心比天高 Big Head, Bad News

作者：John O'Bryan

“收来的钱是谁在管？”我问。

“Who’s watchin’ the till?” I ask.

负责在门口没收武器的舍勒一双眼珠鼓凸在外，害怕地看着我，就像是做错了什么事情。

Sherap—the stick of a man taking weapons at the door—looks at me with bug eyes, scared he’s done somethin’ wrong.

“阿鲁，阿鲁今晚管钱。”他说。

“Ryo. Ryo’s on the till tonight,” he says.

“再加两个人。”我吩咐道。

“Get two more on it,” I tell him.

今晚很刺激，买票的人不少。我最不想看到的就是收来的钱被哪个下贱东西给摸走了。

It’s a big night—lot of spenders. Last thing I need is some lowlife makin’ off with the profit.

舍勒一溜烟地跑开，几秒钟之后他就带回来两个最能下死手的伙计。他们去找阿鲁了，我重新看向场子里。一直到大门附近，满满当当，一点空隙都不留，全是人——各种各样的人，相似的只有嗜血的兴奋。他们绝对会满意的。

Sherap scurries off. A couple seconds later he comes back with two of my heaviest hitters. After they join Ryo at the coin box, I check back on the action in the arena. The place is packed, crammed to the doors with nobodies, somebodies, and everyone in between—people with nothin’ much in common, except a hankering for blood. And they’re about to get it.

剥皮人普榄——我手下的当红斗士，刚刚才结束了他冗长懒散的入场仪式。他的身材棱角分明，从头到脚涂成了绿色，左手提着一个小圆盾，腰间盘着他那把恶名昭彰的鞭剑，上漆之后看起来就像一条毒蛇。他不紧不慢地踱进场子。今天来打擂的是个……恕瑞玛人？叫法蓝，还是法瑞？反正只要他赢了我就会知道他叫什么的。他双手抱着自己的肩膀，跃跃欲试地想要拔出背后的一对短匕，眼神仿佛要把普榄盯出个洞来。他跨过了大半个世界来到这里，要是随便就被本地的少年就给教训了，他不会放过自己的。

My star combatant, Prahn the Flayer, has just finished his long, sauntering entrance. His chiseled body is painted entirely green, and he wears a small buckler on his left forearm. His infamous whip sword, painted to look like a viper, remains coiled on his belt as he enters the pit to face his opponent. The challenger—some Shuriman guy… is it Faran? Farrel? I’ll learn his name if he wins—stares a hole in him, his hands up by his shoulders, itching to grab the twin daggers sheathed on his back. He’s come halfway around the world for this, and he’ll be damned if some local golden boy is going to show him up.

主持人手里的毛巾一挥，比赛开始了。两个人在场地中央互相绕起了圈子。剥皮人从来不会让观众失望——普榄抽出鞭剑，在自己身体上随意拍打。（全世界大概只有八个人可以这么干的时候不把自己的脸剐下来，而他就很喜欢这样炫耀。）

With a wave of the pit officer’s scarf, our show is on. The fighters circle each other in the center of the floor. Always the entertainer, Flayer draws the whip sword and snaps it all around his body. (He’s one of about eight people in the world who can do this without cutting his own face off, and he loves to show it off.)

恕瑞玛人哪受得了这种轻侮，随即拔出了两只匕首。他飞奔起来，化作一阵刀刃的旋风掠过沙场，以极不自然的角度破风而去。普榄虽然吃了一惊，但早有防备。只一瞬间，他举起圆盾格开了一只匕首，将恕瑞玛人甩到一旁。

Insulted by the taunt, the Shuriman draws his daggers. He sprints across the pit, throwing himself into a whirl of blades, slicing the wind at unnatural angles. Flayer is surprised, but not off guard. He parries a dagger with his buckler, throwing the Shuriman off balance for a split second.

那一刹那仿佛度过了永恒。恕瑞玛人完全失去了平衡，双手扶住腰部，整个身体空门大开。

It feels like an eternity. The Shuriman’s body is turned off kilter, hands by his waist, his entire torso a wide-open target.

普榄一抖手腕，行云流水一般，鞭剑就干净利落地划过了对手的喉咙。恕瑞玛人栽倒在地，身下渐渐涌出一片血泊。观众立时暴起欢呼。

In a single, fluid movement, the Flayer swings his whip sword clean across the throat of his opponent. The Shuriman drops to the floor in a growing pool of his own blood. The crowd erupts.

“把钱箱盯好！”我朝着身后的小弟喊了一声。

“How’s that till?!” I shout to the boys in the back.

“明白，老大！”舍勒应道。人群急不可耐地涌进前厅，收取他们的赌利。

“Got it, boss!” replies Sherap, as the eager throngs swarm the vestibule to settle their bets.

我望着搏击场里的人把恕瑞玛人的尸体扛上板车。几步之外，普榄正在和一群拥趸庆祝。他脸上挂着一种表情。那种表情我很清楚。不是释然。也不是满足。他现在越来越不可一世了，不是什么好事情。

Back down on the floor, I see the pit crew loading the Shuriman onto the corpse cart. A few feet away, Flayer celebrates with some of his fans. He’s got a look on his face. I know it well. It’s not relief. Not contentment. He’s getting a big head, and it’s going to be bad news.

大概一个小时过后，观众们已经各自散去。帐也算清楚了。我正要跟弟兄们道晚安的时候，猜猜谁在门口拦住了我？

About an hour later, the crowd has gone home, and the till has been emptied and counted. Just when I’m saying goodnight to the crew, guess who stops me at the door?

是剥皮人普榄。他抓着鼓鼓囊囊的一大包钱，但看起来不太开心。他说，他还有一个问题要解决。果不其然。

It’s the Flayer. He’s holding a fat bag of coin, but he don’t look happy. Says he’s got a bone to pick. Here we go.

我问他，是什么问题。他可是刚刚在前所未有的庞大观众注目下大获全胜呢。他说，没错，就是这个问题：他带来了前所未有的上座率。所以他也要分钱。分我的钱。

I ask him what’s the problem. He just won big in front of a record-breaking crowd. He says that’s just it: he drew a record-breaking crowd. He should get a cut of the till. My till.

我现在明白他的想法了，和我当年接管这里时的想法一模一样。但是明白，并不代表我就要满足。我说，不行。

Now, I understand where he’s coming from—same place I was coming from when I took over this whole thing. But just ’cause I understand what a fella wants don’t mean I gotta give it to him. I tell the Flayer no.

随后他就爆发了。他开始跟我说，我是多么走运才能有他在我的场子里卖命。

Then the guy blows up. He starts telling me how lucky I am to have him in my pit.

“你知道天底下有几个人能有我这样的本事吗？”他问。“就九个！”

“Do you know how many people in the world can do what I do?” he asks. “Nine!”

“九个。哦。看来他们又加了一个人。”我说。

“Nine. Huh. Guess they must’ve added one,” I say.

他还不肯闭嘴，说我已经肥了，不记得在搏击场里拼死拼活的感觉了。这个时候，我的手下们开始注意到这边的情况。我不能允许别人觉得我很好说话。也许这是个很好的机会，提醒普榄谁是老大，谁是收钱干活的。可他就是没有这个眼力。

He keeps mouthing off, says I’ve gotten fat and don’t remember what it’s like to risk my neck in the pit. By this point, a bunch of my crew is starting to listen in. Seeing how I can’t have people thinking I’m soft, I figure it’s a good time to remind Flayer who’s the boss, and who’s the employee. But he’s not havin’ it.

“你就是个过气的打手，穿着件皮大衣，成天指点我们这些真正能打的人该干什么。”他说。“你这差事谁都能干。”

“You’re just some washed-up ex-champ in a fur coat, tellin’ us real fighters what to do,” he says. “Anybody could do your job.”

这话我可不爱听。我跟他说，咱俩可以到场子里比划比划，他就知道我到底还有几成本事。我觉得他应该已经意识到自己没得退路了，所以他接受了我的提议。

That does not sit well with me. I tell Flayer we can go toe-to-toe in the pit, and he’ll find out just how much of a fighter I still am. I guess at this point he feels like he can’t back down, because he accepts my offer.

“要是我赢了，你的场子就归我。所有的钱也归我。”他说。

“If I win, I take your pit. And all that comes with it,” he says.

我点了点头。他似乎是在等我提条件。真以为他有什么东西我会感兴趣。

I nod. He waits, like he’s expecting me to add my own stipulations. As if he’s got anything I’d want.

我只有一个要求，这场架得有观众。

All I ask is that we do it in front of a crowd.

“既然要打，何不卖点门票呢。”

“Let’s get paid for it.”

决斗夜到了。观众席上水泄不通，人群甚至都挤到了大门外。今晚我安排了五个人守着钱箱。

Fight night comes, and there’s so many people on hand they’re spilling out the doors of the arena. I’ve got five of my heavies on the till tonight.

我走进场子。鼓声隆隆，吼声阵阵。对面站着剥皮人普榄。全身绿漆，头脑简单——一如往常。瓦斯塔亚的血统让我突然觉得体面一些可能更好。我和普榄说，只要他肯当着全场观众的面，承认自己错在不该冒犯我，我们就不必交手了。

I walk out to the pit, drums beating, crowd roaring, and see the Flayer standing across from me—green and hot-headed as ever. My vastayan sense of decency kicks in. I tell him all he’s got to do is tell this arena full of people how wrong he was to disrespect me, and we can call off the fight.

他往地上啐了一口，把鞭剑在头顶甩得咔咔作响。他是不肯低头的了。

He spits on the ground and angrily cracks his whip sword overhead. He ain’t backin’ down.

主持人挥动毛巾的时候，他离我有半个场子的距离。鞭剑朝我一甩，我还没来得及反应，那灵活的小混蛋就削去了我脸颊上的一小块。他又舞了几轮，离我的喉咙越来越近。正当我还在应付那把古怪的软剑时，他用圆盾砸在了我脸上。我仰天倒在地上，眼前看到了重影。

By the time the pit official waves his scarf, the Flayer is halfway across the floor. He flings his whip sword at me, and before I can react, the shifty little cuss takes off a piece of my cheek. He snaps it a couple more times, coming dangerously close to my throat. Then, while I’m trying to deal with his weird, floppy blade, he nails me in the face with his buckler. I land flat on my back, seeing double.

他扬起了鞭剑。距离决斗开始还不到一分钟，他就已经准备好要我的命了。

He draws his whip sword back. We’re not even a minute into this, and already Flayer is going for the kill.

想都别想。

This ain’t happening.

鞭剑又一次朝我的脖子卷来，但这一回被我抓住了。而且是空手。普榄那张愚蠢的绿脸上，眼珠子鼓了出来。

His blade comes lashing at my neck once more, and this time I grab it. With my bare hand. Flayer’s eyes bulge from his dumb green face.

我血液上涌。头发根根直立。我感觉到嘴边发出了一声低吼。我几乎没有感觉到刀刃割开我的手掌，也没留意到小臂上流下的鲜血。我站在原地，把普榄朝着我的另一只拳头拽了过来。

My blood gets pumping. My hair stands on end. I feel a little growl escape from the corner of my mouth. I barely feel the blade cutting into my palm, or the blood running down my forearm, as I stand and pull the Flayer by his sword, yanking him into my other fist.

重复了几轮以后，我的铜指虎开始把他的脸砸成一滩烂肉。

I repeat the motion a few more times, my brass knuckle-duster chewin’ his face to pulp.

等我终于停手了，他咳出了一颗牙。他说我犯下了此生最大的错误。

When I finally stop punching, he coughs out a tooth, and tells me I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.

“你在干什么？我可是你的摇钱树啊。”他说。

“What’re you doing? I’m your biggest draw,” he says.

“剥皮人，你输给了过气的打手。谁还会付钱来看你呢？”

“Flayer, you’re losing to a washed-up ex-champ. Who’s going to pay to see you fight now?”

他鼓起最后一丝力气，朝我脸上呕出一大口鲜血——当着诸神和所有观众的面。

With his last ounce of energy, he hocks a big mouthful of blood into my face—right there in front of the gods and everybody.

我绝不能允许这么多的观众心里想的是我不配当老大。

I can’t have an arena full of people thinkin’ I’m not the boss.

所以我捏着普榄的喉咙把他举了起来，然后用尽全力砸在地上，把他不知天高地厚的脑袋砸进了地里。他抽搐了几秒钟，随后彻底不动了。

So I pick the guy up by the throat, and slam him, hard as I can, smashing his greedy fat head deep into the floor of the pit. He twitches for a second, then stops.

观众当场疯狂。

The crowd eats it up.

深夜，我和往常一样去老妈家看了看。她已经睡下了，所以我在柜子上轻轻地放了一袋钱，然后在她的额头吻了一下。

Late that night, I stop by momma’s house, like usual. She’s in bed already, so I quietly leave a nice sack of coin on the dresser and give her a kiss on the forehead.

她醒了。看到我站在床边，她高兴地微笑起来。我摸了摸她的脸，她留意到我手上的绷带——是被剥皮人的鞭剑割伤的。

She wakes, and smiles at the sight of her boy standing there at her bedside. As I touch her cheek, she notices the bandage on my hand—where I grabbed the Flayer’s blade.

“哎，瑟提呀，这是怎么了？”她很关心。

“Oh, Settrigh, what happened?” she says, all concerned.

“没什么，造房子的时候弄的。”我说。

“Nothin’ big. Just cut myself building,” I say.

“儿子今天造了什么房子啊？”她问。

“What did you build today, son?” she asks.

“孤儿院。给孤儿们造的。”我又吻了她一下，算是道晚安。

“An orphanage. For orphans, ma,” I say, as I give her one last kiss goodnight.

“真是个好孩子。”

“Such a good boy,” she says.

她合上眼，渐渐入睡。脸上的表情仿佛是在为自己的儿子感到自豪，因为他过上了体面的生活。

Her eyes tear up as she drifts off to sleep, like she’s proud knowing her son’s making a respectable living.