月下去看貓頭鷹

It was late one winter night， long past my bedtime， when Pa and I went owling. There was no wind. The trees stood still as giant statues. And the moon was so bright that the sky seemed to shine. Somewhere behind us a train whistle blew， long and low， like a sad， sad song. I could hear it through the woolen cap Pa had pulled down over my ears. A farm dog answered the train， and then a second dog joined in. They sang out， trains and dogs， for a real long time. And when their voices faded away it was as quiet as a dream.

We walked on toward the woods， Pa and I. Our feet crunched over the crisp snow and little gray footprints followed us. Pa made a long shadow， but mine was short and round. I had to run after him every now and then to keep up， and my short， round shadow bumped after me. But I never called out. If you go owling you have to be quiet， that’s what Pa always says. I have been waiting to go owling with Pa for a long， long time.

We reached the line of pine trees， black and pointy against the sky， and Pa held up his hand. I stopped where I was and waited. He looked up， as if searching the stars， as if reading a map up there. The moon made his face into a silver mask. Then he called： “Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo，” the sound of a Great Horned Owl. “Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo.” Again he called out. And then again. After each call he was silent and for a moment we both listened. But there was no answer.

Pa shrugged and I shrugged. I was not disappointed. My brothers all said sometimes there’s an owl and sometimes there isn’t.

We walked on. I could feel the cold， as if someone’s icy hand was palm-down on my back. And my nose and the tops of my cheeks felt cold and hot at the same time. But I never said a word. If you go owling you have to be quiet and make your own heat.

We went into the woods. The shadows were the blackest things I had ever seen. They stained the white snow. My mouth felt furry， for the scarf over it was wet and warm. I didn’t ask what kinds of things hide behind black trees in the middle of the night. When you go owling you have to be brave.

Then we came to a clearing in the dark woods. The moon was high above us. It seemed to fit exactly over the center of the clearing and the snow below it was whiter than the milk in a cereal bowl. I sighed and Pa held up his hand at the sound. I put my mittens over the scarf over my mouth and listened hard. And then Pa called： “Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo. Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo.”

I listened and looked so hard that my ears hurt and my eyes got cloudy with the cold. Pa raised his face to call out again， but before he could open his mouth an echo came threading its way through the trees. “Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo.”Pa almost smiled. Then he called back： “Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo，” just as if he and the owl were talking about supper or about the woods or the moon or the cold. I took my mitten off the scarf off my mouth， and I almost smiled， too. The owl’s call came closer， from high up in the trees on the edge of the meadow. Nothing in the meadow moved. All of a sudden an owl shadow， part of the big tree shadow， lifted off and flew right over us. We watched silently with heat in our mouths， the heat of all those words we had not spoken. The shadow hooted again. Pa turned on his big flashlight and caught the owl just as it was landing on a branch. For one minute， three minutes， maybe even a hundred minutes， we stared at one another. Then the owl pumped its great wings and lifted off the branch like a shadow without sound. It flew back into the forest.

“Time to go home，” Pa said to me. I knew then I could talk and I could even laugh out loud. But I was a shadow as we walked home. When you go owling you don’t need words or warm or anything but hope. That’s what Pa says. The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining Owl Moon.

那是一個冬天的深夜，早已過了我該上床睡覺的時間，爸爸帶著我去看貓頭鷹。外面一絲風也沒有，一棵棵樹像一座座巨型雕塑，靜靜聳立著。月光皎潔，似乎照亮了整片天空。在我們身后的某個地方，傳來一陣火車的汽笛聲，悠長而低沉，如一曲悲歌，令聽者傷懷。雖然爸爸早已將我的毛線帽拉下來蓋住了我的耳朵，但隔著帽子我還是能聽到那汽笛聲。農場里的一只狗應著汽笛聲狂吠起來，接著，第二只狗也加入進來。汽笛聲與狗吠聲此起彼伏，著實持續了好一陣子。當所有這些聲音漸漸消退，四周一片靜謐，恍如夢境。

爸爸和我繼續朝樹林走去。我們踩在松脆的雪地上，腳底下發出嘎吱嘎吱的聲音，身后留下一串灰色的小腳印。爸爸的影子長長的，而我的影子又短又圓。我得時不時地跑上幾步才能跟上爸爸，每當這時，我那又短又圓的影子也跌跌撞撞地跟在我身后。但我從未喊過一聲。如果你要去看貓頭鷹，就必須保持安靜，這是爸爸一直掛在嘴邊的話。我一直盼著和爸爸一起去看貓頭鷹，為這一天我已經等了好久好久。

我們到達了松樹林外圍，黑簇簇的松樹尖頂直入云霄。爸爸舉起一只手，我立刻停住腳步，站在原地等著。他仰頭看向天空，仿佛是在尋找天上的星星，又好像是在研究天上的一張地圖。月光灑在他的臉上，給他的臉龐罩上了一層銀色的面紗。接著他發出了“嗚嗚—呼呼呼—嗚”的聲音， 這是巨角貓頭鷹的叫聲。“嗚嗚—呼呼呼—嗚！……