【饥饿游戏】27

Chapter 7
My slumbers 1 are filled with disturbing dreams. The face of
the redheaded girl intertwines with gory 2 images from earlier
Hunger Games, with my mother withdrawn 3 and unreachable,
with Prim 4 emaciated 5 and terrified. I bolt up screaming for my
father to run as the mine explodes into a million deadly bits of
light.
Dawn is breaking through the windows. The Capitol has a
misty 6, haunted air. My head aches and I must have bitten into
the side of my cheek in the night. My tongue probes the
ragged 7 flesh and I taste blood.
Slowly, I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I arbitrarily
punch buttons on the control board and end up hopping 8
from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming
hot water assault me. Then I’m deluged 9 in lemony foam 10
that I have to scrape off with a heavy bristled 11 brush. Oh, well.
At least my blood is flowing.
When I’m dried and moisturized with lotion 12, I find an outfit 13
has been left for me at the front of the closet. Tight black
pants, a long-sleeved burgundy tunic 14, and leather shoes. I put
my hair in the single braid down my back. This is the first time
since the morning of the reaping that I resemble myself. No
fancy hair and clothes, no flaming capes 15. Just me. Looking like
I could be headed for the woods. It calms me.
Haymitch didn’t give us an exact time to meet for breakfast
and no one has contacted me this morning, but I’m hungry so I
head down to the dining room, hoping there will be food. I’m
not disappointed. While the table is empty, a long board off to
the side has been laid with at least twenty dishes. A young
man, an Avox, stands at attention by the spread. When I ask if
I can serve myself, he nods assent 16. I load a plate with eggs,
sausages, batter 17 cakes covered in thick orange preserves, slices
of pale purple melon. As I gorge 18 myself, I watch the sun rise
over the Capitol. I have a second plate of hot grain smothered 19
in beef stew 20. Finally, I fill a plate with rolls and sit at the table,
breaking oil bits and dipping them into hot chocolate, the way
Peeta did on the train.
My mind wanders to my mother and Prim. They must be
up. My mother getting their breakfast of mush. Prim milking
her goat before school. Just two mornings ago, I was home.
Can that be right? Yes, just two. And now how empty the
house feels, even from a distance. What did they say last night
about my fiery 21 debut 22 at the Games? Did it give them hope, or
simply add to their terror when they saw the reality of twenty-
four tributes circled together, knowing only one could live?
Haymitch and Peeta come in, bid me good morning, fill
their plates. It makes me irritated that Peeta is wearing exactly
the same outfit I am. I need to say something to Cinna. This
twins act is going to blow up in out faces once the Games begin.
Surely, they must know this. Then I remember Haymitch telling 
me to do exactly what the stylists tell me to do. If it was anyone 
but Cinna, I might be tempted 23 to ignore him. But after last night’s 
triumph, I don’t have a lot of room to criticize his choices.
I’m nervous about the training. There will be three days in
which all the tributes practice together. On the last afternoon,
we’ll each get a chance to perform in private before the 
Gamemakers. The thought of meeting the other tributes 
face-to-face makes me queasy 24. I turn the roll I have just taken 
from the basket over and over in my hands, but my appetite is 
gone. When Haymitch has finished several platters of stew, he
pushes back his plate with a sigh. He takes a flask 25 from his
pocket and takes a long pull on it and leans his elbows on the
table. “So, let’s get down to business. Training. First off, if you
like, I’ll coach you separately. Decide now.”
“Why would you coach us separately?” I ask.
“Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other
to know about,” says Haymitch.
I exchange a look with Peeta. “I don’t have any secret
skills,” he says. “And I already know what yours is, right? I
mean, I’ve eaten enough of your squirrels.”
I never thought about Peeta eating the squirrels I shot.
Somehow I always pictured the baker 26 quietly going off and
frying them up for himself. Not out of greed. But because town
families usually eat expensive butcher meat. Beef and chicken
and horse.
“You can coach us together,” I tell Haymitch. Peeta nods.
“All right, so give me some idea of what you can do,” says Haymitch.
“I can’t do anything,” says Peeta. “Unless you count baking bread.”
“Sorry, I don’t. Katniss. I already know you’re handy with a
knife,” says Haymitch.
“Not really. But I can hunt,” I say. “With a bow and arrow.”