1
六歲那一年，我在一本描寫原始森林的書裡看見一幅扣人心弦的圖畫。那本書的書名叫《叢林奇遇記》。圖中畫的是正在吞喫野獸的蟒蛇。下面是這幅畫的摹仿件。
書中說：“蟒蛇囫圇吞下獵物，肚子撐得它不能動彈，要躺六個月纔能把獵物消化掉。”
從此，我對叢林的種種奇事產生了無窮盡的遐想。我也用彩色鉛筆繪下我的第一幅畫。我稱它為一號畫。
我把我的傑作拿給大人看，還問他們，我的畫是否嚇壞了他們。
他們回答我說：“一頂帽子有什麼可怕的？”
我畫的不是一頂帽子，而是一條正在消化大像的蟒蛇啊。我又畫了一張畫，畫的是蟒蛇和它肚子裡的大像，好讓大人看懂我的畫。他們總是需要我們給他們解釋的。
大人們勸我，別畫這些肚子沒打開或打開了的蟒蛇了，把心思放到地理、歷史、算術、語法上去吧。就這樣，我在六歲這一年放棄了畫家的光輝生涯。一號畫、二號畫的失敗令我垂頭喪氣。大人們老是需要孩子們費盡唇舌，給他們再三解釋，不然就一竅不通，真把我們累得夠嗆。
我隻好選擇另一門職業。我學會了駕駛飛機，幾乎跑遍了世界各地。地理確實幫了我的大忙。
在空中，我一眼就能認出中國和亞利桑那，這樣的本領很管用——如果夜航時迷了路。
我一生與許多重要人物打過交道，我在大人當中生活了很長時間，我仔細地觀察過他們，然而我對他們的看法沒有多大的改善。
每當遇到一個我認為略為懂事的大人，我就用我的一號畫做試驗，看他是否真的懂事，但他們總是這樣回答我：“這是一頂帽子。”
聽了這樣的話，我就不再與他們談蟒蛇、原始森林、星星了。我談他們能理解的事情，例如橋牌啦，高爾夫球啦，政治啦，領帶啦。大人們便很滿意，以為他們認識了一個通情達理、善解人意的人。
2
從此我孤獨地生活著，沒有一個可以推心置腹的朋友。這種狀況一直延續至六年前。六年前，我的飛機出了故障，發動機裡的某個部件被撞壞了，我被迫在撒哈拉沙漠降落。我隻能自己動手，試著修理部件。我帶的水僅夠喝一個星期，能否修好飛機，關繫到我的生死存亡了。
第一夜，我在遠離人煙、千裡之遙的沙漠上睡覺。比起那些乘著木排，在茫茫大洋中掙扎漂浮的遇險者，我更顯得孤獨無助。朝霞初露的時候，一個細細的奇妙的聲音把我喚醒。你不難想像我當時有多驚訝了。這細細的奇妙的聲音說：
“勞駕……請你給我畫一隻綿羊吧！”
“你說什麼？”
“給我畫一隻綿羊！”
我喫驚地一躍而起。我使勁眨了眨眼睛，仔細看了看，隻見一個很奇特的小小的人兒，他正在那兒注視我呢。下面就是以後我給他畫的最為成功的一幅肖像畫。當然，它沒有他本人可愛俊美。
這可不能怪我，該怪大人，是他們在我六歲那年葬送了我的畫家生涯。除了畫打開肚子和沒打開肚子的蟒蛇之外，我沒有畫過一張畫。
我大喫一驚，眼睛瞪得溜圓，看著他。你們可別忘了，這兒是遠離人煙、千裡之遙的地方啊。他一點不像迷失於沙漠中的孩子，不像遠離人煙、千裡之遙的孩子。我終於能夠張口說話了，我問他：
“……你在這兒干什麼？”
他不慌不忙地重述他的要求：
“請你給我畫一隻綿羊……”
I
Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.
In the book it said: “Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole, without chewing it. After that they are not able to move, and they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion.”
I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle. And after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my first drawing. My Drawing Number One.
I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether the drawing frightened them.
But they answered: “Frighten? Why should any one be frightened by a hat?”
My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made another drawing: I drew the inside of a boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have things explained.
The grown-ups’ response, this time, was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might have been a magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.
So then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes. I have flown a little over all parts of the world; and it is true that geography has been very useful to me.
At a glance I can distinguish China from Arizona. If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge is valuable.
In the course of this life I have had a great many encounters with a great many people. I have lived a great deal among grown-ups. I have seen them intimately. And that hasn’t much improved my opinion of them.
Whenever I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One. I would try to find out, so, if this was a person of true understanding. But, whoever it was, he, or she, would always say: “That is a hat.”
Then I would never talk to that person about boa constrictors, or primeval forests, or stars. I would bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about bridge, and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would be greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.
II
So I lived my life alone, without anyone that I could really talk to, until I had an accident with my plane in the Desert of Sahara, six years ago. Something was broken in my engine. And I set myself to attempt the difficult repairs all alone. It was a question of life or death for me: I had scarcely enough drinking water to last a week.
The first night, then, I went to sleep on the sand, a thousand miles from any human habitation. I was more isolated than a shipwrecked sailor on a raft in the middle of the ocean. Thus you can imagine my amazement, at sunrise, when I was awakened by an odd little voice. It said:
“If you please—draw me a sheep!”
“What!”
“Draw me a sheep!”
I jumped to my feet. I blinked my eyes hard. I looked carefully all around me. And I saw a most extraordinary small person, who stood there examining me with great seriousness. Here you may see the best portrait that, later, I was able to make of him. But my drawing is certainly very much less charming than its model.
That, however, is not my fault. The grown-ups discouraged me in my painter’s career when I was six years old, and I never learned to draw anything, except boas from the outside and boas from the inside.
Now I stared at him with my eyes fairly starting out of my head in astonishment. Remember, I had crashed in the desert a thousand miles from any inhabited region. Nothing about him gave any suggestion of a child lost in the middle of the desert, a thousand miles from any human habitation. When at last I was able to speak, I said to him:
……
