Con người là tập hợp những nỗ lực của chính mình.
S.Young
ePub
A4Chapter 4: Loneliness
T
he next day was rainy and dark.Rain fell on the roof of the barn and
dripped steadily from the eaves. Rain
fell in the barnyard and ran in crooked
courses down into the lane where
thistles and pigweed grew. Rain
spattered against Mrs.Zuckerman's
kitchen windows and came gushing out
of the downspouts. Rain fell on the
backs of the sheep as they grazed in the
meadow. When the sheep tired of
standing in the rain, they walked slowly
up the lane and into the fold.
Rain upset Wilbur's plans. Wilbur
had planned to go out, this day, and dig a
new hole in his yard. He had other plans,
too. His plans for the day went
something like this:
Breakfast at six-thirty. Skim milk,
crusts, middlings, bits of doughnuts,
wheat cakes with drops of maple syrup
sticking to them, potato skins, leftover
custard pudding with raisins, and bits of
Shredded Wheat.
Breakfast would be finished at
seven.
From seven to eight, Wilbur
planned to have a talk with Templeton,
the rat that lived under his trough.
Talking with Templeton was not the most
interesting occupation in the world but it
was better than nothing.
From eight to nine, Wilbur planned
to take a nap outdoors in the sun.
From nine to eleven he planned to
dig a hole, or trench, and possibly find
something good to eat buried in the dirt.
From eleven to twelve he planned
to stand still and watch flies on the
boards, watch bees in the clover, and
watch swallows in the air.
Twelve o'clock - lunchtime.
Middlings, warm water, apple parings,
meat gravy, carrot scrapings, meat
scraps, stale hominy, and the wrapper
off a package of cheese. Lunch would be
over at one.
From one to two, Wilbur planned to
sleep.
From two to three, he planned to
scratch itchy places by rubbing against
the fence.
From three to four, he planned to
stand perfectly still and think of what it
was like to be alive, and to wait for
Fern.
At four would come supper. Skim
milk, provender (fodder, hay or grain
used as animal feed), leftover sandwich
from Lurvy's lunchbox, prune skins, a
morsel of this, a bit of that, fried
potatoes, marmalade drippings, a little
more of this, a little more of that, a piece
of baked apple, a scrap of upsidedown
cake.
Wilbur had gone to sleep thinking
about these plans. He awoke at six, and
saw the rain, and it seemed as though he
couldn't bear it.
"I get everything all beautifully
planned out and it has to go and rain," he
said.
For a while he stood gloomily
indoors. Then he walked to the door and
looked out. Drops of rain struck his face.
His yard was cold and wet. His trough
had an inch of rainwater in it. Templeton
was nowhere to be seen.
"Are you out there, Templeton?"
called Wilbur. There was no answer.
Suddenly Wilbur felt lonely and
friendless.
"One day just like another," he
groaned. "I'm very young, I have no real
friend here in the barn, it's going to rain
all morning and all afternoon, and Fern
won't come in such bad weather. Oh,
honestly!" And Wilbur was crying again,
for the second time in two days.
At six-thirty Wilbur heard the
banging of a pail. Lurvy was standing
outside in the rain, stirring up breakfast.
"C'mon, pig!" said Lurvy.
Wilbur did not budge. Lurvy
dumped the slops, scraped the pail, and
walked away. He noticed that something
was wrong with the pig.
Wilbur didn't want food, he wanted
love. He wanted a friend - someone who
would play with him. He mentioned this
to the goose, who was sitting quietly in a
corner of the sheepfold.
"Will you come over and play with
me?" he asked.
"Sorry, sonny, sorry," said the
goose. "I'm sitting-sitting on my eggs.
Eight of them. Got to keep them toastyoasty-
oasty warm. I have to stay right
here, I'm no flibberty-ibberty-gibbet. I
do not play when there are eggs to hatch.
I'm expecting goslings (baby goose)."
"Well, I didn't think you were
expecting woodpeckers," said Wilbur,
bitterly.
Wilbur next tried one of the lambs.
"Will you please play with me?" he
asked.
"Certainly not," said the lamb. "In
the first place, I cannot get into your pen,
as I am not old enough to jump over the
fence. In the second place, I am not
interested in pigs. Pigs mean less than
nothing to me."
"What do you mean, less than
nothing?" replied Wilbur. "I don't think
there is any such thing as less than
nothing. Nothing is absolutely the limit
of nothingness. It's the lowest you can
go. It's the end of the line. How can
something be less than nothing? If there
were something that was less than
nothing, then nothing would not be
nothing, it would be something - even
though it's just a very little bit of
something. But if nothing is nothing, then
nothing has nothing that is less than it is."
"Oh, be quiet!" said the lamb. "Go
play by yourself! I don't play with pigs."
Sadly, Wilbur lay down and
listened to the rain. Soon he saw the rat
climbing down a slanting board that he
used as a stairway.
"Will you play with me,
Templeton?" asked Wilbur.
"Play?" said Templeton, twirling
his whiskers. "Play? I hardly know the
meaning of the word."
"Well," said Wilbur, "it means to
have fun, to frolic, to run and skip and
make merry."
"I never do those things if I can
avoid them," replied the rat, sourly.
"I prefer to spend my time eating,
gnawing, spying, and hiding. I am a
glutton but not a merry-maker. Right now
I am on my way to your trough to eat
your breakfast, since you haven't got
sense enough to eat it yourself." And
Templeton, the rat, crept stealthily along
the wall and disappeared into a private
tunnel that he had dug between the door
and the trough in Wilbur's yard.
Templeton was a crafty rat, and he had
things pretty much his own way. The
tunnel was an example of his skill and
cunning. The tunnel enabled him to get
from the barn to his hiding place under
the pig trough without coming out into
the open. He had tunnels and runways all
over Mr.Zuckerman's farm and could get
from one place to another without being
seen. Usually he slept during the daytime
and was abroad only after dark.
Wilbur watched him disappear into
his tunnel. In a moment he saw the rat's
sharp nose poke out from underneath the
wooden trough. Cautiously Templeton
pulled himself up over the edge of the
trough. This was almost more than
Wilbur could stand: on this dreary, rainy
day to see his breakfast being eaten by
somebody else. He knew Templeton was
getting soaked, out there in the pouring
rain, but even that didn't comfort him.
Friendless, dejected, and hungry, he
threw himself down in the manure and
sobbed.
Late that afternoon, Lurvy went to
Mr. Zuckerman. "I think there's
something wrong with that pig of yours.
He hasn't touched his food."
"Give him two spoonfuls of sulphur
and a little molasses (dark thick syrup
produced during the refining of sugar),"
said Mr. Zuckerman.
Wilbur couldn't believe what was
happening to him when Lurvy caught him
and forced the medicine down his throat.
This was certainly the worst day of his
life. He didn't know whether he could
endure the awful loneliness any more.
Darkness settled over ever thing.
Soon there were only shadows and the
noises of the sheep chewing their cuds,
and occasionally the rattle of a cowchain
up overhead. You can imagine
Wilbur's surprise when, out of the
darkness, came a small voice he had
never heard before. It sounded rather
thin, but pleasant. "Do you want a friend,
Wilbur?" it said. "I'll be a friend to you.
I've watched you all day and I like you."
"But I can't see you," said Wilbur,
jumping to his feet. "Where are you?
And who are you?"
"I'm right up here," said the voice.
"Go to sleep. You'll see me in the
morning."
