【饥饿游戏】02

So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my
features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever
read my thoughts. Do my work quietly in school. Make only
polite small talk in the public market. Discuss little more than
trades in the Hob, which is the black market where I make
most of my money. Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I
avoid discussing tricky 1 topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages,
or the Hunger Games. Prim 2 might begin to repeat my
words and then where would we be?
In the woods waits the only person with whom I can be
myself. Gale 3. I can feel the muscles in my face relaxing, my
pace quickening as I climb the hills to our place, a rock ledge 4
overlooking a valley. A thicket 5 of berry bushes protects it from
unwanted eyes. The sight of him waiting there brings on a
smile. Gale says I never smile except in the woods.
“Hey, Catnip,” says Gale. My real name is Katniss, but when
I first told him, I had barely whispered it. So he thought I’d
said Catnip. Then when this crazy lynx started following me
around the woods looking for handouts 6, it became his official
nickname for me. I finally had to kill the lynx because he
scared off game. I almost regretted it because he wasn’t bad
company. But I got a decent price for his pelt 7.
“Look what I shot,” Gale holds up a loaf of bread with an arrow
stuck in it, and I laugh. It’s real bakery bread, not the flat,
dense 8 loaves we make from our grain rations 9. I take it in my
hands, pull out the arrow, and hold the puncture 10 in the crust
to my nose, inhaling 11 the fragrance 12 that makes my mouth flood
with saliva 13. Fine bread like this is for special occasions.
“Mm, still warm,” I say. He must have been at the bakery at
the crack of dawn to trade for it. “What did it cost you?”
“Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental 14
this morning,” says Gale. “Even wished me luck.”
“Well, we all feel a little closer today, don’t we?” I say, not
even bothering to roll my eyes. “Prim left us a cheese.” I pull it
out.
His expression brightens at the treat. “Thank you, Prim.
We’ll have a real feast.” Suddenly he falls into a Capitol accent
as he mimics 15 Effie Trinket, the maniacally 16 upbeat woman who
arrives once a year to read out the names at the leaping. “I almost
forgot! Happy Hunger Games!” He plucks a few blackberries
from the bushes around us. “And may the odds 17 —” He
tosses a berry in a high arc toward me.
I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my
teeth. The sweet tartness 18 explodes across my tongue. “— be
ever in your favor!” I finish with equal verve. We have to joke
about it because the alternative is to be scared out of your
wits. Besides, the Capitol accent is so affected 19, almost anything
sounds funny in it.
I watch as Gale pulls out his knife and slices the bread. He
could be my brother. Straight black hair, olive skin, we even
have the same gray eyes. But we’re not related, at least not
closely. Most of the families who work the mines resemble
one another this way.
That’s why my mother and Prim, with their light hair and
blue eyes, always look out of place. They are. My mother’s
parents were part of the small merchant class that caters 20 to
officials, Peacekeepers, and the occasional Seam customer.
They ran an apothecary 21 shop in the nicer part of District 
Since almost no one can afford doctors, apothecaries 22 are our
healers. My father got to know my mother because on his
hunts he would sometimes collect medicinal herbs and sell
them to her shop to be brewed 23 into remedies. She must have
really loved him to leave her home for the Seam. I try to remember
that when all I can see is the woman who sat by,
blank and unreachable, while her children turned to skin and
bones. I try to forgive her for my father’s sake. But to be honest,
I’m not the forgiving type.
Gale spreads the bread slices with the soft goat cheese,
carefully placing a basil leaf on each while I strip the bushes of
their berries. We settle back in a nook in the rocks. From this
place, we are invisible but have a clear view of the valley,
which is teeming 24 with summer life, greens to gather, roots to
dig, fish iridescent 25 in the sunlight. The day is glorious, with a
blue sky and soft breeze. The food’s wonderful, with the
cheese seeping 26 into the warm bread and the berries bursting
in our mouths. Everything would be perfect if this really was a
holiday, if all the day off meant was roaming the mountains
with Gale, hunting for tonight’s supper. But instead we have to
be standing 27 in the square at two o’clock waiting for the names
to be called out.
“We could do it, you know,” Gale says quietly.
“What?” I ask.
“Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we
could make it,” says Gale.
I don’t know how to respond. The idea is so preposterous 28.
“If we didn’t have so many kids,” he adds quickly.
They’re not our kids, of course. But they might as well be.
Gale’s two little brothers and a sister. Prim. And you may as
well throw in our mothers, too, because how would they live
without us? Who would fill those mouths that are always asking
for more? With both of us hunting daily, there are still
nights when game has to be swapped 29 for lard or shoelaces or
wool, still nights when we go to bed with our stomachs growling 30.
“I never want to have kids,” I say.
“I might. If I didn’t live here,” says Gale.
“But you do,” I say, irritated.