Chapter 9 Argentine ants【2】

In order to cater to him, I also pursed my lips and smiled.But I just want to ask him for help, and I don't have the energy to think about other people's tricks to kill ants.So I said, "I think your method is the best, and there's no other method that can be better than yours... Do you think we could try your ant killer in our home?" "You have to tell me which device you like." Before the words finished, Brauni took me into the garden again and showed me several other devices he invented that I hadn't seen before.Killing ants should be easy, but he has exhausted his mind and brains to design so many devices, which is simply unimaginable.I finally realized the reason gradually: exterminating ants is not easy, the method must be appropriate, and you must persevere and persevere.Thinking of this, I was discouraged, for I felt that Captain Brawy had shown such astonishing perseverance in this respect that no one else could have.

"Perhaps a simpler device would be more suitable for us," I said. Brauny snorted through his nostrils, not knowing whether he was approving or thinking that my request was too low. "Let me think about it," he told me, "and give you a sketch first." I thanked him, said goodbye to him, jumped over the fence again, and returned to my courtyard.I didn't hear the sound of stepping on the gravel when my feet landed, it was like a dream.My home! Although the ants were infested, I felt that it was really my home for the first time! I walked into the house and said involuntarily: I am finally home.

The child swallowed ant-killing powder by mistake, and the wife was worried. "Don't worry, it's harmless to the human body!" I quickly comforted her. Although it is harmless, it is not food that can be swallowed.The child yelled in pain.He should be given an emetic.He threw up all over my wife's freshly cleaned kitchen, immediately followed by swarms of ants.We wiped the ground clean, coaxed the baby from crying and put him in the cradle. We sprinkled a thick layer of ant-killing powder around it, and set up a mosquito net outside, with the corners tied firmly.That way, he won't crawl out of the cradle and eat messily when he wakes up.

The wife bought a basket of food and went home, but the ants came to attack immediately, which caught people off guard.We rinsed everything, from greasy sardines to cheese, to catch any ants that stung them.Next, I help my wife with the cooking preparations: chopping wood, setting the economy stove on the fireplace, and lighting the fire.She is washing dishes.We can't just sit in one place and jump up every minute, "Ouch, you bit me!" We're constantly scratching, catching ants, or turning on the tap to flush ants off our arms or legs.The meal is ready, but we don't know where to eat it: let it be in the house, and it will attract more ants; let it be taken outside, and the ants will come to us.We had to eat standing up, walking back and forth while eating.Even so, we still felt ants everywhere: presumably because of the ants in the dishes, plus the constant smell of formic sour from our hands.

After the meal, I walked into the courtyard with a cigarette in my mouth.The clang of tableware came from the direction of Reginaudo.I went up to the fence and found them eating outside under a big parasol and a table under it.Dressed in crisp clothes, with contented faces and checkered napkins around their necks, they were eating panna cotta and sipping white wine with gusto.I wished them a good appetite and they asked me to come over and taste it.I found bags and buckets of ant repellent around their dining table, and everything was covered with a yellow-white powder or coated with a few coats of asphalt.The unpleasant smell of medicine irritated my nasal membranes.So I said, thank you very much, but I have no appetite.This is a fact.Reginaudo's radio was playing music, turned down very low; they were humming high-pitched and making a gesture of toasting each other.

I spoke to them from the ladder by the fence.From the same ladder one can see a corner of the Brauny's garden.The captain had probably finished his meal, and was coming out of the house holding a cup of coffee and drinking it as he walked.Coffee cups are placed on a tray.His eyes flicked here and there, presumably to check that the devices were functioning properly, that they were continuing to kill the ants.I found a white hammock hanging between two trees.I knew there must be the skeletal, repulsive Ms. Aglaura lying on the bed, but I could only see her from the wrist down.She held a cattail fan in her hand and kept fanning it back and forth.There were some strange rings attached to the ropes of the hammock, probably some kind of ant-proof device; perhaps the hammock itself was an ant trap, and the captain's wife was the bait.

I did not want to tell the Reginaudos about my visit to Brauny, for I expected their remarks to be made with contempt and cynicism.Neighborhoods have always been like this.So, I deliberately turned my head and glanced at Mrs. Mauro's garden on a high place: her villa is built on the top of the hill, and there is a chicken-shaped wooden weathervane on the roof that rotates with the wind. "I don't know if there are ants in Mrs. Mauro's house on the mountain..." I said. It can be seen that the Reginaudos were able to restrain their gloating during the meal, because they just smiled slightly after hearing what I said, and said a few words lightly: "Hey, hey, hey... Of course her family There are ants too...hey, hey, hey...her house too...surely...of course..."

My wife called me home.She wanted to spread a mattress on the table and lie down and sleep for a while.Our beds were in direct contact with the ground and there was no way to prevent ants from climbing up.As for the table, as long as the powder is sprinkled around the four legs, the ants will not be able to get up for a while.She lay down to rest, and I went out again, using the excuse that I was asking someone to find a job, but actually I just wanted to go out for a walk and change my mind. I feel that all the places on the road are very different from what I saw yesterday: ants swarms in every vegetable garden, groups of ants crawling on the walls of every house, and they crawl towards everything sweet or fatty. The food sticks out its tentacles.My eyes were focused, and I found a man slapping his various debris outside the door because ants had crawled into it; an old lady was spraying ant repellent potion with a pump in her hand.I also saw a line of ants nonchalantly crawling along the edge of a small dish containing poisonous baits;

Yet it was the town that suited Uncle Augusto's ideals.Even though there are a lot of ants, what can he do with him? He sometimes unloads for one boss and sometimes for another; he eats in taverns during the day; Where the ground is soft, sleep there. As I walked, I imagined that I was Uncle Augusto.I should be like him, wandering along these roads every afternoon.Of course, to be like Uncle Augusto, one should first have his physical characteristics: short stature, stubby build; When looking at women, he often takes wrong steps; his voice is shrill, and when his temper comes up, he will yell curses in the local dialect with a foreign accent.In him body and soul are one.I have a lot of worries, and I can't solve them. I really hope that I can walk around and do activities with Uncle Augusto.Of course, I can always assume that I have become him; any time I can say to myself: "Hey, go to sleep on the haystack! Now, go to the pub and have a good meal of fried pig's blood and a few drinks Wine!" When I saw a cat, I should have petted it like my uncle did, and then yelled "Ho!" to scare it away.When I meet a servant girl, I should say to her: "Ah, ah, miss, can I help you?" But it is not easy to live like Uncle Augusto.The more I found that he was at ease here, the more I realized that he was a different type of person who couldn't bear the worries that tormented me: the need to settle down, find a job, the sick child, the wife's face. Smiles, ants all over the bed and kitchen.

I went into the tavern where my wife and I had been the day before and asked the proprietress in a white embroidered blouse if the people I spoke to yesterday were there.The shop is cool and the air is fresh, maybe not a breeding ground for ants.I took her advice and sat down and waited for the gang.I asked her in a nonchalant tone: "You don't have ants here, do you?" She wiped the counter with a rag: "People come and leave here, and no one finds any ants." "But you've always lived here." She shrugged: "I'm such a big guy, am I afraid of ants?"

She seemed to regard the presence of ants in the store as a scandal, and this concealment irritated me more and more.I asked one more question: "Don't you put ant poison?" "The best poison for ants," said a man at another table (I recognized him, one of Uncle Augusto's friends who spoke to me yesterday), "This is it." He raised his glass and drank it down. Others arrived one after another.They couldn't give me any leads to find a job, just let me drink with them.They talked about Uncle Augusto again.One person asked, "I wonder what the old slicker is doing over there now?" The locals use the word "slicker" to refer to a guy who is idle and clever.Everyone agreed that this title was most suitable for my uncle, who was respected precisely because he was a "slicker".But I felt quite unhappy when I heard it, because I knew that although my uncle lived a careless life, he was generally kind and law-abiding.However, exaggeration and exaggeration may be an integral part of the local people's common way of doing things.I vaguely guessed that this had something to do with the infestation of ants: they intentionally portrayed the surrounding world as turbulent and dangerous, so as to forget the trivial and complicated annoying things in daily life, including the troubles caused by ants.On the way home, I thought, I can't think like them, and the obstacle is my wife, who has a deep aversion to imagining things.I also thought, she is deeply affecting my life now, I can no longer anesthetize myself with empty words and illusory thoughts, because as soon as I start to think, her face, eyes and figure will immediately jumps into my mind.At the end of the day, she was good to me and I needed her. My wife came out of the door with a sad face, came to me, and told me, "Well, here comes a surveyor." The rhetoric of those in the tavern is still ringing in my ears.I said absently: "Well, surveyor, here comes a surveyor..." She said, "Yes, the surveyor has come to our house and is measuring the house..." I felt very strange and hurried into the house. "Hey, what are you talking about?! He's the captain." It's Captain Brawney.In order to design a suitable ant extermination device for us, he took I picked up a yellow folding rule and was measuring our house.I introduced my wife to him Thank you for his enthusiasm. "I want to look at the environmental possibilities here," he said, "and everything has to be mathematically exact." The captain even measured the size of the cradle and woke the child sleeping in it.He saw a yellow ruler shaking back and forth in front of his eyes, and cried out in fright.My wife hurried to coax him.The cries of the child annoyed the Captain, and I tried to distract Brawny with other words.Fortunately, his wife called him at this time, and he walked out the door.Miss Aglaura leaned out from the side of the fence, waving her thin, bloodless arms, and shouted at him, "Come back! Come back! Come back! Someone is coming! Really, it's Ant-Man!" Brony glanced at me, pursed his lips, and gave me a knowing smile.He must go home immediately and apologize for it. "He'll come to you too," he said, and pointed to where the mysterious "Ant-Man" was now. "You'll see right away..." The captain went away. I don't want to deal with this Ant-Man until I know who he is and what his intentions are.I went to the fence, climbed up the ladder, and below was the courtyard of the Reginaudo.He had just come home, in a white suit and a straw hat, with many little pockets and tins. I asked him, "Hey, did Ant-Man come to your house?" "I don't know," Reginaudo said, "I just came back from outside. But I think he's here, because I found the syrup everywhere. Claudia!" His wife showed up: "He's been, he's been. He'll be at Laurely's too. But, hey, don't you expect any use!" I certainly don't have any extravagant hopes.I asked, "Who sent this man?" "Who will send him?" said Reginaudo. "He's a clerk for the Bureau of Argentine Ant Combat and puts syrup in every garden. Do you see those little saucers?" His wife added: "It's syrup mixed with poison..." After saying that, she pursed her lips and smiled, as if she knew everything. "Can the plant poison ants? I understand that this question is difficult to answer. Sometimes the answer can be obtained at first sight, but it will suddenly become more complicated and tricky than before. It seems that this question should not be raised.Reginaudo shook his head again and again: "The poison will not kill you...the dose of poison is very small...worker ants love to suck syrup...but they should be allowed to crawl back to the ant nest alive and spit out this syrup with a small amount of poison to feed the king ant... ...It is said that this method will sooner or later make the ants extinct." I didn't press him to ask if it was true that the ants were going extinct sooner or later.For I could hear Reginaudo presenting the method in a tone of objective statement; although he did not agree with it, the official measures of the authorities must be respected.His wife, by contrast, was irascible, like many women, and made no secret of her distaste for the syrup ant extermination method: she listened to her husband with a continual laugh and sarcasm.My husband probably felt that her behavior was out of order or too presumptuous, but he didn't directly refute and scold her, but tried his best to explain to me in order to eliminate the pessimistic impression caused by his wife.He might have spoken in the same tone of disappointment when they were alone together, perhaps worse.Now, however, he wanted to set an example of impartiality to his wife, saying: "Well, Claudia, you are exaggerating... Of course, it is not very effective, but it is useful... Besides, the syrup is free ...it will take years to draw conclusions...” "How many years? They have been working like this for almost 20 years, but the ants are multiplying every year." Instead of rebutting, Reginaudo turned the conversation to the good work done by the Bureau of Fighting Argentine Ants.He talked about the dung boxes: the boxes the Ant People put in the gardens of every house, and when the queen had finished laying her eggs in them, they took the boxes away and burned them.I felt that what Mr. Reginaudo said was also suitable for my suspicious and pessimistic wife, so I repeated him when I got home, and the sneering at Madame Claudia was only The word is not mentioned.My wife is the kind of woman who can't get used to anything but can't help it; for example, she thinks train timetables, train formations, and conductors checking tickets are ridiculous, terrible, and pointless, but She had to take the train again when she went out, accepting it all.After listening to my explanation of the syrup method, she came to the conclusion that this method was ridiculous and completely superfluous.I am speechless.Nevertheless, we tidied up the house a little for a visit from the Ant-Man; I heard his name was Mr. Boldino.We don't intend to whine about him or make demands on him in vain.He should be allowed to concentrate on his work. He entered our courtyard without knocking.We were talking about him, and it was embarrassing to see him here.He was a short man in his fifties, and his black suit was faded and badly worn.The face is like a drunk, the hair has not turned white, and the child's hairstyle is combed; the eyes are half-closed, the eye circles and around the nose are red, and there is a faint smile on the lips.He spoke with a strong foreign accent and a high-pitched voice, like a priest preaching; when he spoke agitatedly, the wrinkles around the corners of his mouth and nose would vibrate slightly. I have portrayed Mr. Baudino in such detail in order to explain why he gives us the strange impression of his being like an ant.Oh no, not at all.Because we originally thought that Ant-Man should look like this, easily identifiable in a thousand people.His large hands, with hairy backs, hold a vessel shaped like a coffee pot in one and small clay saucers in the other.He told us he was going to put syrup on.His tone showed that he was a clerk who was used to working hard and didn't care about everything.His dragging, feeble utterance of the word "syrup" was enough to make us realize how dismissive he was of us, and how little confidence he had in his own work.I found that my wife set an example for me of keeping calm in the presence of this man.She patiently told him where ants often crawled.He went back and forth carefully and carefully: pouring the syrup from the coffee pot into the saucers, putting the saucers where they belonged, being careful not to knock them over.It didn't take long for me to lose my patience.As I watched his actions, I recalled my first impression of him: he was like an ant.Why? I can't tell, but he does look like an ant.Probably because of his dark skin, but it may also be because of his short stature, or the corners of his mouth are always trembling, similar to the constantly shaking feet and antennae of ants.However, there was another characteristic of ants that he did not possess: they were constantly running and toiling, while Mr. Baodino was clumsy and slow.Now he's holding up a little brush dipped in syrup, smearing ridiculously on the wall. I watched his movements with increasing disgust.Suddenly, I found that my wife was gone.I searched around with my eyes, and finally saw her in a corner of the courtyard.There the fences of the Houses of Reginaudo and Brauny joined together.Ms. Claudia and Ms. Aglaura were standing by the fences of their respective houses, gesticulating and talking, and my wife was in the middle of them, listening attentively.I went up to them. Anyway, Mr. Baodino was applying syrup in the back of the room. There was nothing important there.I heard Mrs. Brawney whining loudly, waving her arms and saying: "That guy is here to feed the ants tonic, what kind of poison!" Mrs. Reginaudo joined her, but in a less vehement way: "If one day the ants were extinct, wouldn't their staff lose their jobs? So, what do you expect them to be doing, ma'am?!" "Feeding the ants fat, this is their work achievement!" Ms. Aglaura concluded angrily. The words of the two female neighbors were all directed at my wife.She listened intently, outwardly calm, but I could see by the twitching of her nostrils and the tight clenching of her lips that she was now full of anger, resentment at the knowledge that she had been fooled.To be honest, I am also close to believing that these two women are not talking about telling lies. "And those boxes of excrement with the ants' eggs on them," continued Mrs. Reginaudo. "Do you think they really burn them when they take them away? Not at all!" Suddenly her husband's voice was heard: "Claudia! Claudia!" The wife spoke too loudly, visibly embarrassing him.Mrs. Reginaudo said "I'm sorry" and hurried away from us; her apology contained contempt for her drifting, timid husband.There was what seemed to be a sneer from the opposite direction, and I looked back to see Captain Brawney adjusting the angles of his ant exterminators on the gravel path.A clay saucer on which Mr. Baudino had just poured the syrup fell to pieces at his feet, upside down; he had probably kicked it, but whether it was on purpose or by carelessness was unknown. My wife and I went back inside.I could not imagine how she would vent her anger against M. Bourdino; but I knew that instead of trying to calm her down, I might add fuel to it.However, we scanned the inside and outside of the house, but found no trace of this ant-man.Well, it seemed as if we heard the courtyard gate creak shut as we entered.He probably just left and left without saying goodbye.The sticky, dark red streaks of syrup he had smeared in the house gave off an unpleasant, cloying smell, not unlike the smell of ants, but I think it was related, though I couldn't say why. The son was sleeping, and we thought it would be a good time to drop by Mrs. Mauro's.We should go and ask her for the key to the pantry; besides, it's a matter of etiquette.But our real motive in our eagerness to visit her was to let her listen to our complaints: she had rented such an ant-infested dwelling to us without any prior notice.There's a more important reason: We wanted to see how the landlady handled the ants. Mrs. Mauro's villa has a large garden that stretches on the hillside.The towering palm trees were covered with branches and leaves, and the fan-shaped leaves were already yellowing.A winding path leads to the villa on the top of the hill: it is a building with many balconies and attics, and a chicken-shaped weathercock on the roof.The rusty weathervane creaked and turned with difficulty; it was far more insensitive than a palm leaf: when the breeze blew, the leaves rustled as if in a low moan. My wife and I walked up the path, leaning against the railing on the side of the road from time to time, looking at everything below: the new house that was still unfamiliar to us, the weedy wasteland in the courtyard, the Reginaudo The little garden that resembled the inner courtyard of a warehouse, and the square little garden that resembled a cemetery at the Brauny's house.Only then can we forget for a moment that the ants are swarming in those places; We just think those places are as beautiful as heaven.The more we went up, the more we regretted that we should live in such a place.Living in that kind of vulgar and annoying place, you have to worry about solving one vulgar and annoying problem after another all day long. Mrs. Mauro was old, thin, and tall.She received us in a shaded room, where she sat upright in a high-backed chair, beside a small table with needles, thread, and stationery.She was all in black except for the men's collar of her jacket which was white.Her face was thin and lightly powdered, and her hair was neatly combed.She gave us the key right away, which she had promised the day before.She didn't ask if we were comfortable; we took that to show that she knew we were complaining to her. "Ma'am, those ants down there..." said my wife, her voice now uncharacteristically gentle and courteous.I wish she wouldn't speak in that tone.She was a stubborn, unforgiving woman, but she was sometimes cautious; and I was not pleased on those occasions. I quickly backed her up and pointed out in a deeply aggrieved tone: "Madam, the house you rented to us...frankly, if we knew that there were so many ants..." I didn't go on, my heart Think that's clear enough. The wife didn't even lift her eyes. "The house has been lived in for a long time," she said. It is not surprising that there are a few Argentine ants, which are everywhere...the house is often cleaned, and the ants will disappear, but you," the eyes of the daughter-in-law are fixed on me. , "It took four months to give me an answer.If you had moved in immediately then, there would be no ants now. " "So," interjected my wife, her words tinged with sarcasm, "you don't have ants here, do you?" Mrs. Mauro curled her lips. "No." She said firmly.Later, when she saw that we didn't believe it, she explained: "Our place is spotlessly cleaned, as clean as a mirror. The ants will be found as soon as they crawl into the house from the garden. We will take countermeasures immediately." "What countermeasure?" My wife and I asked in unison.We are curious and full of hope. "It's very simple," the wife shrugged, "throw them away, sweep them away with a broom." As soon as she said this, her expression of pretending to be calm suddenly changed, and she seemed to feel an unbearable feeling. Pain.We found that she was not sitting so straight: the waist was twisted to one side, and the center of gravity of the whole body was obviously shifted to that side.If she hadn't said the above words with such certainty, I would have sworn that an Argentine ant must have got into her underwear and stung her.An ant, or several ants, were crawling all over her body, making her feel unbearably itchy.She tried her best not to squirm in the chair, but it was obvious that she couldn't sit as gracefully as before.She looked tense, with an increasingly distressed expression. "The courtyard in front of our house is full of ants, it's a black patch," I said hastily, "No matter how clean the house is, it's inevitable that thousands of ants will crawl in..." "That makes sense," said the madam, clutching the arm of the chair with her thin hand. It made sense.The courtyard is deserted, and millions of ants will breed in the wasteland.I would have planted crops in that field four months ago, but you kept me waiting.Now you are on your own.Not only have you suffered, but everyone has suffered too.Ants crawling in all directions..." "Crawled to you too?" asked my wife.She almost laughed out loud. "No!" Mrs. Mauro denied immediately.Her face was pale, her right hand was holding on to the armrest tightly, her shoulders turned around, and her elbows lightly rubbed against her waist.It finally dawned on me that Mrs. Mauro had no defense against the ants except her denial pride and this spacious, shady, elegant house.Of course, she was much stronger than us in the face of ants.Still, everything we see here, including her sitting upright in a chair, has been stung and bitten by ants, and that's palpable.The ants here were perhaps more ruthless than the ones down there, like some kind of African borer that gnawed away everything until there was nothing left but a shell.In the wife's villa, only the faded carpet and the few dusty curtains seemed to have not been attacked by ants, and other things seemed to be turned into powder in a blink of an eye. "We've come to you to ask you how to get rid of ants..." said my wife, her expression unperturbed. "The house is cleaned often, the fields are planted with crops: there is no other way. Work, and only work can get rid of the ant infestation." She stood up suddenly, and could no longer sit upright in her chair.Her whole body trembled subconsciously.We decided to say goodbye immediately.She calmed down, and a relaxed smile appeared on her pale face. We walked down the path and back to our courtyard.My wife said, "I hope he's still awake." I was thinking about the baby, too.However, before we even stepped into the house, we heard his cry.We hurried into the house, carried him out of the cradle, and tried every means to put him back to sleep.But he still screamed and wailed.An ant crawled into his ear.He cried desperately, and no matter how coaxed he was, it didn't work.It took us a long time to figure out what happened.In fact, my wife guessed it from the beginning. "It must be ants!" But I never understood why he kept crying, because there were no ants around.We stripped him naked: no bites or scratches were found.But I saw a few ants in the cradle.Although I put the cradle far away from the wall, I didn't expect Mr. Baodino to spread syrup on the floor. The ants were attracted by the Ant-Man's syrup and crawled into the cradle along the floor. The cries of the children and the shouts of the wives drew several female neighbors into our home.Mrs. Reginaudo took great care of us, Mrs. Brawney was busy with us, and there were some women we had never seen before.There was a scramble for ideas: pour warm olive oil into his ears; make him open his mouth and blow his nose vigorously;They talked loudly and chirped, although it was a kind of comfort to us at that time, but to be honest, they did not help much, but added a lot of trouble.The main effect of their busyness around the child was to arouse everyone's righteous indignation against the Ant-Man.My wife yelled at him—Baudino—and put all the blame on him.The neighbors all thought he'd better go home and pick up the kids, his job here was just to make the ants multiply faster so he wouldn't be out of a job; .They talked too much, but that was understandable.I was also very excited at the time, and I was holding a crying child in my arms, so I also scolded them together.If Baodino had been around then, I don't know what would have happened to him. A tiny ant dripped from a child's ear with warm olive oil.He stopped crying, took a celluloid toy foolishly, shook it a few times, stuffed it into his mouth and sucked it, and ignored us again.I now, like him, wished to be alone; I wanted to relax my nerves.Neighbors are still swearing at Bourdino, and they tell my wife he's probably in a nearby courtyard right now where his warehouse is.My wife said, "Well, I'll go find him, and go there to settle accounts with him." Immediately a small procession formed, with my wife at the head, and of course I walked beside her, though I did not think such a move would be of any use.The female neighbors who instigated her to do so followed her, sometimes leading her by a few steps.Madame Claudia, who offered to stay with us to babysit, saw us off at the gate.Later I found out that Madame Aglaura was not there either, although she had been spitting like a sworn enemy of Bourdino.The only ones who set off with the two of us were women whom we had never met before.We walked along a road as wide as a yard, past small wooden houses, chicken coops, and vegetable gardens full of garbage.Some of the loudest women stopped at their own doors; told us enthusiastically which way to go, and then went home to feed the old hens, or yelled at the children playing in the street. Children covered in dirt, pull them into the house.Only two or three female neighbors walked with us to the gate of the courtyard where Baodino was.However, when my wife knocked on the door, we found it was just me and her.Some of the female neighbors were lying on the windows watching us, some were watching the fun in the chicken coop, and some were sweeping the floor outside the door while continuing to encourage us.Of course, their voices were so soft that no one but us could hear them. The Ant-Man is standing in the warehouse.It was a small shed, three-quarters of which had collapsed, and on the only remaining wooden wall was a piece of yellowed paper with the words "Fight against Argentine ants" written on it.On the floor were piles of saucers stacked with syrup, various wooden boxes and empty cans.It was like a rubbish heap, full of scraps of paper, fish bones, and other rubbish, and one could immediately imagine that this was the home of all the ants in the area.Mr. Bordino came towards us sullenly and inquiringly, and with a half-smile grin, we found that he had very few teeth left. "You!" my wife fired at him after a moment's hesitation. "You should be ashamed! You came to our house, made a mess everywhere, and attracted ants with syrup. One ant crawled into my child's ear. " She punched him in the face.Mr. Baodino ducked like a frightened animal, but the smile did not disappear.He shrugged, blinked, and looked around.His eyes finally fell on me because no one else was around.His gaze seemed to mean: "She's crazy." But what he said was just a weak defense of himself: "No...no...how can..." "Everyone says you're not poisoning the ants, you're feeding them a tonic!" my wife exclaimed.Mr. Baodino slipped out of the shed and onto the road as wide as the yard.My wife kept following him and swearing.He began to shrug and wink at the women in the nearby cabins.I think they are quietly playing a double role at this time: on the one hand, accept the meaning of his gaze, agree with him-my wife is talking nonsense, no different from a madman;她们的时候，她们又频频颔首，或者挥动笤帚，鼓励她继续向那蚂蚁人开火。我避免介入。我应该如何是好呢?当然不能像妻子那样出言不逊，更不能对节节败退的包迪诺大打出手，我妻子的这通脾气已经够他受的了。但我也不应该劝妻子息怒，因为我不想袒护包迪诺。我妻子越来越愤怒，刚嚷了句“您在坑害我的孩子!”，便一把揪住他的衣领使劲摇晃。我怕他们打起采，正想奔过去把他们拉开时，忽然发现包迪诺先生并不还手，只是用越来越像蚂蚁的动作转动了几下身子，挣脱了她，滑稽地跑开了。他在不远处停下，理好衣服，耸耸肩，嘟哝道：“什么哟……谁会那样……”然后便走开了。临走前，他朝小木屋里的居民们摆了几下手，意思似乎是“她发疯了”。我妻子朝他扑去时，小木屋里的居民们发出一阵含混不清的喧哗声；那人挣脱后，喧哗声随之沉寂；而等那人离开了这里，人们看着他的背影，又开始纷纷议论起来。这回她们讲得很清楚，每句话的意思都很明白：不是抗议或威胁，而是抱怨，表示同情，以及提出要求。她们的声音很响，仿佛是在发表一篇自豪的宣言：“我们会被蚂蚁活活咬死的……床上有蚂蚁，菜盘里有蚂蚁……白天有蚂蚁，夜里有蚂蚁……我们本来就吃不饱，可是还得喂蚂蚁……” 我拽过妻子的手臂，但她还不时扭过身去喊道：“没这么便宜! 我们知道谁是骗子!我们知道应该找谁算账广她还讲了另外一些怒气冲冲的话。这时已经没有人附和她了：我们从那些小木屋门前经过时，家家户户立即关上门窗；邻居们宁愿和蚂蚁和平共处，她们不想招惹是非。 回家的路上冷冷清清，这其实也在我的预料之中。尽管如此，看到女邻居们的那种表现，我实在感到痛心。从那以后，我再也不愿看见那些只会口头上到处抱怨深受蚂蚁之害的女人。我一辈子也不会像她们那样耍两面派手法。我倒想仿效毛罗太太，独自关在家里，高傲地忍受痛苦。不过，她是个阔老，而我们一贫如洗。我找不到出路，想不出法子，不知道怎样在这个城镇里继续待下去。但我认为，我的熟人中间，以及不久前我还觉得比我有能耐的那些人中间，也没有任何一个人想出了办法，或者即将想出办法。 我们到了家。孩子还在吮吸着他的玩具。妻子坐到椅子上，我打量着爬满蚂蚁的土地和篱墙。雷吉瑙多先生的花园里有人在喷驱蚁粉，一股粉尘在篱墙那侧冲天而起。右边是上尉家那个浓荫铺地、静谧安宁的花园，各种精巧的装置正在不断地消灭蚂蚁。这就是我的新居所在的城镇。我抱起孩子，挽着妻子说：“我们去遛遛，一直走到海边去。” 太阳已偏西。我们沿着林阴大道和傍山小路朝前走。老城的一角还沐浴着阳光，那边的房子由灰色的海泡石砌成，窗棂上抹着灰泥，屋顶长满青草。这个城镇呈扇形展开，房屋依山而筑。山坳间空气清新，大地这时染上了紫铜色。孩子回过头去，不胜诧异地浏览着这一切。我们也部分受到了他的感染，觉得颇为新奇。生活中的某些时刻是很甜蜜的，我们似乎接近了这种时刻，心头的伤口也仿佛渐渐愈合了。 我们碰见了几个老太太。她们头上垫着个草垫圈，上面顶着一个大篮子。她们低着头向前走，腰板挺得笔直，身子从不乱晃。一群裁缝姑娘跑出修道院的花园，奔到池边，伏在石栏上看着水中的一个蟾蜍；她们说：“唉，真可怜!”栅门后边的一株紫藤下，几个身穿素白衣裳的小女孩在逗弄一个玩汽球的瞎子。一个光着上半身、蓄着大胡子、留着披肩发的小伙子手持木叉，在一株长满又长又白的树刺的老树下够刺梨。一户殷实人家中的几个小孩神情悒郁，每人戴副大眼镜，在窗前吹肥皂泡。铃声骤然响起，收容所里的老人该回房了：他们拄着拐棍，戴着草帽，一边喃喃低语，一边依次踏上台阶，走进寝室。两个工人在检修电话线，在下面扶梯子的那位对在电线杆上干活的伙伴说：“下来吧，该收工了，我们明天把它干完吧。” 我们来到港口，面前便是浩瀚的海洋。海边有一排棕榈树和几条石凳。我和妻子坐下，孩子乖乖地待在一边。妻子说：“这里没有蚂蚁。”我接过她的话柄：“而且空气新鲜。在这里待着真舒服。” 海水忽进忽退，拍击着栈桥边的礁石。渔船在轻轻晃动，肤色薰黑的渔民们把一张张红色的鱼网和一个个鱼篓放进船舱，准备晚上出海捕鱼。海面平静，只是颜色在不断变化，时而蓝，时而黑，越到远处，色调越深。我想着远方的海水，想着海底的无数细小沙粒，以及被潜流带到海底、被波涛冲刷得干干净净的洁白的贝壳。