Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 The orange robe looked somehow right on Dan— like he was meant to wear it. "Can somebody take my picture?" He had his collection in mind. This would be the prized piece. He'd have it blown up to twenty feet wide. It would be an entire wall of his trophy room. "Photography forbidden." Dan was crushed. He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. You didn't argue with a guy who could rip your arm out and beat you to death with the bloody end. "Can I at least keep the suit?" His sparring partners smiled tolerantly. The lesson began. Dan had envisioned himself flying through the air with the greatest of ease. But he was not surprised that it didn't happen that way. As a beginner, he started at the beginning

那件橘色的长袍不知怎么看起来正适合丹——就像他注定要穿它一样。 “谁能帮我拍照吗？”他心里想着他的收藏。 这将是一件珍贵的作品。 他会把它炸到20英尺宽。 他的纪念品陈列室里会有一整面墙。 “摄影禁止。”丹崩溃了。 他张口要抗议，但又改了主意。 你没有和一个能扯断你胳膊，把你活活打死的人争吵。 “至少我能留下那套衣服吗？”他的陪练面带宽容的微笑。 上课开始了。丹想象着自己在空中轻松自在地飞翔。 但他并不感到惊讶的是，它没有发生的方式。 作为初学者，他从头开始

simple punches and kicks, and learning how to fall. It doesn't get any better than this, he reflected, slapping the mat in a break-fall. Learning kung fu— wushu— in a secret part of the Shaolin Temple in the very heart of Mount Song. Soon they progressed to basic throws. Dan glowed when the monks praised his balance. And thanks to his extraordinary memory, he was a quick study, with perfect recall of everything he'd been taught. The highlight of the hour was a sparring session— Dan versus four of the most dangerous fighters in the world. Oh, sure, he knew they were letting him win. But the feeling of throwing a kung fu master was indescribable— even if the guy was mostly throwing himself. All at once, Dan saw an opening. The monk in front of him was down, perfectly positioned for one of the holds Dan had just learned. This was it— a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a novice to star in real Shaolin competition. As Dan pounced, two powerful hands reached

简单的拳打脚踢，学习如何摔倒。 “没有比这更好的了，”他一边想，一边重重地拍了拍垫子。 在嵩山中心少林寺的一个秘密地方学习功夫。 很快他们就学会了基本的投掷。 当僧人们称赞丹的平衡时，他容光焕发。 多亏了他非凡的记忆力，他学得很快，对教过的所有东西都记得很清楚。 这一小时的高潮是一场对练——丹和世界上最危险的四名拳手。 当然，他知道他们会让他赢。 但是把功夫大师扔出去的感觉是难以形容的——即使这个家伙主要是把自己扔出去。 突然，丹看到了一个机会。 他面前的那个和尚已经趴下了，他刚刚学会了一个抱法。 这是一个千载难逢的机会，一个新手可以在真正的少林比赛中崭露头角。 当丹猛扑过来时，两只有力的手伸出来

up and grabbed the front of his robe. Suddenly, his opponent's foot was against his abdomen— not kicking, but launching Dan up and over him with astonishing force. Flying through the air, the triumphant thought flashed through his mind: I just got schooled by a Shaolin master! It never occurred to him that he was about to break every bone in his body. The other three caught him and set him gently down on the mat. He did a quick self-inventory— two arms, two legs, everything still attached. A colossal grin split his face. "That was mad awesome! How did you do that?" His teachers looked vaguely pleased. "This is the basis of all defense in wushu," the thrower explained. "The momentum of your adversary is your greatest ally." Another monk arrived with a tea service and a platter of food, and the sparring was adjourned. Dan bit down on a deep-fried snack and chewed thoughtfully, trying to place the unfamiliar flavor. Not bad, he decided. Crispy, kind of salty— a little like pork rinds, but the texture was different.

起来抓住他长袍的前襟。 突然，对手的脚撞到了他的腹部——不是踢，而是以惊人的力量把丹从他身上推了起来。 一个胜利的念头在他的脑海里闪过：我刚刚被一个少林大师教导了！他从来没有想到他快要把身上的每一根骨头都折断了。 另外三个人抓住他，轻轻地把他放在垫子上。 他迅速清点了一下自己的物品——两条胳膊，两条腿，所有的东西都还在上面。 他脸上绽开了一个大大的笑容。 “太棒了！”你是怎么做到的？”他的老师们似乎有些高兴。 “这是武术中所有防御的基础，”他解释道。 “对手的势头是你最大的盟友。” 另一个和尚端着茶具和一盘食物来了，对打暂停了。 丹咬了一口油炸的零食，若有所思地咀嚼着，试图把不熟悉的味道放进去。 不错，他觉得。酥脆，有点咸，有点像猪皮，但口感不同。

"What are these?" Dan asked, popping another piece into his mouth. "It is a delicacy made from the larva of the silkworm," came the reply. Dan nearly spit the morsel clear across the room. "We're eating worms?" "No. The silkworm is the caterpillar of the Bombyx mori— the silk moth." Like that was any better. Not worms, bugs. The effort to swallow required all the willpower he could muster. He knew he was imagining it, but he felt an entire insect zoo in his stomach, writhing and buzzing. He struggled to unsteady feet. "I think I need some air." One of the monks escorted him through the many twists and turns that led to the Chang Zhu courtyard. He murmured his thanks and staggered out onto the grounds. I'd never make it as a Shaolin monk. Great martial arts— but the meal plan! Tourists and visitors regarded him quizically— a Western boy in Shaolin robes. He was too

“这些是什么？”丹问道，又往嘴里塞了一块。 “这是一种美味，是用蚕的幼虫做的，”回答说。 丹几乎把那块食物吐得满地都是。 “我们在吃虫子？”“没有。 蚕是家蚕的毛虫——蚕蛾。” 好像那样更好似的。不是蠕虫，是虫子。 吞咽的努力需要他所有的意志力。 他知道这是他的想象，但他感到胃里有一整个昆虫动物园，扭动着，嗡嗡作响。 他挣扎着站了起来。 “我想我需要透透气。” 其中一个和尚护送他穿过许多弯弯曲曲的路，来到长朱院。 他低声道谢，摇摇晃晃地走到场地上。 我当少林和尚是做不到的。 伟大的武术-但饮食计划！游客们都用好奇的眼光看待他——一个身穿少林袍的西方男孩。 他也是

nauseated to be impressed by the sights, but just walking helped to settle his stomach. Jonah was nowhere to be seen. The star was probably still inside the temple, signing autographs for his Shaolin fans. Dan surveyed his surroundings. What was that? From a distance it looked like a miniature city. He drifted over and discovered that the structures were not buildings but towering brick-and-stone grave markers, shaped like Chinese pagodas, some of them thirty or forty feet tall. A sign declared that this burial ground was the Pagoda Forest— the final resting place for the cremated remains of centuries of Shaolin monks. Pretty cool— unless you're trying to digest a couple of Bombyx moris. Just outside the temple grounds, by the side of the road, he noticed a line of coin-operated telescopes trained up Mount Song. He left the Pagoda Forest and trudged along the path, fishing in his pocket for change. Another advantage of being part of the Wizard posse— Jonah had provided him with some Chinese

眼前的景色让他感到恶心，但光是走路就能让他的胃平静下来。 约拿不见了。 这位明星可能还在少林寺里，为他的少林粉丝签名。 丹环顾四周。 那是什么？从远处看，它就像一个微型城市。 他漂了过去，发现那些建筑物不是建筑物，而是高耸的砖石墓碑，形状像中国的宝塔，有些有三四十英尺高。 一块牌子上写着这片墓地是宝塔林——几个世纪以来少林僧人火化后的最后安息之地。 非常酷——除非你想消化几颗桑蚕。 就在寺庙场地外的路边，他注意到一排投币操作的望远镜对准了嵩山。 他离开了宝塔林，沿着小路艰难地走着，在口袋里摸着零钱。 作为巫师团的一员还有一个好处——约拿给他提供了一些汉语

money. Exiting via a rear gate, he approached the line of telescopes. He squinted up at the mist-drenched summit of Mount Song. He could make out a distant monument, white against the gray sky. "What is it?" An attendant supplied the answer. "It is the statue of Bodhidharma." "You mean the eyelids dude?" Dan blurted. The man pointed to the money slot. "One yuan." Dan inserted a coin, and the telescope whirred to life with the ticking of a timer. He peered into the eyepiece. The statue was carved from white stone— a bearded monk sitting cross-legged atop a brick pedestal. As far as Dan could tell, there were no missing eyelids, and the figure's lower body, shriveled or not, was hidden by robes. But that wasn't what made Dan gasp. I know that guy! Where would a Boston orphan have seen a

钱。他从后门出来，走近那排望远镜。 他眯起眼睛看着雾气弥漫的嵩山山顶。 他能辨认出远处一座白色的纪念碑，映衬着灰色的天空。 “什么事？”一个服务员提供了答案。 “是菩提达摩像。” “你是说眼皮吗，伙计？”丹脱口而出。 那人指着钱槽。 “一元”。丹投下一枚硬币，随着计时器的滴答声，望远镜启动了。 他往目镜里看。 这座雕像由白色石头雕刻而成——一个留着胡子的和尚盘腿坐在砖底座上。 据丹所知，没有人的眼皮不见了，这个人的下半身，不管有没有萎缩，都被长袍遮住了。 但这并不是让丹喘不过气来的原因。 我认识那家伙！波士顿的孤儿在哪见过