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可是，为她觅食者并没回来。显然，天凉的时候虫子不如平日多。她的脖子伸出洞口很长，一遍又一遍呼唤着他，显得非常紧迫。她还时不时地歪着头倾听外面的动静。她失望了，愤然回身待在巢中。不一会儿，她再次出现在洞口，又一遍遍发出尖锐的呼唤声。足足过了二十分钟后，雄鸟叼着条肉虫，风尘仆仆地赶了回来。她从他嘴里夺下肉虫，囫囵吞下。不过，美味还没进到胃里，她便像泼妇一样斥责起自己的丈夫。
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雄鸟感到有些无所适从，便飞到了树干另一边的枯树枝上，避避风头。而她以为雄鸟去那里游手好闲了，于是便站稳脚跟，伸出头去，转动着脖子，继续斥责唠叨。
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像多数被数落了的爸爸们一样，雄性啄木鸟看起来跟平时一样淡定，如同在说：“你就唠叨吧，反正我压根不当回事儿。”然后，雄鸟飞进了森林，她也就马上把头缩回窝里了。雄鸟刚飞走时还是毛毛细雨，而这会儿已然暴雨倾盆。雄鸟的身影还没完全消失在林子里，红冠头顶就探出洞口，双眼上方的浅橙色条纹好似两道冷峻的横眉，她又开始不停地发出尖锐的叫声了。我注意到洞口下缘略成V字形，既可向阳采光，又可避风遮雨。
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啄木鸟爸爸这次还是没能在预期的十分钟内返回，于是啄木鸟妈妈便发挥了怨妇的老派做法，开始愤怒而焦躁。有只不知好歹的长足虻刚掠过她的嘴边，就被她那乌黑锐利的喙恶狠狠地钳住。纯粹是怒火中烧，她居然还要吃洞口枯木的碎屑。可稍作品尝之后，她就感到无比的恶心，开始吐了出来。
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突然间，她性情大变，静坐在那里，好似从没见过我，眼中流露出些许温柔和好奇，时不时还眨眨双眸，娇媚迷人。继而，她又把头伸向另一边，侧耳倾听些什么。不过，我的耳朵迟钝，没能从森林里充满的轻言细语中分辨出什么来。而听到动静的她又开始了新一轮的高声尖叫。不一会儿，只见一只啄木鸟羽毛不整，可怜兮兮地在雨中起伏颤悠，再次停落在窝边的枯树干上。不过这回，他的夫人已经气过头了，压根不睬他带来的银灰色飞虫，而是发出更尖锐的声音，貌似在嚎叫。冲他一通数落后，她才开始享受觅来的食物。然后虫子刚刚下肚，就又继续对他喋喋不休。
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不过，凡事总有个度，即便是啄木鸟也不例外。雄鸟兢兢业业，在森林的某个阴郁角落为她长时间觅食，归来时已浑身湿透、面容憔悴，而今受到这般数落，他突然抖了抖羽毛，飞到几码外干枯的红枫树枝上，开始“反唇相讥”。相比他那毛色靓丽的伴侣，他显得朴素单调，平淡无奇，个子矮小，身体紧实而有效用，一看就是一辈子伺候人家的。从昆虫到人类，无一例外。他出口简单干脆，我猜一定是一针见血了。
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接下来啄木鸟妈妈便展现了其高超的博弈天分。她迅速撤回到窝里，无疑是决心待到“暴风雨”结束。啄木鸟爸爸发现没了听众，气得抖了几下湿透的翅膀，显然感觉自己还是很重要的，无人可以取代。于是，他又俯冲进入林子觅食去了。
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（罗选民 译）
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西南联大英文课（英汉双语版） [:1705033812]
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12 THE BATTLE OF THE RED AND THE BLACK ANTS
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By Henry David Thoreau
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THE BATTLE OF THE RED AND THE BLACK ANTS, From Walden , by Henry David Thoreau, Chapter XII, “Brute Neighbors.”
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Henry David Thoreau （1817-1862）, American philosopher. Thoreau built himself a hut in the woods near Walden Pond in Walden, Massachusetts, U.S.A., and did only enough work to keep himself alive. He spent most of his time observing things about him.
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One day when I went out to my wood-pile, or rather my pile of stumps, I observed two large ants, the one red, the other much larger, nearly half an inch long, and black, fiercely contending with one another. Having once got hold they never let go, but struggled and wrestled and rolled on the chips incessantly. Looking farther I was surprised to find that the chips were covered with such combatants, that it was not a “duellum” but a “bellum,” a war between two races of ants, the red always pitted against the black, and frequently two red ones to one black. The legions of these Myrmidons covered all the hills and vales in my woodyard, and the ground was already strewn with the dead and dying, both red and black. It was the only battle which I have ever witnessed, the only battlefield I ever trod while the battle was raging;internecine war; the red republicans on the one hand and the black imperialists on the other hand. On every side they were engaged in deadly combat, yet without any noise that I could hear, and human soldiers never fought so resolutely.
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I watched a couple that were fast locked in each other’s embraces in a little sunny valley amid the chips; now at noonday prepared to fight till the sun went down, or life went out. The smaller red champion had fastened himself like a vise on his adversary’s front, and through all the tumblings on that field never for an instant ceased to gnaw at one of his feelers near the root, having already caused the other to go by the board; while the stronger black one dashed him from side to side, and, as I saw on looking nearer, had already divested him of several of his members. They fought with more pertinacity than bulldogs. Neither manifested the least disposition to retreat. It was evident that their battle-cry was “Conquer or die.”
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In the meanwhile there came along a single red ant on the hillside of this valley, evidently full of excitement, who either had dispatched his foe, or had not yet taken part in the battle; probably the latter, for he had lost none of his limbs;whose mother had charged him to return with his shield or upon it. He drew near with rapid pace till he stood on his guard within half an inch of the combatants; then, watching his opportunity, he sprang upon the black warrior, and commenced his operations near the root of his right foreleg, leaving the foe to select among his own members; and so there were three united for life, as if a new kind of attraction had been invented which put all other locks and cements to shame. I should not have wondered by this time to find that they had their respective musical bands stationed on some eminent chip, and playing their national airs the while, to excite the show and cheer the dying combatants. I was myself excited somewhat even as if they had been men. The more you think of it, the less the difference.
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Notes
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wood-pile, collection of firewood, heaped in a pile.
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stumps, the part of the tree that remains after the trunk and the branches have been cut off, usually a little of the trunk left protruding from the ground and the roots. Thoreau’s wood-pile is made up of these upturned stumps now dry and ready to be chopped up and burned.
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contending, fighting; struggling.
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chips, the thin pieces that fly out when one is chopping wood. These chips lay strewn over the whole ground, in Thoreau’s woodyard.
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incessantly, without stopping.
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combatants, fighters; warriors; contenders.
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“duellum” and“bellum.”Duellum is a contest between two persons, while bellum is the Latin word for war, a contest between two races, a war between many persons.
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