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第五天，还是要归功于那只小绵羊，我终于知道了小王子生活的秘密。他突然直截了当地问我："要是一只绵羊啃了灌木丛，那它是不是还要吃花儿呢？” "绵羊碰见什么就吃什么。" "甚至连长了刺的花儿也吃吗？” "是的，即使是长了刺的花儿，它也吃。" "那么，这些刺，长了有什么用处？” 这个，我可不知道。当时我正忙着要把马达上的一颗拧得太紧的螺丝钉卸下来。我忧心忡忡，因为我开始意识到了，飞机的故障是十分严重的，而饮用水日益减少，更使我担心会出现最坏最坏的结果。"那些刺有什么用处呢？” 小王子一旦提出一个问题，不追问出个究竟来，他就决不罢休。我对付不了的那颗螺丝钉，正搞得我心慌意乱，我就随便敷衍地答了一句："那些刺什么用处也没有，纯粹是那些花儿的坏性子在作怪！ " 但是，他沉默了一小会儿后，带着不满情绪对我说： "你说的我不信！花儿都柔嫩娇弱，她们天真老实。她们只求尽可能地保护自己，她们自以为长了那些刺别人就不敢碰了……” 我没有答理他。那当儿，我正在自言自语："这颗螺丝钉要是拧不下来，我就要用缍子把它敲下来。" 小王子又开腔打断我的思路，说： "你相信，你，相信那些花儿…… " “不，不，我什么都不相信！我只是随便说说，我现在正忙着呢，我正在忙要紧的事！”他惊呆地盯我一眼。"要紧的事！” 他注视着我，我手里拿着锤子，手指被润滑油弄得黑糊糊的，正俯身审视一件他觉得很难看的东西。"你现在说起话来，真像那些成年人。" 他这句话使我感到有点羞愧。接着，他又不留情面地说："你把什么东西都搅到一块儿了……你把所有一切都弄混了！” 他的的确确是气极了。他那头金发在风中飘动，他说："我知道有一颗星球上住着一位脸色绯红的先生。他从来没有闻过一朵花，从来没有见过一颗星星，从来没有爱过任何人。他除了做加法以外，没有干过别的事。他整天像你一样，老重复着说：'我是个严肃认真的人！我是个严肃认真的人！’他自命不凡，骄傲自大。但他哪里能算一个人？只能算一个蘑菇！” "只能算什么？” "一个蘑菇！” 这时，小王子已经气得脸色煞白了。 "成千上万年以来，花儿都要长出花刺。尽管如此，成千上万年以来，绵羊还是要吃花儿。难道不应该认认真真地弄明白，花儿为什么还要费那么大劲去长出那些没有用的刺来昵？难道绵羊与花儿之间的战争不值得重视吗？难道这不比一个红红胖胖的先生整天弄来弄去的加法更为重要、更为严肃吗？ 还有，要是世界上有那么一朵独一无二的花儿，别的地方都没有，只有我那个星球上才有，而一只小绵羊一口就可以彻底灭绝它，如果不知道这是怎么弄的，难道还不严重吗？”小王子的脸涨得通红，继续说道："如果有谁喜欢的那朵花儿，在千万颗星星中只此一朵，那么，他看着花儿的时候，自然会感到无比幸福。他会对自己说：'我的那朵花儿在那边的什么地方呢……，但是，如果绵羊单把这花儿吃掉了，那对他来说，就如同所有的星星顷刻之间都熄灭啦！这样的事难道还不严重吗？” 他什么也说不下去了。他号啕大哭了起来。夜幕渐渐降临。我把自己的工具扔在一旁。我才不在乎我的锤子、我的螺丝钉哩，还有将要到来的口渴与死亡，也都去它的！在宇宙的一颗星球上，也就是在我这个地球上，有一个小王子需要安慰呀！我把他抱在怀里， 轻轻地摇晃着他，对他说："你喜爱的那朵花儿没有碰上危险……我给你画的那只小绵羊马上就会戴上嘴套的……我还要给你的花儿画上武器。” 我实在不知道该怎么安慰他。我感到自己的嘴很笨。我也不知道怎么揣摩他的心思，怎么跟他交流思想…， 一旦流出了眼泪，其内心世界的感情是深不可测的。 On the fifth day—again, as always, it was thanks to the sheep—the secret of the little prince's life was revealed to me. Abruptly, without anything to lead up to it, and as if the question had been born of long and silent meditation on his problem, he demanded: "A sheep—if it eats little bushes, does it eat flowers, too?" "A sheep," I answered, "eats anything it finds in its reach." "Even flowers that have thorns?" "Yes, even flowers that have thorns." "Then the thorns—what use are they?" I did not know. At that moment I was very busy trying to unscrew a bolt that had got stuck in my engine. I was very much worried, for it was becoming clear to me that the breakdown of my plane was extremely serious. And I had so little drinking-water left that I had to fear for the worst. "The thorns—what use are they?" The little prince never let go of a question, once he had asked it. As for me, I was upset over that bolt. And I answered with the first thing that came into my head: "The thorns are of no use at all. Flowers have thorns just for spite!" "Oh!" There was a moment of complete silence. Then the little prince flashed back at me, with a kind of resentfulness: "I don't believe you! Flowers are weak creatures. They are naive. They reassure themselves as best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible weapons..." I did not answer. At that instant I was saying to myself: "If this bolt still won't turn, I am going to knock it out with the hammer." Again the little prince disturbed my thoughts. "And you actually believe that the flowers—" "Oh, no!" I cried. "No, no no! I don't believe anything. 1 answered you with the first thing that came into my head. Don't you see—I am very busy with matters of consequence!" He stared at me, thunderstruck. "Matters of consequence!" He looked at me there, with my hammer in my hand, my fingers black with engine-grease, bending down over an object which seemed to him extremely ugly... "You talk just like the grown-ups!" That made me a little ashamed. But he went on, relentlessly: "You mix everything up together... You confuse everything..." He was really very angry. He tossed his golden curls in the breeze. "I know a planet where there is a certain red-faced gentleman. He has never smelled a flower. He has never looked at a star. He has never loved anyone. He has never done anything in his life but add up figures. And all day he says over and over, just like you: 'I am busy with matters of consequence!' And that makes him swell up with pride. But he is not a man—he is a mushroom!" "A what?" "A mushroom!" The little prince was now white with rage. "The flowers have been growing thorns for millions of years. For millions of years the sheep have been eating them just the same. And is it not a matter of consequence to try to understand why the flowers go to so much trouble to grow thorns which are never of any use to them? Is the warfare between the sheep and the flowers not important? Is this not of more consequence than a fat red-faced gentleman's sums? And if I know—I, myself—one flower which is unique in the world, which grows nowhere but on my planet, but which one little sheep can destroy in a single Mte some morning, without even noticing what he is doing—Oh! You think hat is not important!" His face turned from white to red as he continued: "If some one loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars. He can say to himself, 'Somewhere, my flower is there...' But if the sheep eats the flower, in one moment all his stars will be darkened... And you think that is not important!" He could not say anything more. His words were choked by sobbing. The night had fallen. I had let my tools drop from my hands. Of what moment now was my hammer, my bolt, or thirst, or death? On one star, one planet, my planet, the Earth, there was a little prince to be comforted. I took him in my arms, and rocked him. I said to him: "The flower that you love is not in danger. I will draw you a muzzle for your sheep. I will draw you a railing to put around your flower. I will—" I did not know what to say to him. I felt awkward and blundering. I did not know how I could reach him, where I could overtake him and go on hand in hand with him once more. It is such a secret place, the land of tears. |
