Sure enough, one bleak2 November morning, when I was half through a couple of eggs and a cup of coffee, I heard the throb3 of a motor. I walked down to the end of my wharf4 and looked skyward. I was pretty sure they wouldn't come by land, because most of the secondary roads were in bad shape; and they wouldn't travel by water, because that took too much gas and time. In fact, the WFI never wasted anything. They couldn't afford to. Everything went for food, its growth, collection, and processing. The big freighters, some of them, had atomic piles, but that power was impossibly clumsy and expensive for smaller boats. So they came by air in the usual inspection5 helicopter. The pilot dropped her in the cove6 right alongside the wharf and made fast. Three men stepped onto the planks7. They had the wheat sheaf insignia of the WFI on their overcoat arms and caps, and they looked cold and bored. A small sea sucked at the pilings and the helicopter rose and fell, grating against the wharf. I looked at the pilot and said, "Better put your chafing8 gear out if you intend staying a while." We all watched while the pilot put a few kapoks at the tight spots. Then he looked at a notebook and said, "You George Arthur Henry?"
I said, "Call me George."
This inspector9 was the usual type: tired from long hours, bored from doing nothing on a weary round of food inspections10. He hunched11 his shoulders against the wind.
I said, "It's warmer inside."
They followed me into the kitchen of the house. All three of them started to sit down, then stopped, and walked over to the table in perfect step. They looked at the cold remains12 of my breakfast eggs. The WFI inspector shoved his hat up and said, "Eggs." The others nodded, wordless with wonder. Then the inspector said, "Chickens?"
"Where," I said, "do you think I got the eggs?"
The little man alongside the inspector came to life. In three dextrous movements he had glasses on, a notebook in his hand, and stylus poised13. "What do you feed them?" he inquired eagerly.
"Seeds," I said, "insects, chopped up garter snakes, mussels, ground up oyster14 shells. You boys have all the grain."
There was an excited light in the little man's eyes. He hurried out to a broken down shed to examine the chickens.
That left two of them. The inspector continued to gaze at the remains on the plate in a dreamy way. The other man straightened his big shoulders, looked at me, and said, jerking his thumb toward the shed, "Mr. Carter's an ecologist. He just came along for the trip. He's on his way to the Government Experimental Farm over at Murdock. I'm a government sociologist15. I was sent here to have a talk with you. My name is Ranson."
"Sure. Sit down. I guess I'm licked, but there's no use making a rumpus about it."
I turned to the inspector whose eyes were still caught in the egg plate. I said, "Ever taste them?"
"Once," he said, in a far away voice. I went to the cupboard and came back with a paper bag full of eggs and put it in his hands. He held them as if someone had just given him the wheat sheaf badge of merit.
"I won't be needing these after our little talk, I expect. Take them home to the kiddies."
He smiled, looked at the sociologists, who grinned back and nodded. The inspector walked very carefully out of the back door and down to the wharf to stow his eggs in the helicopter.
Ranson shifted in his chair. He said, "That was very nice of you, Mr. Henry."
"George," I said.
"Against the law, of course." There was a smile around his eyes. "Are you against the law, George?"
"Yes. No use bluffing16. You know the story. All the waters and everything in them are WFI. All the land and everything on it. I don't like packaged food. I like real food. I don't like my oysters17, crabs18, clams19, fish minced20 up and blended with chick weed, cereals, yeast21, algae22, plankton23, and flavored to taste a little like steak. And plenty of others feel the same. I have a market."
"An illegal market."
"Yes," I said. "By God, if you had told my father, before I was born, that the oysters he tonged could not be eaten as oysters, he'd have laughed in your face. And if you had told him he wouldn't even be allowed to tong them, he'd have cussed you good and proper!"
"People have to be fed. The only way we can do it is to combine the total food resources of the world, process and package them, and do it as efficiently24 as possible. That means absolute control of all food sources and their harvesting. You could work for WFI, George. It would be important work."
"I know. It's so important nothing else gets done. Have you seen the roads around here? Half the bridges are down across Charles Neck and Walter Hook. You can't get gas. You can't get telephones, and if you happen to have one, it doesn't work half the time. And the busses don't run any more. And—"
Ranson held up his hand. "It's an emergency, George. You have to realize that. It's been building up for a long time, long before your father worked the oyster beds in Murdock Sound."
"There's another thing," I said. "Before you fellows closed the Sound, I was independent. I had my own boat and I made my own way. Now you put your WFI scoops26 in the Sound and the whole job is done in a month or two. And who are the watermen? A couple of clerks to every scoop25 who turn a valve every once in a while and draw their packaged food, clothing, and entertainment once a week. Do you call that a job? Why, those food clerks couldn't even lift a pair of thirty foot rakes, let alone tong with them."
"We get more oysters, George, and in less time, and we do it scientifically."
Ranson tapped his notebook with the stylus and he looked out of the kitchen window. He was giving me time to cool off. He'd been kind and patient when he didn't have to be either. With his job he had no time to sit and reason with a one man resistance movement. He had no time for anything but food, and organizing society to keep it grubbing incessantly27 for food, and, at the same time, to keep society as orderly and contented28 as possible. I was not orderly and I was not contented. But I was just one man, not society. I cooled off.
点击收听单词发音
1 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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2 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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3 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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4 wharf | |
n.码头,停泊处 | |
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5 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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6 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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7 planks | |
(厚)木板( plank的名词复数 ); 政纲条目,政策要点 | |
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8 chafing | |
n.皮肤发炎v.擦热(尤指皮肤)( chafe的现在分词 );擦痛;发怒;惹怒 | |
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9 inspector | |
n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
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10 inspections | |
n.检查( inspection的名词复数 );检验;视察;检阅 | |
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11 hunched | |
(常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦)耸肩弓身的,伏首前倾的 | |
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12 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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13 poised | |
a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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14 oyster | |
n.牡蛎;沉默寡言的人 | |
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15 sociologist | |
n.研究社会学的人,社会学家 | |
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16 bluffing | |
n. 威吓,唬人 动词bluff的现在分词形式 | |
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17 oysters | |
牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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18 crabs | |
n.蟹( crab的名词复数 );阴虱寄生病;蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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19 clams | |
n.蛤;蚌,蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.(在沙滩上)挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
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20 minced | |
v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 );剁碎;绞碎;用绞肉机绞(食物,尤指肉) | |
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21 yeast | |
n.酵母;酵母片;泡沫;v.发酵;起泡沫 | |
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22 algae | |
n.水藻,海藻 | |
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23 plankton | |
n.浮游生物 | |
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24 efficiently | |
adv.高效率地,有能力地 | |
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25 scoop | |
n.铲子,舀取,独家新闻;v.汲取,舀取,抢先登出 | |
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26 scoops | |
n.小铲( scoop的名词复数 );小勺;一勺[铲]之量;(抢先刊载、播出的)独家新闻v.抢先报道( scoop的第三人称单数 );(敏捷地)抱起;抢先获得;用铲[勺]等挖(洞等) | |
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27 incessantly | |
ad.不停地 | |
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28 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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