《Stories by Doris Lessing》第2章

by　now；　the　locusts　were　falling　like　hail　on　the　roof　of　the　kitchen。　it　sounded　like　a　heavy　storm。　margaret　looked　out　and　saw　the　air　dark　with　a　crisscross　of　the　insects；　and　she　set　her　teeth　and　ran　out　into　it；　what　the　men　could　do；　she　could。　overhead；　the　air　was　thick—locusts　everywhere。　the　locusts　were　flopping　against　her；　and　she　brushed　them　off—heavy　red…brown　creatures；　looking　at　her　with　their　beady；　old　men’s　eyes　while　they　clung　to　her　with　their　hard；　serrated　legs。　she　held　her　breath　with　disgust　and　ran　through　the　door　into　the　house　again。　there　it　was　even　more　like　being　in　a　heavy　storm。　the　iron　roof　was　reverberating；　and　the　clamor　of　beaten　iron　from　the　lands　was　like　thunder。　when　she　looked　out；　all　the　trees　were　queer　and　still；　clotted　with　insects；　their　boughs　weighted　to　the　ground。　the　earth　seemed　to　be　moving；　with　locusts　crawling　everywhere；　she　could　not　see　the　lands　at　all；　so　thick　was　the　swarm。　toward　the　mountains；　it　was　like　looking　into　driving　rain；　even　as　she　watched；　the　sun　was　blotted　out　with　a　fresh　onrush　of　the　insects。　it　was　a　half　night；　a　perverted　blackness。　then　came　a　sharp　crack　from　the　bush—a　branch　had　snapped　off。　then　another。　a　tree　down　the　slope　leaned　over　slowly　and　settled　heavily　to　the　ground。　through　the　hail　of　insects；　a　man　came　running。　more　tea；　more　water　were　needed。　margaret　supplied　them。　she　kept　the　fires　stoked　and　filled　tins　with　liquid；　and　then　it　was　four　in　the　afternoon　and　the　locusts　had　been　pouring　across　overhead　for　a　couple　of　hours。
up　came　old　stephen　again—crunching　locusts　underfoot　with　every　step；　locusts　clinging　all　over　him—cursing　and　swearing；　banging　with　his　old　hat　at　the　air。　at　the　doorway；　he　stopped　briefly；　hastily　pulling　at　the　clinging　insects　and　throwing　them　off；　and　then　he　plunged　into　the　locust…free　living　room。
“all　the　crops　finished。　nothing　left；”　he　said。
but　the　gongs　were　still　beating；　the　men　still　shouting；　and　margaret　asked；　“why　do　you　go　on　with　it；　then？”
“the　main　swarm　isn’t　settling。　they　are　heavy　with　eggs。　they　are　looking　for　a　place　to　settle　and　lay。　
。。。！
A　MILD　ATTACK　OF　LOCUSTS…2
？小说、网
if　we　can　stop　the　main　body　settling　on　our　farm；　that’s　everything。　if　they　get　a　chance　to　lay　their　eggs；　we　are　going　to　have　everything　eaten　flat　with　hoppers　later　on。”　he　picked　a　stray　locust　off　his　shirt　and　split　it　down　with　his　thumbnail；　it　was　clotted　inside　with　eggs。　“imagine　that　multiplied　by　millions。　you　ever　seen　a　hopper　swarm　on　the　march？　no？　well；　you’re　lucky。”
margaret　thought　an　adult　swarm　was　bad　enough。　outside；　the　light　on　the　earth　was　now　a　pale；　thin　yellow　darkened　with　moving　shadow；　the　clouds　of　moving　insects　alternately　thickened　and　lightened；　like　driving　rain。　old　stephen　said；　“they’ve　got　the　wind　behind　them。　that’s　something。”
“is　it　very　bad？”　asked　margaret　fearfully；　and　the　old　man　said　emphatically；　“we’re　finished。　this　swarm　may　pass　over；　but　once　they’ve　started；　they’ll　be　ing　down　from　the　north　one　after　another。　and　then　there　are　the　hoppers。　it　might　go　on　for　three　or　four　years。”
margaret　sat　down　helplessly　and　thought；　well；　if　it’s　the　end；　it’s　the　end。　what　now？　we’ll　all　three　have　to　go　back　to　town。　but　at　this　she　took　a　quick　look　at　stephen；　the　old　man　who　had　farmed　forty　years　in　this　country　and　been　bankrupt　twice　before；　and　she　knew　nothing　would　make　him　go　and　bee　a　clerk　in　the　city。　her　heart　ached　for　him；　he　looked　so　tired；　the　worry　lines　deep　from　nose　to　mouth。　poor　old　man。　he　lifted　up　a　locust　that　had　got　itself　somehow　into　his　pocket；　and　held　it　in　the　air　by　one　leg。　“you’ve　got　the　strength　of　a　steel　spring　in　those　legs　of　yours；”　he　told　the　locust　good…humoredly。　then；　although　for　the　last　three　hours　he　had　been　fighting　locusts；　squashing　locusts；　yelling　at　locusts；　and　sweeping　them　in　great　mounds　into　the　fires　to　burn；　he　nevertheless　took　this　one　to　the　door　and　carefully　threw　it　out　to　join　its　fellows；　as　if　he　would　rather　not　harm　a　hair　of　its　head。　this　forted　margaret；　all　at　once；　she　felt　irrationally　cheered。　she　remembered　it　was　not　the　first　time　in　the　past　three　years　the　men　had　announced　their　final　and　irremediable　ruin。
“get　me　a　drink；　lass；”　stephen　then　said；　and　she　set　a　bottle　of　whiskey　by　him。
in　the　meantime；　thought　margaret；　her　husband　was　out　in　the　pelting　storm　of　insects；　banging　the　gong；　feeding　the　fires　with　leaves；　while　the　insects　clung　all　over　him。　she　shuddered。　“how　can　you　bear　to　let　them　touch　you？”　she　asked　stephen。　he　looked　at　her　disapprovingly。　she　felt　suitably　humble；　just　as　she　had　when　richard　brought　her　to　the　farm　after　their　marriage　and　stephen　first　took　a　good　look　at　her　city　self—hair　waved　and　golden；　nails　red　and　pointed。　now　she　was　a　proper　farmer’s　wife；　in　sensible　shoes　and　a　solid　skirt。　she　might　even　get　to　letting　locusts　settle　on　her；　in　time。
having　tossed　down　a　couple　of　whiskeys；　old　stephen　went　back　into　the　battle；　wading　now　through　glistening　brown　waves　of　locusts。
five　o’clock。　the　sun　would　set　in　an　hour。　then　the　swarm　would　settle。　it　was　as　thick　as　ever　overhead。　the　trees　were　ragged　mounds　of　glistening　brown。
margaret　began　to　cry。　it　was　all　so　hopeless。　if　it　wasn’t　a　bad　season；　it　was　locusts；　if　it　wasn’t　locusts；　it　was　army　worms　or　veldt　fires。　always　something。　the　rustling　of　the　locust　armies　was　like　a　big　forest　in　a　storm。　the　ground　was　invisible　in　a　sleek　brown　surging　tide；　it　was　like　being　drowned　in　locusts；　submerged　by　the　loathsome　brown　flood。　it　seemed　as　if　the　roof　might　sink　in　under　the　weight　of　them；　as　if　the　door　might　give　in　under　their　pressure　and　these　rooms　fill　with　them—and　it　was　getting　so　dark。　through　the　window；　she　looked　up　at　the　sky。　the　air　was　thinner；　gaps　of　blue　showed　in　the　dark　moving　clouds。　the　blue　spaces　were　cold　and　thin；　the　sun　must　be　setting。　through　the　fog　of　insects；　she　saw　figures　approaching。　first　old　stephen；　marching　bravely　along；　then　her　husband；　drawn　and　haggard　with　wea