In the morning, when I was fighting my way to school against the wind, I couldn’t see anything but the road in front of me; but in the late afternoon, when I was coming home, the town looked bleak4 and desolate5 to me. The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify—it was like the light of truth itself. When the smoky clouds hung low in the west and the red sun went down behind them, leaving a pink flush on the snowy roofs and the blue drifts, then the wind sprang up afresh, with a kind of bitter song, as if it said: ‘This is reality, whether you like it or not. All those frivolities of summer, the light and shadow, the living mask of green that trembled over everything, they were lies, and this is what was underneath6. This is the truth.’ It was as if we were being punished for loving the loveliness of summer.
If I loitered on the playground after school, or went to the post-office for the mail and lingered to hear the gossip about the cigar-stand, it would be growing dark by the time I came home. The sun was gone; the frozen streets stretched long and blue before me; the lights were shining pale in kitchen windows, and I could smell the suppers cooking as I passed. Few people were abroad, and each one of them was hurrying toward a fire. The glowing stoves in the houses were like magnets. When one passed an old man, one could see nothing of his face but a red nose sticking out between a frosted beard and a long plush cap. The young men capered7 along with their hands in their pockets, and sometimes tried a slide on the icy sidewalk. The children, in their bright hoods8 and comforters, never walked, but always ran from the moment they left their door, beating their mittens9 against their sides. When I got as far as the Methodist Church, I was about halfway10 home. I can remember how glad I was when there happened to be a light in the church, and the painted glass window shone out at us as we came along the frozen street. In the winter bleakness11 a hunger for colour came over people, like the Laplander’s craving12 for fats and sugar. Without knowing why, we used to linger on the sidewalk outside the church when the lamps were lighted early for choir13 practice or prayer-meeting, shivering and talking until our feet were like lumps of ice. The crude reds and greens and blues14 of that coloured glass held us there.
On winter nights, the lights in the Harlings’ windows drew me like the painted glass. Inside that warm, roomy house there was colour, too. After supper I used to catch up my cap, stick my hands in my pockets, and dive through the willow15 hedge as if witches were after me. Of course, if Mr. Harling was at home, if his shadow stood out on the blind of the west room, I did not go in, but turned and walked home by the long way, through the street, wondering what book I should read as I sat down with the two old people.
Such disappointments only gave greater zest16 to the nights when we acted charades17, or had a costume ball in the back parlour, with Sally always dressed like a boy. Frances taught us to dance that winter, and she said, from the first lesson, that Antonia would make the best dancer among us. On Saturday nights, Mrs. Harling used to play the old operas for us—‘Martha,’ ‘Norma,’ ‘Rigoletto’—telling us the story while she played. Every Saturday night was like a party. The parlour, the back parlour, and the dining-room were warm and brightly lighted, with comfortable chairs and sofas, and gay pictures on the walls. One always felt at ease there. Antonia brought her sewing and sat with us—she was already beginning to make pretty clothes for herself. After the long winter evenings on the prairie, with Ambrosch’s sullen18 silences and her mother’s complaints, the Harlings’ house seemed, as she said, ‘like Heaven’ to her. She was never too tired to make taffy or chocolate cookies for us. If Sally whispered in her ear, or Charley gave her three winks19, Tony would rush into the kitchen and build a fire in the range on which she had already cooked three meals that day.
While we sat in the kitchen waiting for the cookies to bake or the taffy to cool, Nina used to coax20 Antonia to tell her stories—about the calf21 that broke its leg, or how Yulka saved her little turkeys from drowning in the freshet, or about old Christmases and weddings in Bohemia. Nina interpreted the stories about the creche fancifully, and in spite of our derision she cherished a belief that Christ was born in Bohemia a short time before the Shimerdas left that country. We all liked Tony’s stories. Her voice had a peculiarly engaging quality; it was deep, a little husky, and one always heard the breath vibrating behind it. Everything she said seemed to come right out of her heart.
‘Mrs. Harling, did you ever hear about what happened up in the Norwegian settlement last summer, when I was threshing there? We were at Iversons’, and I was driving one of the grain-wagons24.’
Mrs. Harling came out and sat down among us. ‘Could you throw the wheat into the bin26 yourself, Tony?’ She knew what heavy work it was.
‘Yes, ma’m, I did. I could shovel27 just as fast as that fat Andern boy that drove the other wagon25. One day it was just awful hot. When we got back to the field from dinner, we took things kind of easy. The men put in the horses and got the machine going, and Ole Iverson was up on the deck, cutting bands. I was sitting against a straw-stack, trying to get some shade. My wagon wasn’t going out first, and somehow I felt the heat awful that day. The sun was so hot like it was going to burn the world up. After a while I see a man coming across the stubble, and when he got close I see it was a tramp. His toes stuck out of his shoes, and he hadn’t shaved for a long while, and his eyes was awful red and wild, like he had some sickness. He comes right up and begins to talk like he knows me already. He says: ‘The ponds in this country is done got so low a man couldn’t drownd himself in one of ‘em.’
‘I told him nobody wanted to drownd themselves, but if we didn’t have rain soon we’d have to pump water for the cattle.
‘“Oh, cattle,” he says, “you’ll all take care of your cattle! Ain’t you got no beer here?” I told him he’d have to go to the Bohemians for beer; the Norwegians didn’t have none when they threshed. “My God!” he says, “so it’s Norwegians now, is it? I thought this was Americy.”
‘Then he goes up to the machine and yells out to Ole Iverson, “Hello, partner, let me up there. I can cut bands, and I’m tired of trampin’. I won’t go no farther.”
‘I tried to make signs to Ole, ‘cause I thought that man was crazy and might get the machine stopped up. But Ole, he was glad to get down out of the sun and chaff—it gets down your neck and sticks to you something awful when it’s hot like that. So Ole jumped down and crawled under one of the wagons for shade, and the tramp got on the machine. He cut bands all right for a few minutes, and then, Mrs. Harling, he waved his hand to me and jumped head-first right into the threshing machine after the wheat.
‘I begun to scream, and the men run to stop the horses, but the belt had sucked him down, and by the time they got her stopped, he was all beat and cut to pieces. He was wedged in so tight it was a hard job to get him out, and the machine ain’t never worked right since.’
‘Was he clear dead, Tony?’ we cried.
‘Was he dead? Well, I guess so! There, now, Nina’s all upset. We won’t talk about it. Don’t you cry, Nina. No old tramp won’t get you while Tony’s here.’
Mrs. Harling spoke28 up sternly. ‘Stop crying, Nina, or I’ll always send you upstairs when Antonia tells us about the country. Did they never find out where he came from, Antonia?’
‘Never, ma’m. He hadn’t been seen nowhere except in a little town they call Conway. He tried to get beer there, but there wasn’t any saloon. Maybe he came in on a freight, but the brakeman hadn’t seen him. They couldn’t find no letters nor nothing on him; nothing but an old penknife in his pocket and the wishbone of a chicken wrapped up in a piece of paper, and some poetry.’
‘Some poetry?’ we exclaimed.
‘I remember,’ said Frances. ‘It was “The Old Oaken Bucket,” cut out of a newspaper and nearly worn out. Ole Iverson brought it into the office and showed it to me.’
‘Now, wasn’t that strange, Miss Frances?’ Tony asked thoughtfully. ‘What would anybody want to kill themselves in summer for? In threshing time, too! It’s nice everywhere then.’
‘So it is, Antonia,’ said Mrs. Harling heartily29. ‘Maybe I’ll go home and help you thresh next summer. Isn’t that taffy nearly ready to eat? I’ve been smelling it a long while.’
There was a basic harmony between Antonia and her mistress. They had strong, independent natures, both of them. They knew what they liked, and were not always trying to imitate other people. They loved children and animals and music, and rough play and digging in the earth. They liked to prepare rich, hearty30 food and to see people eat it; to make up soft white beds and to see youngsters asleep in them. They ridiculed31 conceited32 people and were quick to help unfortunate ones. Deep down in each of them there was a kind of hearty joviality33, a relish34 of life, not over-delicate, but very invigorating. I never tried to define it, but I was distinctly conscious of it. I could not imagine Antonia’s living for a week in any other house in Black Hawk35 than the Harlings’.
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1
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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2
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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3
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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4
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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7
capered
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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11
bleakness
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| adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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12
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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13
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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14
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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charades
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| n.伪装( charade的名词复数 )；猜字游戏 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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kernels
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| 谷粒( kernel的名词复数 )； 仁； 核； 要点 | |
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walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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26
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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27
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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28
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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31
ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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33
joviality
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| n.快活 | |
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34
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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35
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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