PART II: March 1976
THE HOUSE, AT LAST, was livable again.
Even more so than before, in fact, for he had finally taken three days and soundproofed the walls. Now they could scream and howl all they wanted and he didn't have to listen to them. He especially liked not having to listen to Ben Cortman any more.
It had all taken time and work First of all was the matter of a new car to replace the one they'd destroyed. This had been more difficult than he'd imagined.
He had to get over to Santa Monica to the only Willys store he knew about. The Willys station wagons2 were the only ones he had had any experience with, and this didn't seem quite the time to start experimenting. He couldn't walk to Santa Monica, so he had to try using one of the many cars parted around the neighborhood. But most of them were inoperative for one reason or another: a dead battery, a clogged3 fuel pump, no gasoline, flat tires.
Finally, in a garage about a mile from the house, he found a car he could get started, and he drove quickly to Santa Monica to pick up another station wagon1. He put a new battery in it, filled its tank with gasoline, put gasoline drums in the back, and drove home. He got back to the house about an hour before sunset.
He made sure of that.
Luckily the generator4 had not been ruined. The vampires5 apparently6 had no idea of its importance to him, for, except for a torn wire and a few cudgel blows, they had left it alone. He'd managed to fix it quickly the morning after the attack and keep his frozen foods from spoiling. He was grateful for that, because he was sure there were no places left where he could get more frozen foods now that electricity was gone from the city.
For the rest of it, he had to straighten up the garage and clean out the debris7 of broken bulbs, fuses, wiring, plugs, solder8, spare motor parts, and a box of seeds he'd put there once; he didn't remember just when.
The washing machine they had ruined beyond repair, forcing him to replace it. But that wasn't hard. The worst part was mopping up all the gasoline they'd spilled from the drums. They'd really outdone themselves spilling gasoline, he thought irritably9 while he mopped it up.
Inside the house, he had repaired the cracked plaster, and as an added fillip he had put up another wall mural to give a different appearance to the room.
He'd almost enjoyed all the work once it was started. It gave him something to lose himself in, something to pour all the energy of his still pulsing fury into. It broke the monotony of his daily tasks: the carrying away of bodies, the repairing of the house's exterior10, the hanging of garlic.
He drank sparingly during those days, managing to pass almost the entire day without a drink, even allowing his evening drinks to assume the function of relaxing night-caps rather than senseless escape. His appetite increased and he gained four pounds and lost a little belly11. He even slept nights, a tired sleep without the dreams.
For a day or so he had played with the idea of moving to some lavish12 hotel suite13. But the thought of all the work he'd have to do to make it habitable changed his mind.
No, he was all set in the house.
Now he sat in the living room, listening to Mozart's Jupiter Symphony and wondering how he was to begin, where he was to begin his investigation14.
He knew a few details, but these were only landmarks15 above the basic earth of cause. The answer lay in something else. Probably in some fact he was aware of but did not adequately appreciate, in some apparent knowledge he had not yet connected with the over-all picture.
But what?
He sat motionless in the chair, a sweat-beaded glass in his right hand, his eyes fastened on the mural.
It was a scene from Canada: deep northern woods, mysterious with green shadows, standing16 aloof17 and motionless, heavy with the silence of manless nature. He stared into its soundless green depths and wondered.
Maybe if he went back. Maybe the answer lay in the past, in some obscure crevice18 of memory. Go back, then, he told his mind, go back.
It tore his heart out to go back.
There had been another dust storm during the night High, spinning winds had scoured19 the house with grit20, driven it through the cracks, sifted21 it through plaster pores, and left a hair-thin layer of dust across all the furniture surfaces. Over their bed the dust filtered like fine powder, settling in their hair and on their eyelids22 and under their nails, clogging23 their pores.
Half the night he'd lain awake trying to single out the sound of Virginia's labored24 breathing. But he couldn't hear anything above the shrieking25, grating Sound of the storm. For a while, in the suspension between sleeping and waking, he had suffered the illusion that the house was being sandpapered by giant wheels that held its framework between monstrous26 abrasive27 surfaces and made it shudder28.
He'd never got used to the dust storms. That hissing29 sound of whirlwind granulation always set his teeth on edge. The storms had never come regularly enough to allow him to adapt himself to them. Whenever they came, he spent a restless, tossing night, and went to the plant the next day with jaded30 mind and body.
Now there was Virginia to worry about too.
About four o'clock he awoke from a thin depression of sleep and realized that the storm had ended. The contrast made silence a rushing noise in his ears.
As he raised his body irritably to adjust his twisted pajamas31, he noticed that Virginia was awake. She was lying on her back and staring at the ceiling.
"What's the matter?" he mumbled32 drowsily33.
She didn't answer.
"Honey?"
Her eyes moved slowly to him.
"Nothing," she said. "Go to sleep."
"How do you feel?"
"The same."
"Oh."
He lay there for a moment looking at her.
"Well," he said then and, turning on his side, closed his eyes.
The alarm went off at six-thirty. Usually Virginia pushed in the stop, but when she failed to do so, he reached over her inert34 body and did it himself. She was still on her back, still staring.
"What is it?" he asked worriedly.
She looked at him and shook her head on the pillow.
"I don't know," she said. "I just can't sleep."
"Why?"
She made an indecisive sound.
"Still feel weak?" he asked.
She tried to sit up but she couldn't.
"Stay there, hon," he said. "Don't move." He put his hand on her brow. "You haven't got any fever," he told her.
"I don't feel sick," she said. "Just . . tired."
"You look pale."
"I know. I look like a ghost."
"Don't get up," he said.
She was up.
"I'm not going to pamper35 myself," she said. "Go ahead, get dressed. I'll be all right."
"Don't get up if you don't feel good, honey."
She patted his arm and smiled.
"I'll be all right," she said. "You get ready."
While he shaved he heard the shuffling36 of her slippers37 past the bathroom door. He opened the door and watched her crossing the living room very slowly, her wrappered body weaving a little. He went back in the bathroom shaking his head. She should have stayed in bed.
The whole top of the washbasin was grimy with dust. The damn stuff was everywhere. He'd finally been compelled to erect38 a tent over Kathy's bed to keep the dust from her face. He'd nailed one edge of a shelter half to the wall next to her bed and let it slope over the bed, the other edge held up by two poles lashed39 to the side of the bed.
He didn't get a good shave because there was grit in the shaving soap and he didn't have time for a second lathering40. He washed off his face, got a clean towel from the hail closet, and dried himself.
Before going to the bedroom to get dressed he checked Kathy's room.
She was still asleep, her small blonde head motionless on the pillow, her cheeks pink with heavy sleep. He ran a finger across the top of the shelter half and drew it away gray with dust. With a disgusted shake of his head he left the room.
"I wish these damn storms would end," he said as he entered the kitchen ten minutes later. "I'm sure . . ."
He stopped talking; Usually she was at the stove turning eggs or French toast or pancakes, making coffee. Today she was sitting at the table. On the stove coffee was percolating41, but nothing else was cooking.
"Sweetheart, if you don't feel well, go back to bed," he told her. "I can fix my own breakfast."
"It's all right," she said. "I was just resting. I'm sorry. I'll get up and fry you some eggs."
"Stay there," he said. "I'm not helpless."
He went to the refrigerator and opened the door.
"I'd like to know what this is going around," she said. "Half the people on the block have it, and you say that more than half the plant is absent."
"Maybe it's some kind of virus," he said.
She shook her head. "I don't know."
"Between the storms and the mosquitoes and everyone being sick, life is rapidly becoming a pain," he said, pouring orange juice out of the bottle. "And speak of the devil."
He drew a black speck42 out of the orange juice in the glass.
"How the hell they get in the refrigerator I'll never know," he said.
"None for me, Bob," she said.
"No orange juice?"
"No."
"Good for you."
"No, thank you, sweetheart," she said, trying to smile.
He put back the bottle and sat down across from her with his glass of juice.
"You don't feel any pain?" he said. "No headache, nothing?"
She shook her head slowly.
"I wish I did know what was wrong," she said.
"You call up Dr. Busch today."
"I will," she said, starting to get up. He put his hand over hers.
"No, no, sweetheart, stay there," he said.
"But there's no reason why I should be like this."
She sounded angry. That was the way she'd been as long as he'd known her. If she became ill, it irritated her. She was annoyed by sickness. She seemed to regard it as a personal affront43.
"Come on," he said, starting to get up. "I'll help you back to bed."
"No, just let me sit here with you," she said. "I'll go back to bed after Kathy goes to school."
"All right. Don't you want something, though?"
"No."
"How about coffee?"
She shook her head.
"You're really going to get sick if you don't eat," he said.
"I'm just not hungry."
He finished his juice and got up to fry a couple of eggs. He cracked them on the side of the iron skillet and dropped the contents into the melted bacon fat. He got the bread from the drawer and went over to the table with it.
"Here, I'll put it in the toaster," Virginia said. "You watch your... Oh, God."
"What is it?"
She waved one hand weakly in front of her face.
"A mosquito," she said with a grimace44.
He moved over and, after a moment, crushed it between his two palms.
"Mosquitoes," she said. "Flies, sand fleas45."
"We are entering the age of the insect," he said.
"It's not good," she said. "They carry diseases. We ought to put a net around Kathy's bed too."
"I know, I know," he said, returning to the stove and tipping the skillet so the hot fat ran over the white egg surfaces. "I keep meaning to."
"I don't think that spray works, either," Virginia said.
"It doesn't?"
"No."
"My God, and it's supposed to be one of the best ones on the market."
He slid the eggs onto a dish.
"Sure you don't want some coffee?" he asked her.
"No, thank you."
He sat down and she handed him the buttered toast.
"I hope to hell we're not breeding a race of superbugs," he said. "You remember that strain of giant grasshoppers46 they found in Colorado?"
"Yes."
"Maybe the insects are . . . What's the word? Mutating."
"What's that?"
"Oh, it means they're ... changing. Suddenly. Jumping over dozens of small evolutionary47 steps, maybe developing along lines they might not have followed at all if it weren't for . . ."
Silence.
"The bombings?" she said.
"Maybe," he said.
"Well, they're causing the dust storms. They're probably causing a lot of things."
She sighed wearily and shook her head.
"And they say we won the war," she said.
"Nobody won it"
"The mosquitoes won it."
He smiled a little.
"I guess they did," he said.
They sat there for a few moments without talking and the only sound in the kitchen was the clink of his fork on the plate and the cup on the saucer.
"You looked at Kathy last night?" she asked.
"I just looked at her now. She looks fine."
"Good."
She looked at him studiedly.
"I've been thinking, Bob," she said. "Maybe we should send her East to your mother's until I get better. It may be contagious48."
"We could," he said dubiously49, "but if it's contagious, my mother's place wouldn't be any safer than here."
"You don't think so?" she asked. She looked worried.
He shrugged50. "I don't know, hon. I think probably she's just as safe here. If it starts to get bad on the block, we'll keep her out of school."
She started to say something, then stopped.
"All right," she said.
He looked at his watch.
"I'd better finish up," he said.
She nodded and he ate the rest of his breakfast quickly. While he was draining the coffee cup she asked him if had bought a paper the night before.
"It's in the living room," he told her.
"Anything new in it?"
"No. Same old stuff. It's all over the country, a little here, a little there. They haven't been able to find the germ yet."
She bit her lower lip.
"Nobody knows what it is?"
"I doubt it. If anybody did they'd have surely said so by now.,,"
"But they must have some idea."
"Everybody's got an idea. But they aren't worth anything."
"What do they say?"
He shrugged. "Everything from germ warfare51 on down."
"Do you think it is?"
"Germ warfare?"
"Yes," she said.
"The war's over," he said.
"Bob," she said suddenly, "do you think you should go to work?"
He smiled helplessly.
"What else can I do?" he asked. "We have to eat."
"I know, but..."
He reached across the table and felt how cold her hand was.
"Honey, it'll be all right," he said.
"And you think I should send Kathy to school?"
"I think so," he said. "Unless the health authorities say schools have to shut down, I don't see why we should keep her home. She's not sick."
"But all the kids at school."
"I think we'd better, though," he said.
She made a tiny sound in her throat. Then she said, "All right If you think so."
"Is there anything you want before I go?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Now you stay in the house today," he told her, "and in bed."
"I will," she said. "As soon as I send Kathy off." He patted her hand. Outside, the car horn sounded. He finished the coffee and went to the bathroom to rinse52 out his mouth. Then he got his jacket from the hall closet and pulled it on.
"Good-bye, honey," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Take it easy, now."
"Good-bye," she said. "Be careful.
He moved across the lawn, gritting53 his teeth at the residue54 of dust in the air. He could smell it as he walked, a dry tickling55 sensation in his nasal passages.
"Morning," he said, getting in the car and pulling the door shut behind him.
"Good morning," said Ben Cortman.
收听单词发音 |
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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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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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clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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generator
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| n.发电机，发生器 | |
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vampires
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| n.吸血鬼( vampire的名词复数 )；吸血蝠；高利贷者；（舞台上的）活板门 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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solder
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| v.焊接，焊在一起；n.焊料，焊锡 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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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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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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clogging
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| 堵塞，闭合 | |
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24
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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25
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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26
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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abrasive
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| adj.使表面磨损的；粗糙的；恼人的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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30
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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pamper
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| v.纵容，过分关怀 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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39
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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40
lathering
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| n.痛打，怒骂v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的现在分词 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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41
percolating
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| n.渗透v.滤( percolate的现在分词 )；渗透；（思想等）渗透；渗入 | |
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42
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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43
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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44
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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45
fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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46
grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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47
evolutionary
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| adj.进化的；演化的，演变的；[生]进化论的 | |
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48
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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49
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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50
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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51
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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52
rinse
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| v.用清水漂洗，用清水冲洗 | |
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53
gritting
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的现在分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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54
residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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55
tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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