Hard times were already in the neighborhood, where lived the families of the shopmen who had gone out on strike. Among the small storekeepers, Saxon, in the course of the daily marketing6, could sense the air of despondency. Light and geniality7 seemed to have vanished. Gloom pervaded8 everywhere. The mothers of the children that played in the streets showed the gloom plainly in their faces. When they gossiped in the evenings, over front gates and on door stoops, their voices were subdued9 and less of laughter rang out.
Mary Donahue, who had taken three pints11 from the milkman, now took one pint10. There were no more family trips to the moving picture shows. Scrap-meat was harder to get from the butcher. Nora Delaney, in the third house, no longer bought fresh fish for Friday. Salted codfish, not of the best quality, was now on her table. The sturdy children that ran out upon the street between meals with huge slices of bread and butter and sugar now came out with no sugar and with thinner slices spread more thinly with butter. The very custom was dying out, and some children already had desisted from piecing between meals.
Everywhere was manifest a pinching and scraping, a tightning and shortening down of expenditure12. And everywhere was more irritation13. Women became angered with one another, and with the children, more quickly than of yore; and Saxon knew that Bert and Mary bickered14 incessantly15.
“If she'd only realize I've got troubles of my own,” Bert complained to Saxon.
She looked at him closely, and felt fear for him in a vague, numb16 way. His black eyes seemed to burn with a continuous madness. The brown face was leaner, the skin drawn17 tightly across the cheekbones. A slight twist had come to the mouth, which seemed frozen into bitterness. The very carriage of his body and the way he wore his hat advertised a recklessness more intense than had been his in the past.
Sometimes, in the long afternoons, sitting by the window with idle hands, she caught herself reconstructing in her vision that folk-migration of her people across the plains and mountains and deserts to the sunset land by the Western sea. And often she found herself dreaming of the arcadian days of her people, when they had not lived in cities nor been vexed18 with labor19 unions and employers' associations. She would remember the old people's tales of self-sufficingness, when they shot or raised their own meat, grew their own vegetables, were their own blacksmiths and carpenters, made their own shoes—yes, and spun20 the cloth of the clothes they wore. And something of the wistfulness in Tom's face she could see as she recollected21 it when he talked of his dream of taking up government land.
A farmer's life must be fine, she thought. Why was it that people had to live in cities? Why had times changed? If there had been enough in the old days, why was there not enough now? Why was it necessary for men to quarrel and jangle, and strike and fight, all about the matter of getting work? Why wasn't there work for all?—Only that morning, and she shuddered22 with the recollection, she had seen two scabs, on their way to work, beaten up by the strikers, by men she knew by sight, and some by name, who lived in the neighhorhood. It had happened directly across the street. It had been cruel, terrible—a dozen men on two. The children had begun it by throwing rocks at the scabs and cursing them in ways children should not know. Policemen had run upon the scene with drawn revolvers, and the strikers had retreated into the houses and through the narrow alleys23 between the houses. One of the scabs, unconscious, had been carried away in an ambulance; the other, assisted by special railroad police, had been taken away to the shops. At him, Mary Donahue, standing24 on her front stoop, her child in her arms, had hurled25 such vile26 abuse that it had brought the blush of shame to Saxon's cheeks. On the stoop of the house on the other side, Saxon had noted27 Mercedes, in the height of the beating up, looking on with a queer smile. She had seemed very eager to witness, her nostrils28 dilated29 and swelling30 like the beat of pulses as she watched. It had struck Saxon at the time that the old woman was quite unalarmed and only curious to see.
To Mercedes, who was so wise in love, Saxon went for explanation of what was the matter with the world. But the old woman's wisdom in affairs industrial and economic was cryptic31 and unpalatable.
“La la, my dear, it is so simple. Most men are born stupid. They are the slaves. A few are born clever. They are the masters. God made men so, I suppose.”
“Then how about God and that terrible beating across the street this morning?”
“I'm afraid he was not interested,” Mercedes smiled. “I doubt he even knows that it happened.”
“I was frightened to death,” Saxon declared. “I was made sick by it. And yet you—I saw you—you looked on as cool as you please, as if it was a show.”
“It was a show, my dear.”
“Oh, how could you?”
“La la, I have seen men killed. It is nothing strange. All men die. The stupid ones die like oxen, they know not why. It is quite funny to see. They strike each other with fists and clubs, and break each other's heads. It is gross. They are like a lot of animals. They are like dogs wrangling32 over bones. Jobs are bones, you know. Now, if they fought for women, or ideas, or bars of gold, or fabulous33 diamonds, it would be splendid. But no; they are only hungry, and fight over scraps34 for their stomach.”
“Oh, if I could only understand!” Saxon murmured, her hands tightly clasped in anguish35 of incomprehension and vital need to know.
“There is nothing to understand. It is clear as print. There have always been the stupid and the clever, the slave and the master, the peasant and the prince. There always will be.”
“But why?”
Saxon tossed her head fretfully.
“Oh, but my dear, I have answered. The philosophies of the world can give no better answer. Why do you like your man for a husband rather than any other man? Because you like him that way, that is all. Why do you like? Because you like. Why does fire burn and frost bite? Why are there clever men and stupid men? masters and slaves? employers and workingmen? Why is black black? Answer that and you answer everything.”
“But it is not right that men should go hungry and without work when they want to work if only they can get a square deal,” Saxon protested.
“Oh, but it is right, just as it is right that stone won't burn like wood, that sea sand isn't sugar, that thorns prick37, that water is wet, that smoke rises, that things fall down and not up.”
But such doctrine38 of reality made no impression on Saxon. Frankly39, she could not comprehend. It seemed like so much nonsense.
“Then we have no liberty and independence,” she cried passionately41. “One man is not as good as another. My child has not the right to live that a rich mother's child has.”
“Certainly not,” Mercedes answered.
“Yet all my people fought for these things,” Saxon urged, remembering her school history and the sword of her father.
“Democracy—the dream of the stupid peoples. Oh, la la, my dear, democracy is a lie, an enchantment42 to keep the work brutes44 content, just as religion used to keep them content. When they groaned45 in their misery46 and toil47, they were persuaded to keep on in their misery and toil by pretty tales of a land beyond the skies where they would live famously and fat while the clever ones roasted in everlasting48 fire. Ah, how the clever ones must have chuckled49! And when that lie wore out, and democracy was dreamed, the clever ones saw to it that it should be in truth a dream, nothing but a dream. The world belongs to the great and clever.”
“But you are of the working people,” Saxon charged.
The old woman drew herself up, and almost was angry.
“I? Of the working people? My dear, because I had misfortune with moneys invested, because I am old and can no longer win the brave young men, because I have outlived the men of my youth and there is no one to go to, because I live here in the ghetto50 with Barry Higgins and prepare to die—why, my dear, I was born with the masters, and have trod all my days on the necks of the stupid. I have drunk rare wines and sat at feasts that would have supported this neighborhood for a lifetime. Dick Golden and I—it was Dickie's money, but I could have had it -- Dick Golden and I dropped four hundred thousand francs in a week's play at Monte Carlo. He was a Jew, but he was a spender. In India I have worn jewels that could have saved the lives of ten thousand families dying before my eyes.”
“You saw them die?... and did nothing?” Saxon asked aghast.
“And you let them die,” Saxon reiterated51.
“They were cheap spawn52. They fester and multiply like maggots. They meant nothing—nothing, my dear, nothing. No more than your work people mean here, whose crowning stupidity is their continuing to beget53 more stupid spawn for the slavery of the masters.”
So it was that while Saxon could get little glimmering54 of common sense from others, from the terrible old woman she got none at all. Nor could Saxon bring herself to believe much of what she considered Mercedes' romancing. As the weeks passed, the strike in the railroad shops grew bitter and deadly. Billy shook his head and confessed his inability to make head or tail of the troubles that were looming55 on the labor horizon.
“I don't get the hang of it,” he told Saxon. “It's a mix-up. It's like a roughhouse with the lights out. Look at us teamsters. Here we are, the talk just starting of going out on sympathetic strike for the mill-workers. They've ben out a week, most of their places is filled, an' if us teamsters keep on haulin' the mill-work the strike's lost.”
“Yet you didn't consider striking for yourselves when your wages were cut,” Saxon said with a frown.
“Oh, we wasn't in position then. But now the Frisco teamsters and the whole Frisco Water Front Confederation is liable to back us up. Anyway, we're just talkin' about it, that's all. But if we do go out, we'll try to get back that ten per cent cut.”
“It's rotten politics,” he said another time. “Everybody's rotten. If we'd only wise up and agree to pick out honest men—”
“But if you, and Bert, and Tom can't agree, how do you expect all the rest to agree?” Saxon asked.
“It gets me,” he admitted. “It's enough to give a guy the willies thinkin' about it. And yet it's plain as the nose on your face. Get honest men for politics, an' the whole thing's straightened out. Honest men'd make honest laws, an' then honest men'd get their dues. But Bert wants to smash things, an' Tom smokes his pipe and dreams pipe dreams about by an' by when everybody votes the way he thinks. But this by an' by ain't the point. We want things now. Tom says we can't get them now, an' Bert says we ain't never goin' to get them. What can a fellow do when everybody's of different minds? Look at the socialists57 themselves. They're always disagreeing, splittin' up, an' firin' each other out of the party. The whole thing's bughouse, that's what, an' I almost get dippy myself thinkin' about it. The point I can't get out of my mind is that we want things now.”
“What is it?” he asked, his voice husky with anxiety. “You ain't sick... or... or anything?”
One hand she had pressed to her heart; but the startle and fright in her eyes was changing into a pleased intentness, while on her mouth was a little mysterious smile. She seemed oblivious59 to her husband, as if listening to some message from afar and not for his ears. Then wonder and joy transfused60 her face, and she looked at Billy, and her hand went out to his.
“It's life,” she whispered. “I felt life. I am so glad, so glad.”
The next evening when Billy came home from work, Saxon caused him to know and undertake more of the responsibilities of fatherhood.
“I've been thinking it over, Billy,” she began, “and I'm such a healthy, strong woman that it won't have to be very expensive. There's Martha Skelton—she's a good midwife.”
But Billy shook his head.
“Nothin' doin' in that line, Saxon. You're goin' to have Doc Hentley. He's Bill Murphy's doc, an' Bill swears by him. He's an old cuss, but he's a wooz.”
“She confined Maggie Donahue,” Saxon argued; “and look at her and her baby.”
“Well, she won't confine you—not so as you can notice it.”
“But the doctor will charge twenty dollars,” Saxon pursued, “and make me get a nurse because I haven't any womenfolk to come in. But Martha Skelton would do everything, and it would be so much cheaper.”
But Billy gathered her tenderly in his arms and laid down the law.
“Listen to me, little wife. The Roberts family ain't on the cheap. Never forget that. You've gotta have the baby. That's your business, an' it's enough for you. My business is to get the money an' take care of you. An' the best ain't none too good for you. Why, I wouldn't run the chance of the teeniest accident happenin' to you for a million dollars. It's you that counts. An' dollars is dirt. Maybe you think I like that kid some. I do. Why, I can't get him outa my head. I'm thinkin' about'm all day long. If I get fired, it'll be his fault. I'm clean dotty over him. But just the same, Saxon, honest to God, before I'd have anything happen to you, break your little finger, even, I'd see him dead an' buried first. That'll give you something of an idea what you mean to me.
“Why, Saxon, I had the idea that when folks got married they just settled down, and after a while their business was to get along with each other. Maybe it's the way it is with other people; but it ain't that way with you an' me. I love you more 'n more every day. Right now I love you more'n when I began talkin' to you five minutes ago. An' you won't have to get a nurse. Doc Hentley'll come every day, an' Mary'll come in an' do the housework, an' take care of you an' all that, just as you'll do for her if she ever needs it.”
As the days and weeks passed, Saxon was possessed61 by a conscious feeling of proud motherhood in her swelling breasts. So essentially62 a normal woman was she, that motherhood was a satisfying and passionate40 happiness. It was true that she had her moments of apprehension63, but they were so momentary64 and faint that they tended, if anything, to give zest65 to her happiness.
Only one thing troubled her, and that was the puzzling and perilous66 situation of labor which no one seemed to understand, her self least of all.
“They're always talking about how much more is made by machinery67 than by the old ways,” she told her brother Tom. “Then, with all the machinery we've got now, why don't we get more?”
“Now you're talkin',” he answered. “It wouldn't take you long to understand socialism.”
“Eight years.”
“And you haven't got anything by it?”
“But we will... in time.”
“At that rate you'll be dead first,” she challenged.
Tom sighed.
“I'm afraid so. Things move so slow.”
Again he sighed. She noted the weary, patient look in his face, the bent69 shoulders, the labor-gnarled hands, and it all seemed to symbolize70 the futility71 of his social creed72.
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收听单词发音
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1
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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pints
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| n.品脱( pint的名词复数 )；一品脱啤酒 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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bickered
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| v.争吵( bicker的过去式和过去分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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wrangling
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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41
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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42
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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45
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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46
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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48
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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49
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
ghetto
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| n.少数民族聚居区，贫民区 | |
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51
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
spawn
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| n.卵，产物，后代，结果；vt.产卵，种菌丝于，产生，造成；vi.产卵，大量生产 | |
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53
beget
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| v.引起；产生 | |
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54
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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55
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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56
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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57
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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58
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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60
transfused
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| v.输（血或别的液体）( transfuse的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；使…被灌输或传达 | |
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61
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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62
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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63
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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64
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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65
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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66
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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67
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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68
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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69
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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70
symbolize
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| vt.作为...的象征，用符号代表 | |
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71
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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72
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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