The Underneath 《木屋下的守护者》又译《真相临界点》 2009年纽伯瑞银奖小说 ISBN 9781416950592 下载 mobi 免费 pdf 百度网盘 epub 2025 在线 电子书

狗是猫的天敌。但唱着悲伤歌曲的猎犬不一样！一只怀孕却被遗弃的花斑猫，立刻对这只被铁链束缚的猎犬产生了好感。原本敌对的动物，在残破的木屋底下，组成了不一样的家庭。

两只小猫的出生，为这个家带来了生气。但是木屋里的猎人，却是生活中的隐忧。他一心想抓到沼泽里的鳄鱼王，而不管猫或狗，都会是好的诱饵。狗爸爸和猫妈妈因此不断叮咛：“要待在木屋下才安全。”

但猫的好奇心任谁也挡不住。屋外的阳光太诱人，小猫受吸引而踏出去，立刻被猎人抓住，猫妈妈奋不顾身抢救，虽然让小猫从麻布袋逃开，却也牺牲了自己。生死之际，猫妈妈叮咛：“要找到并保护姐姐，要让狗爸爸重获自由！”

小猫能否找到回家的路？猎人真能猎到鳄鱼王？埋藏地底千年的蛇妖和鳄鱼王有何关系？蛇妖的怨愤会带来什么后果？谁才是木屋下的守护者？

神秘而魔幻的故事，充满悬疑，但又饱含诗意。情节穿越千年，反复向我们诉说着诺言的动人、亲情的可贵，以及爱的真谛。

There is nothing lonelier than a cat who has been loved, at

least for a while, and then abandoned on the side of the

road.

A calico cat, about to have kittens, hears the lonely howl of a

chained-up hound deep in the backwaters of the bayou. She dares to

find him in the forest, and the hound dares to befriend this cat,

this feline, this creature he is supposed to hate. They are an

unlikely pair, about to become an unlikely family. Ranger urges the

cat to hide underneath the porch, to raise her kittens there

because Gar-Face, the man living inside the house, will surely use

them as alligator bait should he find them. But they are safe in

the Underneath...as long as they stay in the Underneath.

Kittens, however, are notoriously curious creatures. And one

kitten's one moment of curiosity sets off a chain of events that is

astonishing, remarkable, and enormous in its meaning. For everyone

who loves Sounder, Shiloh, and The Yearling, for everyone who loves

the haunting beauty of writers such as Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings,

Flannery O'Connor, and Carson McCullers, Kathi Appelt spins a

harrowing yet keenly sweet tale about the power of love -- and its

opposite, hate -- the fragility of happiness and the importance of

making good on your promises.

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凯蒂·阿贝特 

这是她的长篇小说，获得纽伯瑞文学奖银奖，并入围美国国家书卷奖。从小就喜欢在墙上涂鸦，之后则是在日记和稿纸上写作，不断的笔耕，不但是成长纪录，也是她表达感情、抒发梦想的方式。作品多取材自身边熟悉的人、事、物，再揉合进自己的观察与想像，创造出吸引人的故事。之前曾出版三十多本绘本与诗集，并获得诸多奖项，如《学校图书馆期刊》年度好书等。除了写作，她也在大学开设创意写作课程，并获颁教学杰出奖。育有两子，目前与丈夫，还有四只猫，定居在美国德州。她的个人网站：kathiappelt.com/ 

大卫·司摩   

美国知名绘本作家，作品曾多次荣获凯迪克大奖。1945年出生于密西根州的底特律，底特律艺术学院毕业，耶鲁大学艺术硕士。大卫擅长以水彩、墨水与粉彩作画，画风生动幽默，速写式的明快线条，加上柔和淡雅的色彩，传神的表现出人物的表情和姿态。作品有《如果你想当总统……》《小恩的秘密花园》《爱书人黄茉莉》《妞妞的鹿角》《特别的恐龙日》等。大卫的个人网站：davidsmallbooks.com 

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　　1

　　THERE IS NOTHING lonelier than a cat who has been loved, at least

for a while, and then abandoned on the side of the road. A small

calico cat. Her family, the one she lived with, has left her in

this old and forgotten forest, this forest where the rain is

soaking into her soft fur.

　　How long has she been walking? Hours? Days? She wasn't even sure

how she got here, so far from the town where she grew up. Something

about a car, something about a long drive. And now here she is.

Here in this old forest where the rain slipped between the branches

and settled into her fur. The pine needles were soft beneath her

feet; she heard the water splash onto the puddles all around,

noticed the evening roll in, the sky grow darker.

　　She walked and walked, farther and farther from the red dirt

road. She should have been afraid. She should have been concerned

about the lightning, slicing the drops of rain in two and

electrifying the air. She should have been worried in the falling

dark. But mostly she was lonely.

　　She walked some more on the soft pine needles until at last she

found an old nest, maybe a squirrel's, maybe a skunk's, maybe a

porcupine's; it's hard to tell when a nest has gone unused for a

long time, and this one surely had. She was grateful to find it, an

old nest, empty, a little dry, not very, but somewhat out of the

rain, away from the slashes of lightning, here at the base of a

gnarled tupelo tree, somewhere in the heart of the piney woods.

Here, she curled up in a tight ball and waited, purred to her

unborn babies. And the trees, the tall and kindly trees, watched

over her while she slept, slept the whole night through.Copyright

© 2008 by Kathi Appelt

　　2

　　AHH,THE TREES. On the other side of the forest, there is an old

loblolly pine. Once, it was the tallest tree in the forest, a

hundred feet up it reached, right up to the clouds, right beneath

the stars. Such a tree. Now broken in half, it stands beside the

creek called the Little Sorrowful.

　　Trees are the keepers of stories. If you could understand the

languages of oak and elm and tallow, they might tell you about

another storm, an earlier one, twenty-five years ago to be exact, a

storm that barreled across the sky, filling up the streams and

bayous, how it dipped and charged, rushed through the boughs. Its

black clouds were enormous, thick and heavy with the water it had

scooped up from the Gulf of Mexico due south of here, swirling its

way north, where it sucked up more moisture from the Sabine River

to the east, the river that divides Texas and Louisiana.

　　This tree, a thousand years old, huge and wide, straight and

true,would say how it lifted its branches and welcomed the heavy

rain, how it shivered as the cool water ran down its trunk and

washed the dust from its long needles. How it sighed in that

coolness.

　　But then, in that dwindling of rain, that calming of wind, that

solid darkness, a rogue bolt of lightning zipped from the clouds

and struck. Bark flew in splinters, the trunk sizzled from the top

of the crown to the deepest roots; the bolt pierced the very center

of the tree.

　　A tree as old as this has a large and sturdy heart, but it is no

match for a billion volts of electricity.The giant tree trembled

for a full minute, a shower of sparks and wood fell to the wet

forest floor. Then it stood completely still. A smaller tree might

have jumped, might have spun and spun and spun until it crashed

onto the earth. Not this pine, this loblolly pine, rooted so deep

into the clay beside the creek; it simply stood beneath the

blue-black sky while steam boiled from the gash sixty feet up, an

open wound.This pine did not fall to the earth or slide into the

creek. Not then.

　　And not now. It still stands. Most of its branches have cracked

and fallen.The upper stories have long ago tumbled to the forest

floor. Some of them have slipped into the creek and drifted

downstream, down to the silver Sabine, down to the Gulf of Mexico.

Down.

　　But the trunk remains, tall and hollow, straight and true. Right

here on the Little Sorrowful, just a mile or so from a calico cat,

curled inside her dry nest, while the rain falls all

around.Copyright © 2008 by Kathi Appelt

　　3

　　MEANWHILE, DEEP BENEATH the hard red dirt, held tightly in the

grip of the old tree's roots, something has come loose. A large jar

buried centuries ago. A jar made from the same clay that lines the

bed of the creek, a vessel with clean lines and a smooth surface,

whose decoration was etched by an artist of merit. A jar meant for

storing berries and crawdads and clean water, not for being buried

like this far beneath the ground, held tight in the web of the

tree's tangled roots. This jar. With its contents: A creature even

older than the forest itself, older than the creek, the last of her

kind. This beautiful jar, shaken loose in the random strike of

lightning that pierced the tree's heart and seared downward into

the tangled roots. Ever since, they have been loosening their

grip.

　　Trapped, the creature has waited. For a thousand years she has

slipped in and out of her deep, deep sleep, stirred in her

pitch-black prison beneath the dying pine. Sssssooooonnnn, she

whispered into the deep and solemn dark, my time will come. Then

she closed her eyes and returned to sleep.Copyright © 2008

by Kathi Appelt

　　4

　　IT WASN'T THE chirring of the mourning doves that woke the calico

cat, or the uncertain sun peeking through the clouds, or even the

rustling of a nearby squirrel. No, it was the baying of a nearby

hound. She had never heard a song like it, all blue in its shape,

blue and tender, slipping through the branches, gliding on the

morning air. She felt the ache of it. Here was a song that sounded

exactly the way she felt.

　　Oh, I woke up on this bayou,

　　Got a chain around my heart.

　　Yes, I'm sitting on this bayou,

　　Got a chain tied 'round my heart.

　　Can't you see I'm dyin'?

　　Can't you see I'm cryin'?

　　Can't you throw an old dog a bone?

　　Oh, I woke up, it was rainin',

　　But it was tears came fallin' down.

　　Yes, I woke up, it was rainin',

　　But it was tears came fallin' down.

　　Can't you see I'm tryin'?

　　Can't you hear my cryin'?

　　Can't you see I'm all alone?

　　Can't you throw this old dog a bone?

　　She cocked her ears to see which direction it came from. Then she

stood up and followed its bluesy notes, deeper and deeper into the

piney woods. Away from the road, from the old, abandoned nest, away

from the people who had left her here with her belly full of

kittens. She followed that song.Copyright © 2008 by Kathi

Appelt

　　5

　　FOR CATS, A hound is a natural enemy. This is the order of

things. Yet how could the calico cat be afraid of a hound who sang,

whose notes filled the air with so much longing? But when she got

to the place where the hound sang, she knew that something was

wrong.

　　She stopped.

　　In front of her sat a shabby frame house with peeling paint, a

house that slumped on one side as if it were sinking into the red

dirt. The windows were cracked and grimy. There was a rusted pickup

truck parked next to it, a dark puddle of thick oil pooled beneath

its undercarriage. She sniffed the air. It was wrong, this place.

The air was heavy with the scent of old bones, of fish and dried

skins, skins that hung from the porch like a ragged curtain.

　　Wrong was everywhere.

　　She should turn around, she should go away, she should not look

back. She swallowed. Perhaps she had taken the wrong path? What

path should she take? All the paths were the same. She felt her

kittens stir. It surely wouldn't be safe to stay here in this

shabby place.

　　She was about to turn around, when there it was again -- the

song, those silver notes, the ones that settled just beneath her

skin. Her kittens stirred again, as if they, too, could hear the

beckoning song. She stepped closer to the unkempt house, stepped

into the overgrown yard. She cocked her ears and let the notes lead

her, pull her around the corner. There they were, those bluesy

notes.

　　Oh, I woke up, it was rainin',

　　But it was tears came fallin' down.

　　Yes, I woke up, it was rainin',

　　But it was tears came fallin' down.

　　Can't you see I'm tryin'?

　　Can't you hear my cryin'?

　　Can't you see I'm all alone?

　　Can't you throw this old dog a bone?

　　Then she realized, this song wasn't calling for a bone, it was

calling for something else, someone else. Another step, another

corner. And there he was, chained to the corner of the back porch.

His eyes were closed, his head held back, baying.

　　She should be afraid, she should turn around and run, she should

climb the nearest tree. She did not. Instead, she simply walked

right up to this baying hound and rubbed against his front legs.

She knew the answer to his song, for if she could bay, her song

would be the same.

　　Here.

　　Right here.

　　Ranger.Copyright © 2008 by Kathi Appelt

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编辑推荐

纽伯瑞儿童文学奖

美国铅笔文学奖

美国图书馆协会图书奖

台湾“中小学生优良课外读物”

荣获纽伯瑞奖的动物魔幻小说，营造出一个既魔幻神秘又温情感人的动物世界。

媒体评论

　　"The Underneath is as enchanting as a hummingbird, as magical

as the clouds." -- Cynthia Kadohata, Newbery Medal-winning author

of Kira-Kira

　　"A mysterious and magical story; poetic yet loaded with

suspense."-- Louis Sachar, Newbery Medal-winning author of

Holes

　　"Kathi Appelt's novel, The Underneath, reads like a ballad

sung."-- Ashley Bryan, Hans Christian Anderson Award Nominee and

Three-Time Coretta Scott King Award Medalist

　　"Rarely do I come across a book that makes me catch my breath,

that reminds me why I wanted to be a writer -- to make of life

something beautiful, something enduring. The Underneath is a book

of ancient themes -- love and loss and betrayal and redemption --

woven together in language both timeless and spellbinding. A

classic."-- Alison McGhee, author of the New York Times bestselling

Someday

书籍介绍

There is nothing lonelier than a cat who has been loved, at least for a while, and then abandoned on the side of the road. A calico cat, about to have kittens, hears the lonely howl of a chained-up hound deep in the backwaters of the bayou. She dares to find him in the forest, and the hound dares to befriend this cat, this feline, this creature he is supposed to hate. They are an unlikely pair, about to become an unlikely family. Ranger urges the cat to hide underneath the porch, to raise her kittens there because Gar-Face, the man living inside the house, will surely use them as alligator bait should he find them. But they are safe in the Underneath...as long as they stay in the Underneath. Kittens, however, are notoriously curious creatures. And one kitten's one moment of curiosity sets off a chain of events that is astonishing, remarkable, and enormous in its meaning. For everyone who loves Sounder, Shiloh, and The Yearling, for everyone who loves the haunting beauty of writers such as Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Flannery O'Connor, and Carson McCullers, Kathi Appelt spins a harrowing yet keenly sweet tale about the power of love -- and its opposite, hate -- the fragility of happiness and the importance of making good on your promises.