in fists at her sides； walking with stiff； small steps up toward the stage； passing me； and I see the back of her blouse has bee untucked and hangs out over her skirt。 Itˇs this detail； the untucked blouse forming a ducktail； that brings me back to myself。
¨Prim！〃 The strangled cry es out of my throat； and my muscles begin to move again。 ¨Prim！〃 I donˇt need to shove through the crowd。 The other kids make way immediately allowing me a straight path to the stage。 I reach her just as she is about to mount the steps。 With one sweep of my arm； I push her behind me。
¨I volunteer！〃 I gasp。 ¨I volunteer as tribute！〃
Thereˇs some confusion on the stage。 District 12 hasnˇt had a volunteer in decades and the protocol has bee rusty。 The rule is that once a tributeˇs name has been pulled from the ball； another eligible boy； if a boyˇs name has been read； or girl； if a girlˇs name has been read； can step forward to take his or her place。 In some districts； in which winning the reaping is such a great honor； people are eager to risk their lives； the volunteering is plicated。 But in District 12； where the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse； volunteers are all but extinct。
¨Lovely！〃 says Effie Trinket。 ¨But I believe thereˇs a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers； and if one does e forth then we； um 。 。 。〃 she trails off； unsure herself。
¨What does it matter？〃 says the mayor。 Heˇs looking at me with a pained expression on his face。 He doesnˇt know me really； but thereˇs a faint recognition there。 I am the girl who brings the strawberries。 The girl his daughter might have spo23 ken of on occasion。 The girl who five years ago stood huddled with her mother and sister； as he presented her； the oldest child； with a medal of valor。 A medal for her father； vaporized in the mines。 Does he remember that？ ¨What does it matter？〃 he repeats gruffly。 ¨Let her e forward。〃
Prim is screaming hysterically behind me。 Sheˇs wrapped her skinny arms around me like a vice。 ¨No； Katniss！ No！ You canˇt go！〃
¨Prim； let go；〃 I say harshly； because this is upsetting me and I donˇt want to cry。 When they televise the replay of the reapings tonight； everyone will make note of my tears； and Iˇll be marked as an easy target。 A weakling。 I will give no one that satisfaction。 ¨Let go！〃
I can feel someone pulling her from my back。 I turn and see Gale has lifted Prim off the ground and sheˇs thrashing in his arms。 ¨Up you go； Catnip；〃 he says； in a voice heˇs fighting to keep steady； and then he carries Prim off toward my mother。 I
steel myself and climb the steps。
¨Well； bravo！〃 gushes Effie Trinket。 ¨Thatˇs the spirit of the Games！〃 Sheˇs pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it。 ¨Whatˇs your name？〃
I swallow hard。 ¨Katniss Everdeen；〃 I say。
¨I bet my buttons that was your sister。 Donˇt want her to steal all the glory； do we？ e on； everybody！ Letˇs give a big round of applause to our newest tribute！〃 trills Effie Trinket。
To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12； not one person claps。 Not even the ones holding betting slips； the ones who are usually beyond caring。 Possibly because they know me from the Hob； or knew my father； or have encountered Prim； who no one can help loving。 So instead of acknowledging applause； I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage。 Silence。 Which says we do not agree。 We do not condone。 All of this is wrong。
Then something unexpected happens。 At least； I donˇt expect it because I donˇt think of District 12 as a place that cares about me。 But a shift has occurred since I stepped up to take Primˇs place； and now it seems I have bee someone precious。 At first one； then another； then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me。 It is an old and rarely used
gesture of our district； occasionally seen at funerals。 It means thanks； it means admiration； it means good…bye to someone you love。
Now I am truly in danger of crying； but fortunately Haymitch chooses this time to e staggering across the stage to congratulate me。 ¨Look at her。 Look at this one！〃 he hollers； throwing an arm around my shoulders。 Heˇs surprisingly strong for such a wreck。 ¨I like her！〃 His breath reeks of liquor and itˇs been a long time since heˇs bathed。 ¨Lots of 。 。 。 ¨ He canˇt think of the word for a while。 ¨Spunk！〃 he says triumphantly。 ¨More than you！〃 he releases me and starts for the front of the stage。 ¨More than you！〃 he shouts； pointing directly into a camera。
Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol？ Iˇll never know because just as heˇs opening his mouth to continue； Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious。
Heˇs disgusting； but Iˇm grateful。 With every camera gleefully trained on him； I have just enough time to release the small； choked sound in my throat and pose myself。 I put my hands behind my back and stare into the distance。
I can see the hills I climbed this morning with Gale。 For a moment； I yearn for something 。 。 。 the idea of us leaving the district 。 。 。 making our way in the woods 。 。 。 but I know I was right about not running off。 Because who else would have volunteered for Prim？
Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher； and Effie Trinket is trying to get the ball rolling again。 ¨What an exciting day！〃 she warbles as she attempts to straighten her wig； which has listed severely to the right。 ¨But more excitement to e！ Itˇs time to choose our boy tribute！〃 Clearly hoping to contain her tenuous hair situation； she plants one hand on her head as she crosses to the ball that contains the boysˇ names and grabs the first slip she encounters。 She zips back to the podium； and I donˇt even have time to wish for Galeˇs safety when sheˇs reading the name。 ¨Peeta Mellark。〃
Peeta Mellark！
Oh； no； I think。 Not him。 Because I recognize this name； although I have never spoken directly to its owner。 Peeta Mellark。
No； the odds are not in my favor today。 I watch him as he makes his way toward the stage。 Medium height； stocky build； ashy blond hair that falls in waves over his forehead。 The shock of the moment is registering on his face； you can see his struggle to remain emotionless； but his blue eyes show the alarm Iˇve seen so often in prey。 Yet he climbs steadily onto the stage and takes his place。
Effie Trinket asks for volunteers； but no one steps forward。 He has two older brothers； I know； Iˇve seen them in the bakery； but one is probably too old now to volunteer and the other wonˇt。 This is standard。 Family devotion only goes so far for most people on reaping day。 What I did was the radical thing。
The mayor begins to read the long； dull Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point itˇs required but Iˇm not listening to a word。
Why him？ I think。 Then I try to convince myself it doesnˇt matter。 Peeta Mellark and I are not friends。 Not even neighbors。 We donˇt speak。 Our only real interaction happened years ago。 Heˇs probably forgotten it。 But I havenˇt and I know I never will。 。 。 。
It was during the worst time。 My father had been killed in the mine accident three months earlier in the bitterest January anyone could remember。 The numbness of his loss had passed； and the pain would hit me out of nowhere； doubling me over； racking my body with sobs。 Where are you？ I would cry out in my mind。 Where have you gone？ Of course； there was never any answer。
The district had given us a small amount of money as pensation for his death； enough to cover one month of grieving at which time my mother would be expected to get a job。 Only she didnˇt。 She didnˇt do anything but sit propped up in a chair or； more often； huddled under the blankets on her bed； eyes fixed on some point in the distance。 Once in a while； sheˇd stir； get up as if moved by some urgent purpose； only to then collapse back into stillness。 No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her。
I was terrified。 I suppose now that my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness； but at the time； all I knew was that I had lost not only a father； but a mother as well。 At eleven years old； with Prim just seven； I took over as head of the family。 There was no choice。 I bought our food at the market and cooked it as best I could and tried to keep Prim and myself looking presentable。 Because if it had bee known that my mother could no longer care for us； the district would have taken us away from her and placed us in the munity home。 Iˇd grown up seeing those home kids at school。 The sadness； the marks of angry hands on their faces； the hopelessness
that curled their shoulders forward。 I could never let that happen to Prim。 Sweet； tiny Prim who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason； who brushed and plaited my motherˇs hair before we left for school； who still polished my fatherˇs shaving mirror each night because heˇd hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam。 The munity home would crush her like a bug。 So I kept our predicament a secret。
But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death。 Thereˇs no other way to put it。 I kept telling myself if I could only hold out until May； just May 8th； I would turn twelve and be able to sign up for the tesserae and get that precious grain and oil to feed us。 Only there were still several weeks to go。 We could well be dead by then。
Starvationˇs not an unmon fate in District 12。 Who hasnˇt seen the victims？ Older people who canˇt work。 Children from a family with too many to feed。 Those injured in the mines。 Straggling through the streets。 And one day； you e upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow； you hear the wails from a house； and the Peacekeepers are called in to retrieve the body。 Starvation is never the cause of death officially。 Itˇs always the flu； or exposure； or pneumonia。 But that fools no one。
On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark； the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets。 I had been in town； trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Primˇs in the public market； but there were no takers。 Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father； I was too frightened to venture into that
