草原上的小雏鸟：奥斯曼家族的诞生

风里裹着恰尔尚克草的清香味，刮过安纳托利亚高原的褶皱时，会先把沾在羊毛上的蒲公英绒毛吹得打转，再钻进牧人的帐篷帘子缝里，把煮奶的甜香带到草原的每一个角落。五岁的小奥斯曼光着脚踩在刚冒头的草尖上，攥着半块烤馕追一只棕红色的野兔，脚踝上的银铃铛叮铃响，惊飞了停在芨芨草上的云雀。他跑得太急，脚踝被草茎划了个小口子，也顾不上疼，只盯着野兔钻进远处的灌木丛，跺着脚噘嘴喊：“你等着！我明天带我的小木弓来打你！”

The wind carries the fresh scent of *Çalışkan* grass across the folds of the Anatolian plateau, swirling dandelion fuzz stuck to sheep's wool before slipping through the seams of tent flaps, bringing the sweet aroma of boiling milk to every corner of the steppe. Five-year-old Osman runs barefoot on the sprouting grass tips, clutching half a piece of baked *nan* as he chases a reddish-brown wild hare; the silver bell on his ankle jingles, startling a lark perched on a clump of wormwood. He runs so fast that his ankle gets scratched by a grass stem, but he doesn't care about the pain, just stares at the hare darting into a distant bush, stomping his foot and pouting: "Wait! I'll bring my little wooden bow to hunt you tomorrow!"

他跑回帐篷的时候，正撞见爸爸埃尔托格鲁尔坐在帐篷外的石头上擦弯刀。刀身是精钢打的，映着正午的太阳，亮得晃眼睛，刀柄上缠着磨得发白的牛皮绳——这是埃尔托格鲁尔最宝贝的东西，每次打仗回来都要擦上好久，擦得能照见人的影子。爸爸的身边围着三个族里的叔叔，正压着声音说话，见小奥斯曼跑过来，都笑着跟他打招呼，埃尔托格鲁尔把他抱到膝盖上，用带着薄茧的手擦掉他脸上的草屑，问：“追到兔子了？”

“没追上，”小奥斯曼晃了晃手里的半块烤馕，馕边已经被他攥得软乎乎的，“不过爸爸，我刚才听见你们说蒙古人，蒙古人是什么呀？是不是奶奶讲的会吃小孩的妖怪？”

When he runs back to the tent, he bumps into his father Eltugrul sitting on a stone outside the tent wiping a curved knife. The blade is made of fine steel, reflecting the noon sun so bright it's dazzling, and the handle is wrapped with frayed cowhide rope—this is Eltugrul's most treasured thing, which he wipes for a long time every time he comes back from fighting, until it can reflect a person's face. Three uncles from the tribe sit around his father, speaking in low voices. When they see little Osman running over, they all greet him with a smile. Eltugrul pulls him onto his knee, wipes the grass crumbs off his face with his calloused hand, and asks: "Caught the hare?"

"I didn't catch it," Osman shakes the half piece of baked *nan* in his hand, the edge of which has been softened by his grip. "But dad, I heard you talking about Mongols just now. What are Mongols? Are they the monsters that eat children, like grandma said?"

埃尔托格鲁尔脸上的笑淡了点，他摸了摸小奥斯曼的卷发，声音很稳：“蒙古人不是妖怪，他们是来自东方草原的骑兵，跑得比野马还快，箭射得比云雀飞得还高。他们的军队像会移动的沙尘暴，走到哪里，就把哪里变成一片平地。咱们原来的家，就是在他们的铁蹄下被踏平的。”

Eltugrul's smile fades a little. He strokes Osman's curly hair and says in a steady voice: "M

风里裹着恰尔尚克草的清香味，刮过安纳托利亚高原的褶皱时，会先把沾在羊毛上的蒲公英绒毛吹得打转，再钻进牧人的帐篷帘子缝里，把煮奶的甜香带到草原的每一个角落。五岁的小奥斯曼光着脚踩在刚冒头的草尖上，攥着半块烤馕追一只棕红色的野兔，脚踝上的银铃铛叮铃响，惊飞了停在芨芨草上的云雀。他跑得太急，脚踝被草茎划了个小口子，也顾不上疼，只盯着野兔钻进远处的灌木丛，跺着脚噘嘴喊：“你等着！我明天带我的小木弓来打你！”

The wind carries the fresh scent of *Çalışkan* grass across the folds of the Anatolian plateau, swirling dandelion fuzz stuck to sheep's wool before slipping through the seams of tent flaps, bringing the sweet aroma of boiling milk to every corner of the steppe. Five-year-old Osman runs barefoot on the sprouting grass tips, clutching half a piece of baked *nan* as he chases a reddish-brown wild hare; the silver bell on his ankle jingles, startling a lark perched on a clump of wormwood. He runs so fast that his ankle gets scratched by a grass stem, but he doesn't care about the pain, just stares at the hare darting into a distant bush, stomping his foot and pouting: "Wait! I'll bring my little wooden bow to hunt you tomorrow!"

他跑回帐篷的时候，正撞见爸爸埃尔托格鲁尔坐在帐篷外的石头上擦弯刀。刀身是精钢打的，映着正午的太阳，亮得晃眼睛，刀柄上缠着磨得发白的牛皮绳——这是埃尔托格鲁尔最宝贝的东西，每次打仗回来都要擦上好久，擦得能照见人的影子。爸爸的身边围着三个族里的叔叔，正压着声音说话，见小奥斯曼跑过来，都笑着跟他打招呼，埃尔托格鲁尔把他抱到膝盖上，用带着薄茧的手擦掉他脸上的草屑，问：“追到兔子了？”

When he runs back to the tent, he bumps into his father Eltugrul sitting on a stone outside the tent wiping a curved knife. The blade is made of fine steel, reflecting the noon sun so bright it's dazzling, and the handle is wrapped with frayed cowhide rope—this is Eltugrul's most treasured possession, which he wipes for a long time every time he comes back from fighting, until it can reflect a person's face. Three uncles from the tribe sit around his father, speaking in low voices. When they see little Osman running over, they all greet him with a smile. Eltugrul pulls him onto his knee, wipes the grass crumbs off his face with his calloused hand, and asks: "Caught the hare?"

“没追上，”小奥斯曼晃了晃手里的半块烤馕，馕边已经被他攥得软乎乎的，“不过爸爸，我刚才听见你们说蒙古人，蒙古人是什么呀？是不是奶奶讲的会吃小孩的妖怪？”

"I didn't catch it," Osman shakes the half piece of baked *nan* in his hand, the edge of which has been softened by his grip. "But dad, I heard you talking about Mongols just now. What are Mongols? Are they the monsters that eat children, like grandma said?"

埃尔托格鲁尔脸上的笑淡了点，他摸了摸小奥斯曼的卷发，声音很稳：“蒙古人不是妖怪，他们是来自东方草原的骑兵，跑得比野马还快，箭射得比云雀飞得还高。他们的军队像会移动的沙尘暴，走到哪里，就把哪里变成一片平地。咱们原来的家，就是在他们的铁蹄下被踏平的。”

Eltugrul's smile fades a little. He strokes Osman's curly hair and says in a steady voice: "Mongols aren't monsters. They are cavalry from the eastern steppe, faster than wild horses, and their arrows fly higher than larks. Their army is like a moving sandstorm; wherever they go, they turn the land into flat, empty plains. Our old home was trampled flat under their horses' hooves."

小奥斯曼的眼睛一下子睁得圆溜溜的，他拽着爸爸的袍角晃了晃：“原来的家？我们的家不是在这里吗？有羊群，有毡房，还有我种的向日葵呀。”

Osman's eyes go wide. He tugs at the edge of his father's robe and shakes it: "Old home? Isn't our home right here? We have sheep, yurts, and the sunflowers I planted!"

埃尔托格鲁尔把他抱得更紧了些，手指向远处的雪山：“那里，再往东走，翻过三座大山，渡过一条比黄河还宽的大河，才是咱们乌古斯部落原来的家。那时候咱们的部落有上千顶毡房，上万只羊，几百匹好马，你爷爷是部落的首领，带着大家养羊、打仗，日子过得比现在富足十倍。直到十二年前，蒙古人的军队来了，他们抢我们的羊，烧我们的毡房，抓走不肯投降的族人，咱们只能跟着部落往西跑，一路上死了好多好多人，才跑到这里。”

Eltugrul holds him tighter, his finger pointing toward the distant snow-capped mountains: "Over there, further east, past three big mountains and a river wider than the Yellow River, that's where our Oguz Turk tribe's old home was. Back then, our tribe had over a thousand yurts, tens of thousands of sheep, and hundreds of fine horses. Your grandfather was the tribe's leader, leading everyone to raise sheep and fight, and life was ten times better than it is now. Twelve years ago, the Mongol army came. They stole our sheep, burned our yurts, and captured tribesmen who refused to surrender. We had to move west with the tribe, and many people died along the way before we finally got here.”

小奥斯曼似懂非懂地点点头，他想起奶奶以前给他讲的故事：那时候奶奶还年轻，怀里抱着刚出生的小叔叔，跟着部落跑，脚上的皮都磨破了，渗出来的血把毡鞋都染红了。路上没有吃的，奶奶就把自己的奶省给小叔叔喝，自己吃树皮和草根。有一次蒙古人的骑兵追上来，部落里的人把小孩藏在干草堆里，大人们拿着弯刀冲上去挡，好多人都再也没回来。奶奶每次讲到这里，都会摸着他的头掉眼泪，说“咱们突厥人这辈子，最怕的就是没有自己的家，被人赶来赶去”。

Osman nods as if he half-understands. He remembers the stories grandma used to tell him: back then, grandma was still young, holding his just-born little uncle in her arms as they fled with the tribe. The skin on her feet was worn raw, and the blood seeping through stained her felt shoes red. There was no food along the way, so grandma saved her milk for his little uncle and ate tree bark and grass roots herself. Once, Mongol cavalry caught up to them, and the tribesmen hid the children in haystacks while the adults charged forward with curved knives to block them; many never came back. Every time grandma gets to this part of the story, she would stroke his head and cry, saying "We Turks fear nothing more than not having a home of our own, being driven from place to place by others."

“那我们现在有家了吗？”小奥斯曼仰着脸问，他的睫毛上还沾着刚才跑的时候溅的草汁，亮得像碎星星。

"Do we have a home now?" Osman looks up, his eyelashes still dotted with grass juice from his earlier run, sparkling like tiny stars.

埃尔托格鲁尔笑了，他拍了拍小奥斯曼的后背：“暂时有了。去年咱们跟着塞尔柱苏丹打拜占庭的军队，赢了之后，苏丹就把索古特这块牧场给了咱们。这里的草长得比别的地方都肥，水也甜，羊吃了长的最快，咱们在这里扎了根，不用再天天准备搬家了。”

Eltugrul smiles and pats Osman on the back: "For now, we do. Last year, we fought the Byzantine army with the Seljuk Sultan and won, so the Sultan gave us the Söğüt pasture. The grass here grows lusher than anywhere else, the water is sweet, and the sheep get fat faster eating it. We've put down roots here, no need to prepare to move every day anymore."

小奥斯曼听了特别开心，他跳下爸爸的膝盖，跑去找自己的小伙伴玩了。族里的孩子都跟他差不多大，有五个，他们经常在草原上玩骑马打仗的游戏：用树枝当弯刀，用草茎当箭，把毡房旁边的石头堆当成城堡，分两队打来打去。小奥斯曼总是当“将军”，因为他跑得最快，射箭最准，摔跤也最厉害，能把比他大两岁的孩子都摔倒。大家都叫他“小雄鹰”，因为他跑起来的时候