《Stories by Doris Lessing》第1章

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A　MILD　ATTACK　OF　LOCUSTS…1
｛小｝｛说｝｛网｝
the　new　yorker　fiction　by　doris　lessing　february　26；　1955
the　rains　that　year　were　good；　they　were　ing　nicely　just　as　the　crops　needed　them—or　so　margaret　gathered　when　the　men　said　they　were　not　too　bad。　she　never　had　an　opinion　of　her　own　on　matters　like　the　weather；　because　even　to　know　about　a　simple　thing　like　the　weather　needs　experience；　which　margaret；　born　and　brought　up　in　johannesburg；　had　not　got。　the　men　were　her　husband；　richard；　and　old　stephen；　richard’s　father；　who　was　a　farmer　from　way　back；　and　these　two　might　argue　for　hours　over　whether　the　rains　were　ruinous　or　just　ordinarily　exasperating。　margaret　had　been　on　the　farm　for　three　years　now。　she　still　did　not　understand　why　they　did　not　go　bankrupt　altogether；　when　the　men　never　had　a　good　word　for　the　weather；　or　the　soil；　or　the　government。　but　she　was　getting　to　learn　the　language。　farmers’　language。　and　she　noticed　that　for　all　richard’s　and　stephen’s　plaints；　they　did　not　go　bankrupt。　nor　did　they　get　very　rich；　they　jogged　along；　doing　fortably。
their　crop　was　maize。　their　farm　was　three　thousand　acres　on　the　ridges　that　rise　up　toward　the　zambezi　escarpment—high；　dry；　wind…swept　country；　cold　and　dusty　in　winter；　but　now；　in　the　wet　months；　steamy　with　the　heat　that　rose　in　wet；　soft　waves　off　miles　of　green　foliage。　beautiful　it　was；　with　the　sky　on　fair　days　like　blue　and　brilliant　halls　of　air；　and　the　bright…green　folds　and　hollows　of　country　beneath；　and　the　mountains　lying　sharp　and　bare　twenty　miles　off；　beyond　the　rivers。　the　sky　made　her　eyes　ache；　she　was　not　used　to　it。　one　does　not　look　so　much　at　the　sky　in　the　city。　so　that　evening；　when　richard　said；　“the　government　is　sending　out　warnings　that　locusts　are　expected；　ing　down　from　the　breeding　grounds　up　north；”　her　instinct　was　to　look　about　her　at　the　trees。　insects；　swarms　of　them—horrible！　but　richard　and　the　old　man　had　raised　their　eyes　and　were　looking　up　over　the　nearest　mountaintop。　“we　haven’t　had　locusts　in　seven　years；”　one　said；　and　the　other；　“they　go　in　cycles；　locusts　do。”　and　then：　“there　goes　our　crop　for　this　season！”
but　they　went　on　with　the　work　of　the　farm　just　as　usual；　until　one　day；　when　they　were　ing　up　the　road　to　the　homestead　for　the　midday　break；　old　stephen　stopped；　raised　his　finger；　and　pointed。　“look；　look！”　he　shouted。　“there　they　are！”
margaret　heard　him　and　she　ran　out　to　join　them；　looking　at　the　hills。　out　came　the　servants　from　the　kitchen。　they　all　stood　and　gazed。　over　the　rocky　levels　of　the　mountain　was　a　streak　of　rust…colored　air。　locusts。　there　they　came。
at　once；　richard　shouted　at　the　cookboy。　old　stephen　yelled　at　the　houseboy。　the　cookboy　ran　to　beat　the　rusty　plowshare；　banging　from　a　tree　branch；　that　was　used　to　summon　the　laborers　at　moments　of　crisis。　the　houseboy　ran　off　to　the　store　to　collect　tin　cans—any　old　bits　of　metal。　the　farm　was　ringing　with　the　clamor　of　the　gong；　and　the　laborers　came　pouring　out　of　the　pound；　pointing　at　the　hills　and　shouting　excitedly。　soon　they　had　all　e　up　to　the　house；　and　richard　and　old　stephen　were　giving　them　orders：　hurry；　hurry；　hurry。
and　off　they　ran　again；　the　two　white　men　with　them；　and　in　a　few　minutes　margaret　could　see　the　smoke　of　fires　rising　from　all　around　the　farmlands。　when　the　government　warnings　came；　piles　of　wood　and　grass　had　been　prepared　in　every　cultivated　field。　there　were　seven　patches　of　bared；　cultivated　soil；　where　the　new　mealies　were　just　showing；　making　a　film　of　bright　green　over　the　rich　dark　red；　and　around　each　patch　now　drifted　up　thick　clouds　of　smoke。　the　men　were　throwing　wet　leaves　onto　the　fires　to　make　the　smoke　acrid　and　black。　margaret　was　watching　the　hills。　now　there　was　a　long；　low　cloud　advancing；　rust…colored　still；　swelling　forward　and　out　as　she　looked。　the　telephone　was　ringing—neighbors　to　say；　quick；　quick；　here　e　the　locusts！　old　smith　had　already　had　his　crop　eaten　to　the　ground。　quick；　get　your　fires　started！　for；　of　course；　while　every　farmer　hoped　the　locusts　would　overlook　his　farm　and　go　on　to　the　next；　it　was　only　fair　to　warn　the　others；　one　must　play　fair。　everywhere；　fifty　miles　over　the　countryside；　the　smoke　was　rising　from　a　myriad　of　fires。　margaret　answered　the　telephone　calls　and；　between　them；　stood　watching　the　locusts。　the　air　was　darkening—a　strange　darkness；　for　the　sun　was　blazing。　it　was　like　the　darkness　of　a　veldt　fire；　when　the　air　gets　thick　with　smoke　and　the　sunlight　es　down　distorted—a　thick；　hot　orange。　it　was　oppressive；　too；　with　the　heaviness　of　a　storm。　the　locusts　were　ing　fast。　now　half　the　sky　was　darkened。　behind　the　reddish　veils　in　front；　which　were　the　advance　guard　of　the　swarm；　the　main　swarm　showed　in　dense　black　clouds；　reaching　almost　to　the　sun　itself。
margaret　was　wondering　what　she　could　do　to　help。　she　did　not　know。　then　up　came　old　stephen　from　the　lands。　“we’re　finished；　margaret；　finished！”　he　said。　“those　beggars　can　eat　every　leaf　and　blade　off　the　farm　in　half　an　hour！　but　it’s　only　early　afternoon。　if　we　can　make　enough　smoke；　make　enough　noise　till　the　sun　goes　down；　they’ll　settle　somewhere　else；　perhaps。”　and　then：　“get　the　kettle　going。　it’s　thirsty　work；　this。”
so　margaret　went　to　the　kitchen　and　stoked　up　the　fire　and　boiled　the　water。　now　on　the　tin　roof　of　the　kitchen　she　could　hear　the　thuds　and　bangs　of　falling　locusts；　or　a　scratching　slither　as　one　skidded　down　the　tin　slope。　here　were　the　first　of　them。　from　down　on　the　lands　came　the　beating　and　banging　and　clanging　of　a　hundred　petrol　tins　and　bits　of　metal。　stephen　impatiently　waited　while　margaret　filled　one　petrol　tin　with　tea—hot；　sweet；　and　orange…colored—and　another　with　water。　in　the　meantime；　he　told　her　about　how；　twenty　years　back；　he　had　been　eaten　out；　made　bankrupt　by　the　locust　armies。　and　then；　still　talking；　he　lifted　the　heavy　petrol　cans；　one　in　each　hand；　holding　them　by　the　wooden　pieces　set　cornerwise　across　the　tops；　and　jogged　off　down　to　the　road　to　the　thirsty　laborers。
by　now；　the　locusts　were　falling　like　hail　on　the　roof　of　the　kitchen。　it　sounded　like　a　heavy　sto