by Andrew Harvey

When I lived in Paris in my 30s， I had a friend who was in her early 80s and lived in a studio with two blind dogs and a cat with three legs. In her youth she had acted in a series of bad films that made her rich and briefly famous. Until the age of 50， she told me， she “never had a serious thought in [her] head and lived an idiotic life.” At 50， however， everything changed. Film parts started to dry up； she invested her money with a Moroccan financier who ran off to Marrakesh； her much-loved but much-neglected son was killed in a car accident； a lover used， humiliated， and betrayed her with one of her best friends. Alone and depressed， she sold her houses and dresses and bought a one-room studio in a remote， dangerous suburb of Paris. For a year she cut herself off from her old friends and lived on bread， cheese， and vegetables she 1）scrounged from shopkeepers who remembered her as a minor queen of French cinema.

Her life did not change because she had a vision or met a master or suddenly fell in love with God. “I did not meet Jesus，” she used to say 2）tartly， “I met a dog.” One afternoon she was wandering stoned， hungry， and 3）desolate around her 4）dingy neighborhood， wondering why she bothered to go on living at all， when quite suddenly， as if from nowhere， a small， knife-thin， clearly starving 5）mutt with big floppy ears tottered toward her out of a doorway and fell at her feet. “I was so stoned and lost，”she told me， “my first instinct was a kind of anger. How dare the dog do this to me？ How dare I be reminded that there might be beings on the earth suffering even more than me？ I wanted to kick it in the teeth.”She did not kick the dog， however； she knelt down in the filthy street， took him up in her arms， took him home to her studio， nursed him back to health， and kept him with her until he died peacefully in his sleep ten years later，“the smelliest but without a doubt the most spoiled dog in Paris.”

What she discovered on that afternoon went far beyond the joy of rescuing one helpless and abandoned creature. What she discovered was the cause she would devote herself to that saved her life and restored her hope： animal rights.

My friend became a tireless rescuer of abandoned animals. She never made any real money again， but with the tiny amounts that came in from radio and TV appearances and a 6）hilarious and 7）scabrous memoir， she bought an old red-and-blue van and transported animals who had been found abandoned and abused to friendly homes.

I rang her one day and asked her， “Are you happy？” She paused and then said softly， “Im happier than Ive ever been. And not because I made those films all those years ago. I dont even know who that woman was， and Im not sure I care. What an idiot she looks like in all those period wigs. What makes me happy is that I know I have saved some lives—not for long， of course， since Mr. Death gets us all in his bag in the end， but perhaps long enough for a few animals to know that not every human being is a self-centered”—and here she used a French word， crapaud， which translates into（Im being 8）euphemistic） “arrogant bastard.”

Two weeks later I was at her funeral. It was held in her 9）squalid neighborhood， in a 10）crumbling anonymous hall. Her friends read her favorite poems aloud， played her favorite 11）Edith Piaf songs， and drank down rivers of red wine in her honor. That was touching enough， but what made her funeral one of the most 12）poignant and celebratory of any I have attended is that the music and poetry and laughter and half-drunk 13）reminiscences were punctuated by one constant， wild， glorious sound—the sound of dozens of dogs of all kinds and sizes barking in chorus. About 80 people had traveled from all over France to honor my friend and her fight for animal rights， bringing with them the dogs she had once brought them in her battered van. The greatest 14）eulogy she could ever receive was that 15）yapping chorus of the dogs her fierce compassion had saved.

我三十多岁时住在巴黎，当时，我有个朋友，她已经八十出头了，与两条失明狗和一只三脚猫一起住在一套单间公寓里。她在年轻的时候曾出演过一系列烂片，令她获得了不菲的收入和短暂的名气。她告诉我说，五十岁前，她“脑子里从未认真考虑过事情，过着白痴般的生活。”但是在五十岁那年，一切都变了。拍片工作开始停滞，她把钱投给一个摩洛哥投资经纪，而那人却卷款逃到了马拉喀什；她深爱却疏于照顾的儿子死于车祸；一个情人与她一个最好的朋友一起利用、羞辱并背叛了她。在孤单和沮丧中，她卖掉了自己的房子和衣裙，在巴黎一个偏远、危险的郊区买下了一套单间公寓。在长达一年的时间里，她断绝了自己与老朋友们的联系，靠从小店老板们那里讨要的面包、奶酪和蔬菜过活，在他们的记忆中，她还是那个法国电影小天后。

她的人生并未因为她突发伟愿或是遇到高人指点或是突然爱上上帝而发生改变。“我没有遇见过耶稣，”她过去常辛辣地说，“但我遇到了一条狗。”一天下午，她正醉醺醺、饥肠辘辘且满心凄凉地在她家附近肮脏的街区上游荡，想知道自己究竟为什么还要费力活下去，忽然之间，不知从哪里冒出一条骨瘦如柴，显然饿得半死的大耳朵杂种狗，踉踉跄跄地走出一个门口，向她走来并倒在了她的脚边。“我喝得酩酊大醉，稀里糊涂的，”她告诉我说，“我的第一反应是有点生气。这条狗怎么敢这样对我？它怎么敢提醒我，这个世界上还有生灵过得甚至比我还惨？我想一脚踢掉它的牙。”但是她并没有踢那条狗，而是跪在肮脏的大街上，把它抱在怀里，将它带回到她的单间公寓里，照顾它直至恢复健康，并将它留在身边，直到十年后它安详地于睡梦中死去，“它是巴黎最臭却又毫无疑问最受宠爱的狗狗。”

那天下午，她所发现的远不止是拯救了一只无助且被遗弃的动物所带来的快乐。她发现的是自己愿意投身去做的事业：动物权益。这一事业拯救了她的人生，重燃了她的希望。

我的朋友开始不知疲倦地救助被遗弃的动物。此后她再也没有挣过大钱，但在电台和电视上露面以及一部滑稽的情色自传为她带来了一小笔收入，她用此买了一部红蓝色的旧货车，以便将找到的被遗弃或是被虐待的动物送往友善的家庭。

有一天我打电话给她并问她说：“你快乐吗？”她停顿了一下，然后轻声说：“我比过往的任何时候都要快乐。并不是因为多年以前我拍过的那些电影。我甚至都不知道那个女人是谁，而且我也不确定自己还在乎。那时的她戴着那些古装假发看起来多么白痴啊。知道自己曾拯救过一些生命才是让我感到快乐的原因——时间不长，当然了，毕竟死神最后都会摆我们所有人一道，但也许足够时间让一些动物们知道，并不是每一个人类都是以自我为中心的”——而她在这里用了一个法语词“crapaud”，翻译过来（委婉地说）就是“傲慢的杂种”。

两周以后，我参加了她的葬礼，就在她那肮脏街区上的一个破旧大厅里举行。她的朋友们大声朗读了她心爱的诗篇，演奏了她最爱的伊迪丝·琵雅芙的歌曲，并痛饮了不少的红葡萄酒以示致敬。那已经足够感人了，而那之所以会成为我参加过的所有葬礼中最打动人心和最让人欢喜雀跃的一场，是因为那些音乐、诗篇、欢笑和半醉的回忆不时地被一种持续的、野性而嘹亮的嚎叫声打断——许许多多不同种类和体型的狗狗们齐声合唱的声音。大约有80人从法国各地来到此地向我的朋友以及她为动物权益所作的斗争致敬，还带来了那些狗狗，那些她曾经开着破货车给他们带去的狗狗。她所收到的最伟大的颂词，便是由她那狂热的恻隐之心所拯救的那些狗狗们所献上的尖声合唱。