Barry heard voices again, this time real voices, childish voices, and he waited.
“Bob, are you all right?” he called when his brother came into view. Bob looked bedraggled and there was dirt on his face; he nodded and waved, breathing heavily.
“They were climbing toward the knob,” Mark said, suddenly at Barry’s side. He had come upon him from a different direction, invisible until he spoke1.
Now the boys were straggling into the same area, and they looked worse than Bob. Some of them had been crying. Just as Mark had predicted, Barry thought.
“We thought we might be able to see where we were if we climbed higher,” Bob said, glancing at Mark, as if for approval.
Mark shook his head. “Always go down, follow a stream, if you don’t know where you are,” he said. “It’ll go to a bigger stream, then finally to the river, and you can follow it back to where you have to go.”
The boys were watching Mark with open admiration2. “Do you know the way down?” one of them asked.
Mark nodded.
“Rest a few minutes first,” Barry said. The voices were gone now, the woods merely dark woods, uninhabited by anything at all.
Mark led them down quickly, not the way they had gone up, not the way he had followed them, but in a more direct line that had them looking over the valley within half an hour.
“It was a mistake to risk them like that!” Lawrence said angrily. It was the first council meeting since the adventure in the forest.
“It’s necessary to teach them to live in the woods,” Barry said.
“They won’t have to live out there. The best thing we can do with the woods is clear them as quickly as possible. We’ll have a shelter for them down below the falls where they’ll live, just as they live here, in a clearing.”
“As soon as you’re away from this clearing, the woods make themselves felt,” Barry said. “Everyone has reported the same terror, the feeling of being closed in by the trees, of being threatened by them. They have to learn how to live with that.”
“They’ll never live in the woods,” Lawrence said with finality. “They’ll live in a dormitory building on the bank of the river, and when they travel, they’ll go by boat, and when they stop, they’ll stop in another clearing where there is decent shelter, where the woods have been beaten back and will be kept back.” He emphasized his words by hitting his fist on the tabletop as he spoke.
Barry regarded Lawrence bitterly. “We can run the laboratories five more years, Lawrence! Five years! We have almost nine hundred people in this valley right now. Most of them are children, being trained to forage3 for us, to find those things we need to survive. And they won’t find them on the banks of your tamed rivers! They’re going to have to make expeditions to New York, to Philadelphia, to New Jersey4. And who’s going to go before them and clear back the woods for them? We train those children now to cope with the woods, or we’ll die, all of us!”
“It was a mistake to rush into this,” Lawrence said. “We should have waited until we knew how much we could find and get back to the valley before we got into this so deeply.”
Barry nodded. “You can’t have it both ways,” he said. “We made the decision. Every year we wait, the less there is for us to forage in the cities. And we have to salvage5 what we can. Without it we die anyway, more slowly perhaps than with the timetable we now have, but in the end it would be the same. We can’t exist without the tools, the hardware, the information that’s in the cities. And now we’re committed to this path, and we have to do our best to see that these children are equipped as well as possible to survive when we send them out.”
Five years, he thought, that’s all they needed. Five years to find a source of laboratory equipment—tubing, stainless6 steel tanks, centrifuges . . . Computer components7, wiring, wafers . . . They knew the things they needed had been stored carefully, they had the papers to prove that. They would find the right warehouses8, weathertight, dry, with acres of well-stacked shelves. It was a gamble, producing so many children in so short a time, but a gamble they had taken knowingly, aware of the consequences if anything went wrong along the way. They might be hungry before the five years were over; whether or not the valley could adequately feed over a thousand people had been endlessly debated. For the kind of restocking they required, they needed a lot of people, and in five years they would know if they had gambled foolishly.
Four hundred fifty children between five and eleven years, that was what was in the kitty, Barry thought. That was the extent of the gamble. And in four years the first eighty of them would leave the valley, possibly forever, but if they returned, if even a few of them returned with materials, with information about Philadelphia or New York, with anything of value, the gamble would have paid off.
It was agreed that the training program as outlined by Barry should be continued on a trial basis, risking no more than three groups—thirty children. And further, if the children were psychologically damaged by the equipment, they were not to be salvaged9, and the experiment would be discontinued immediately. Barry left the meeting satisfied.
“What will I get out of it?” Mark demanded.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you get a teacher, and the brothers and sisters get training. What do I get?”
“What do you want? You’ll have companionship. More than you have now.”
“They won’t play with me,” Mark said. “They’ll listen and do what I say because they’re afraid and they know I’m not, but they won’t play with me. I want my own room again.”
Barry glanced at his brothers and knew they would all agree to that instantly. It had been a nuisance having the boy in their communal10 bedroom. By mutual11 consent they had not dragged the mat out in his presence, and their talk had been censored—when they remembered he was there. Barry nodded. “Not back in the dormitory, here in this building.”
“That’s all right.”
“Then here’s what we’ll do. Once a week each group will go out, one hour at a time to start with, and not more than a few minutes from a place where they can see the valley. After several exposures of this limited duration and distance, you’ll take them farther, keep them longer. Are there games you could play with them in the woods to help them become accustomed to being there?” There was no longer any question of not including Mark in this phase of the training.
Mark sat on a branch hidden by thick foliage12 from below and watched the boys stumbling about the edges of the clearing, looking for the path he had left them to follow. It was as if they were blind, he thought wonderingly. All they really cared about was staying close together, not becoming separated even momentarily. This was the third time this week Mark had tried this game with the clones; the other two groups had failed also.
At first he had enjoyed leading them out into the woods; their frank admiration of him had been pleasant, unexpected, and for once he had felt the differences that separated them might be lessened13 when they learned some of the things he knew, when they could all play together among the whispering trees. He knew now such hopes had been wrong. The differences were more pronounced than ever, and the early admiration was turning into something else, something he could not really understand. They seemed to dislike him more, to be almost afraid of him, certainly resentful of him.
He whistled and watched the reaction pass over them all simultaneously14, like grass being blown by a gust15 of wind. Even knowing the direction, they were not able to find his trail. Disgustedly he left the tree, sliding part way, dropping agilely16 from branch to branch where it was too rough to slide. He joined the boys and glanced at Barry, who also looked disgusted.
“Are we going back now?” one of the boys asked.
“No,” Barry said. “Mark, I want you to take two of the boys a short distance away, try to hide with them. Let’s see if the others can find you.”
Mark nodded. He glanced at the ten boys and knew it made no difference which two went with him. He pointed17 to the two nearest him and turned and went into the woods, the boys at his heels.
Again he left a trail that anyone with eyes could follow, and as soon as they were out of sight of the larger group he began to circle around to get behind the boys in the clearing, not trying for distance at all, since they couldn’t follow a trail even three feet. Finally he stopped. He put his fingers to his lips and the other two nodded, and they sat down to wait. They looked desperately18 afraid, sat touching19 at the arms, their legs touching. Mark could hear their brothers now, not following the trail, but coming straight for them. Too fast, he thought suddenly. The way they were rushing was dangerous.
The brothers he was with jumped up excitedly, and in a moment the others rushed into sight. Their reunion was jubilant and triumphant20, and even Barry looked pleased. Mark drew back and watched, his warning about rushing in strange woods stilled.
“That’s enough for today,” Barry said. “Very good, boys. Very good indeed. Who knows the way back?”
They were all flushed with their first success in the woods, and they began to point one way after another, laughing, elbowing each other. Barry laughed with them. “I’d better lead you out of here,” he said.
He looked about for Mark, but he was not there. For a moment Barry felt a thrill of fear. It passed almost too quickly to be identified, and he turned and started to walk toward the massive oak tree that was the last tree before the long slope down to the valley. At least he had learned that much, he thought, and he knew the boys also should have learned that much by now. The grin of triumph at their earlier success faded, and he felt the weight of doubts and disappointment settle over him again.
Twice more he looked back for Mark and failed to spot him in the dense21 woods. Mark saw him looking and made no sign. He watched the boys tripping, laughing, touching, and he felt his eyes burn and a strange emptiness almost like nausea22 gripped him. When they were out of sight down in the valley, he stretched out on the ground and looked up through the thick branches that veiled the sky, breaking it up into fragments of light, black against white, or white through black. By squinting23 his eyes he could make the black merge24 and the light pieces take precedence, then recede25 once more.
“They hate me,” he whispered, and the trees whispered back, but he could not make out the words. Just leaves in the wind, he thought suddenly, not voices at all. He sat up and threw a handful of rotted leaves at the nearest tree trunk, and somewhere he thought someone laughed. The woji. “You’re not real, either,” he said softly. “I made you up. You can’t laugh at me.”
The sound persisted, grew louder, and suddenly he stood up and looked back over his shoulder at a black cloud bank that had been forming all afternoon. Now the trees were crying out warnings to him, and he began to scramble26 down the slope, not following the boys and Barry, but heading for the old farmhouse27.
The house was completely hidden by a thicket28 of bushes and trees. Like Sleeping Beauty’s castle, he thought, trotting29 toward it. The wind howled, hurling30 bits of dirt, twigs31, leaves stripped from the trees. He crawled through the bushes and in the shelter the wind seemed very distant. The entire sky was darkening fast, and the wind was dangerous, he knew. Tornado32 weather, that’s what they called it. There had been a rash of tornados33 two years ago; they all feared them now.
At the house, he didn’t pause. He opened the coal chute, concealed34 by a tangle35 of ivy36, and slid down and landed lightly in the black basement. He felt about for his candle and sulfur37 matches, and then went upstairs, where he watched the weather through a chink in the boarded-up window in the top bedroom. The house was completely boarded up now, doors, windows, the chimney sealed. They had decided38 it was not good for him to spend time alone in the old building, but they hadn’t known about the coal chute and what they had done actually was to provide him with a sanctuary39 where no one could follow.
The storm roared through the valley and left as abruptly40 as it had started. The heavy rain became a spatter, then a drizzle41; it stopped and presently the sun was shining again. Mark left the window. There was an oil lantern in the bedroom. He lighted the lamp and looked at his mother’s paintings, as he had done many times in the years since she had taken him camping. She knew, he thought. Always that one person, in the fields, at the doorway42, on the river or ocean. Always just one. She knew what it was like. Without warning he started to sob43, and threw himself down on the floor and wept until he was weak. Then he slept.
He dreamed the trees took him by the hand and led him to his mother and she held him close and sang and told him stories and they laughed together.
“Is it working?” Bob asked. “Can they be trained to live in the wilderness44?”
Mark was in the corner of the room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, forgotten by the doctors. He looked up from the book he was reading and waited for the answer.
“I don’t know,” Barry said. “Not for a lifetime, I don’t think. For short periods, yes. But they’ll never be woodsmen, if that’s what you mean.”
“Should we go ahead with the others next summer? Are they getting enough out of it to make a large-scale attempt?”
Bruce shrugged45. “It’s been a training program for us too,” he said. “I know I don’t want to keep going back into those dismal46 woods. I dread47 my days more and more.”
“Me too,” Bob said. “That’s why I brought this up now. Is there any real point to it?”
“You’re thinking about the camp-out next week, aren’t you?” Barry asked.
“Yes. I don’t want to go. I know the boys are dreading48 it. You must be anxious about it.”
Barry nodded. “You and I are too aware of what happened to Ben and Molly. But what’s going to happen to those children when they leave here and have to spend night after night in the woods? If preparation like this can ease it for them, we have to do it.”
Mark returned to his book, but he was not seeing it now. What happened to them? he wondered. Why were they all so afraid? There wasn’t anything in the woods. No animals, nothing to hurt anyone. Maybe they heard the voices and that made them afraid, he thought. But then, if they heard the voices too, the voices had to be real. He felt his pulse racing49 suddenly. For several years he had believed the voices were only the leaves, that he was only pretending they were really voices. But if the brothers heard them too, that made them real. The brothers and sisters never made up anything. They didn’t know how. He wanted to laugh with joy, but he didn’t make a sound to attract attention. They would want to know what was funny, and he knew he could never tell them.
The camp was a large clearing several miles from the valley. Twenty boys, ten girls, two doctors, and Mark sat about the campfire eating, and Mark remembered that other time he had sat eating popcorn50 at a campfire. He blinked rapidly and the feeling that came with the memory faded slowly. The clones were uneasy, but not really frightened. Their large number was reassuring51, and the babble52 of their voices drowned out the noises of the woods.
They sang, and one of them asked Mark to tell the woji story, but he shook his head. Barry asked lazily what a woji was, and the clones nudged each other and changed the subject. Barry let it drop. One of those things that all children know and adults never do, he thought. Mark told another story and they sang some more, and then it was time to unroll the blankets and sleep.
Much later Mark sat up, listening. One of the boys was going to the latrine, he decided, and lay down again and was asleep almost instantly.
The boy stumbled and clutched a tree to steady himself. The fire was dim now, no more than embers through the tree trunks. He took several more steps and abruptly the embers vanished. For a moment he hesitated, but his bladder urged him on, and he didn’t yield to the temptation to relieve himself against a tree. Barry had made it clear they had to use the latrine in the interest of health. He knew the ditch was only twenty yards from the camp, only another few steps, but the distance seemed to grow rather than decrease and he had a sudden fear that he was lost.
“If you get lost,” Mark had said, “the first thing to do is sit down and think. Don’t run. Calm down and think.”
But he couldn’t sit down here. He could hear the voices all around him, and the woji laughing at him, and something coming closer and closer. He ran blindly, his hands over his ears trying to blot53 out the ever louder voices.
Something clutched at him and he felt it ripping his side, felt the blood flowing, and he screamed a high wild shriek54 that he couldn’t stop.
In the camp his brothers sat up and looked about in terror. Danny!
“What was that?” Barry demanded.
Mark was standing55 up listening, but now the brothers were calling out, “Danny! Danny!”
“Tell them to shut up,” Mark said. He strained to hear. “Make them stay here,” he ordered, and trotted56 into the woods toward the latrine. He could hear the boy now, faintly, dashing madly into trees, bushes, stumbling, screaming. Abruptly the sounds stopped.
Mark paused again to listen, but the woods were silent. There was pandemonium57 behind him in camp and ahead of him nothing.
He didn’t move for several minutes, listening. Danny might have fallen, winded himself. He might be unconscious. There was no way in the dark for Mark to follow him without sounds to lead him. Slowly he turned back to camp. They were all up now, standing in three groups, the two doctors also close to each other.
“I can’t find him in the dark,” Mark said. “We’ll have to wait for morning.” No one moved. “Build up the fire,” he said. “Maybe he’ll see the glow and follow it back.”
One group of brothers started to throw wood on the embers, smothering58 it. Bob took charge, and presently they had a roaring fire again. Danny’s brothers sat huddled59 together, all looking pinched and cold and very afraid. They could find him, Mark thought, but they were afraid to go after him in the black woods. One of them began to cry, and almost as if that had been the signal, they were all weeping. Mark turned from them and went again to the edge of the woods to listen.
With the first faint light of dawn Mark started to follow the trail of the missing boy. He had dashed back and forth60, zig-zagging, rebounding61 from tree to bush to tree, Here he had run forward for a hundred yards, only to crash into a boulder62. There was blood. He had been scraped by a spruce branch. Here he had run again, faster this time. Up a rise . . . Mark paused looking at the rise, and he knew what he was going to find. He had been trotting easily, and now he slowed to a walk and followed the trail, not stepping on any of Danny’s prints, but keeping to one side, reading what had happened.
At the top of the rise there was a narrow ridge63 of limestone64. There were many such outcroppings in the woods, and almost always when there was a rise such as this, the other side was steep also, sometimes steeper, rockier. He stood on the ridge looking down the thirty feet of sparse65 growth and rocks, and twisted among them he could see the boy, his eyes open as if he were studying the pale, colorless sky. Mark didn’t go down. He squatted66 several moments looking at the figure below, then turned and went back to camp, not rushing now.
“He bled to death,” Barry said after they brought the body back to camp.
“They could have saved him,” Mark said. He didn’t look at Danny’s brothers, who were all gray, waxy-looking, in shock. “They could have gone straight to him.” He stood up. “Are we going down now?”
Barry nodded. He and Bob carried the body on a litter made from thin tree branches tied together. Mark led them to the edge of the woods and turned. “I’ll go make sure the fire’s all the way out,” he said. He didn’t wait for permission, but vanished among the trees almost instantly.
Barry put the surviving nine brothers in the hospital to be treated for shock. They never emerged, and no one ever asked about them.
The following morning Barry arrived in the lecture room before the class had assembled. Mark was already in his place at the rear of the room. Barry nodded to him, opened his notes, straightened his desk, and looked up again to find Mark still regarding him. His eyes were as bright as twin blue lakes covered with a layer of ice, Barry thought.
“Well?” he asked finally when it seemed the locked stare would be maintained indefinitely.
Mark didn’t look away. “There is no individual, there is only the community,” he said clearly. “What is right for the community is right even unto death for the individual. There is no one, there is only the whole.”
“Where did you hear that?” Barry demanded.
“I read it.”
“Where did you get that book?”
“From your office. It’s on one of the shelves.”
“You’re forbidden to enter my office!”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already read everything in it.” Mark stood up and his eyes glinted as the light changed in them. “That book is a lie,” he said clearly. “They’re all lies! I’m one. I’m an individual! I am one!” He started for the door.
“Mark, wait a minute,” Barry said. “Have you ever seen what happens to a strange ant when it falls into another ant colony?”
At the door Mark nodded. “But I’m not an ant,” he said.
收听单词发音 |
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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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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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stainless
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| adj.无瑕疵的，不锈的 | |
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components
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| （机器、设备等的）构成要素，零件，成分； 成分( component的名词复数 )； [物理化学]组分； [数学]分量； （混合物的）组成部分 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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salvaged
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| （从火灾、海难等中）抢救（某物）( salvage的过去式和过去分词 )； 回收利用（某物） | |
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communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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agilely
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| adv.敏捷地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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merge
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| v.(使)结合，(使)合并，(使)合为一体 | |
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recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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tornados
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| n.龙卷风，旋风( tornado的名词复数 ) | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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sulfur
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| n.硫，硫磺（=sulphur） | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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47
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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48
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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49
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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50
popcorn
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| n.爆米花 | |
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51
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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52
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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53
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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54
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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55
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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56
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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57
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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58
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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59
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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60
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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61
rebounding
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| 蹦跳运动 | |
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62
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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63
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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64
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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65
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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66
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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