Chapter 6 Chapter Four

The stockman's house was built on stilts some thirty feet above the narrow wadi below, surrounded by a tall, sparse grove of eucalyptus and many willows.After seeing the magnificent Drogheda mansion—it seemed very bare and overly utilitarian, but in terms of its contents, it looked like the house they lived in in New Zealand.The room was full of sturdy Victorian furniture, covered in a thick, fine red dust. "You're lucky to have a bathroom here," said Father Ralph, as he led them up the plank steps to the front porch.The steps were ample to climb, for the house, built flat and secure on stilts, rose fifteen feet above the ground. "If that creek swells," explained Father Ralph, "you'll be at that height, and I've heard it can rise sixty feet in one night."

They did have a bathroom; there was an old tub and a chipped water heater in a walled-off closet at one end of the back porch.However, to the great dissatisfaction of the women, they found that the toilet was about 200 yards from the house, which consisted of nothing but a hole in the floor, and which smelt badly.It's not as good as New Zealand, it's so primitive. "Whoever lived here wasn't a clean man," Fee said, dusting the sideboard with her fingers. Father Ralph laughed. "You're wasting your life trying to get rid of dust," he said. "This is the outback, and there are three things you'll never get over. The heat, the dust, and the flies. No matter what you do, they'll haunt you."

Fee looked at the priest. "You are very kind to us, Father." "Why not you? You are the only relatives of my close friend Mary Carson." She shrugged, not at all moved by his words. "I'm not used to being friendly with a priest. In New Zealand, they're always alone." "You're not a Skytalker, are you?" "Yes, but Paddy's a Catholic. Naturally, the children are brought up Catholic, even the youngest, if that's what worries you." "I never thought of it that way. Are you upset about it?" "This is fine, that's fine, I really don't care."

"Then you haven't converted to Catholicism?" "I am not a hypocrite, Father de Bricassarte. I have disbelieved in my religion, and I do not want to embrace a different creed, but equally meaningless." "I see." He looked at Meggie, who was standing on the front porch, gazing down the road to the big house on Drogheda. "Your daughter is so pretty. You know, I like red-gold hair. Her hair would make the artist want to paint. I've never seen that color before. She's yours." Your only daughter?" ① Refers to Venetian painter Tiziano Viserio (1477-1576), who is famous for painting women with blond hair. -- Annotation

"Yes. The boys carry on from Paddy's and mine, and the girls come out differently." "Poor little thing," he mumbled. When the crate arrived from Sydney, the house was filled with those books, china and knick-knacks; it seemed much more homely.The living room was filled with Fee's furniture, and everything was gradually falling into place.Paddy and the boys older than Stewart were out most of the time, with the two stockmen Mary Carson had not fired, asking them about the relationship between sheep in northwestern New South Wales and New Zealand sheep. Many differences.Fee, Meggie and Stuart discover that living in a foreman's house in Drogheda is very different from running a house in New Zealand.There is a tacit understanding here that they never bother Mary Carson herself, but her housekeeper and maids are as eager to help the women here as her stockmen are to the men. Same.

Everyone knew that Drogheda was a world unto itself.So deep had it been cut off from civilization that it had not been long before even Kiranbo was but a distant memory in their memory.There are stables, a blacksmith's house, garages and countless storage sheds in the enclosure of a family house, where feed, agricultural machinery and other sundries are piled up, which can be said to be everything.There are kennels and feedlots; a labyrinth of livestock pens and a sprawling shearing room with 26 workstations that is a real shock, and behind it is another sprawling pen.There are also poultry farms, pig pens, cow pens and dairy farms, the dwellings of twenty-six shearers, the sheds of the sheep handymen and two smaller houses similar to their own, for The stockmen live; there is also a makeshift shed for the newbies on the ranch, a slaughterhouse, and some lumber stacks.

All this was situated in the middle of a treeless circular space three miles in true diameter, that is, the enclosure of the house.Only from the spot where the foreman's house is located, the dense buildings have just touched the edge of the forest outside the site.But the trees around sheds, pens and feedlots provide welcome and essential shade.Most of these trees are pepper trees, tall, hardy, bushy, peaceful and lovely.In the distance, horses and cows lazily graze on the pasture in the family paddock. At the bottom of a deep ravine beside the head stockman's house, the shallow and turbid river flows slowly.No one would believe Father Ralph's nonsense that the river rose sixty feet overnight. It seemed impossible.The water from the river was hand pressed for bathrooms and kitchens; it took a long time for the women to get used to the greenish-yellow water for bathing, dishes and laundry.Six large corrugated-iron water tanks perched high on wooden boom-like towers, receiving rainwater from the roof for their drinking.They realized, however, that it must be used sparingly and that it should never be used for washing, since there was no guarantee that the next rain would fill the tank.

The sheep and cattle drink the water from the artesian well. The groundwater level here is not shallow, and it is the real artesian well water taken from 3,000 feet below the surface.Boiling water spouted from a pipe at the so-called borehole and flowed through ditches lined with poisonous grass to every paddock in the property.These ditches are drainage ditches for well drilling, and the water in the ditches contains a lot of sulfur and minerals, which is not suitable for human use. Initially, Drogheda shocked them; it was 250,000 acres.The longest side stretches 80 miles.40 miles around the home.There are 27 gates to enter from Killambo, and it is the only settlement close to 106 miles.The narrow east is bounded by the Barwin River, which is the local name for the Darling River River.The Darling River is a thousand miles long and turbid river. It finally flows into South Pacific after the Murray River has surged for 1,500 miles on the land of South Australia; Two miles into the Barwin River.

Paddy and the kids love this place.Sometimes they rode away for days on end miles away from their homes, and at night they slept in the open under the starless sky, as if they were celestial beings. On the gray-brown land, there is vitality.Hordes of kangaroos hopped and flocked through the woods and leaped fences effortlessly; their grace and fitness, their freedom and their sheer numbers were a source of delight.Emus nest in flat grass and stalk their territory like giants; anything unfamiliar will startle them and scuttle away from their dark green, football-sized eggs, Faster than a horse.The brown mounds (earth mounds) built by termites are like small skyscrapers; the gnawing giant ants continue to flow down the river and build caves underground.

There were so many birds, and new ones seemed to keep coming out; they nested not in twos and threes but in thousands; there was a green and yellow parakeet that Fiona had always called lovebirds, The locals call it the peony parrot; another red and blue parrot is called the red parrot.There is also a large light gray parrot with bright red breasts, lower wings and head; and a large pure white bird with a yellow crest on its face is called a sulfur-crested white parrot.Tiny finches flit up and down, house sparrows and starlings are not far behind; dark brown greyhounds sing or swoop down on their tastiest food, snakes.Almost all of the birds are almost human, fearlessly perched in the trees by the hundreds; they roll their bright, intelligent eyes around, screech, chirp, and sing, imitating the sounds that can make sounds. The various sounds of all things.

Frightening lizards five or six feet long crawling heavily on the ground, jumping lightly and easily on high-hanging branches, feeling equally at ease in the air as on the ground, they are Australia's great scorpion, and here are many other scorpions, smaller but just as formidable, either with horny triceratops-style mandibles on their necks, or bulging brilliant blue Tongues, and as for snakes, there are innumerable species.The Clearys heard.The largest snakes that appear to be the most dangerous are often the least harmful, while small tree stump-looking, foot-long snakes can be deadly venomous snakes, such as elaphes, copperheads, tree snakes, red-bellied black snakes, and brown snakes , Poisonous tiger snake. And insects too!Grasshoppers, locusts, crickets, bees, flies of all sizes and species, cicadas, gnats, sunflies, giant moths and tons of butterflies!Some of the spiders were frighteningly large and furry, with their legs inches from the crotch.Some hide in inconspicuous places in the toilet, which look dark and small, but are actually deadly; Sitting on thrones woven with spiderwebs hanging from blades of grass; others burrowed into small holes in the ground and covered them with things. There are also carnivores here: fearless wild boars, ferocious meat-eating, black-haired, tall as adult bison; native Australian dingoes sneaking close to the ground and hiding in the grass; hundreds of crows Chattering wearily and desolately on the white dry branches of dead trees; vultures soar motionless through the air on the draft. Flocks of sheep and cattle must be protected from these predators, especially if they lose their young.Kangaroos and rabbits eat precious pastures, wild pigs and dogs prey on lambs, calves and sick animals; crows peck at eyes.The Clearys had to learn to shoot, and they always carried their rifles with them when they rode.Sometimes they let a stray beast die, and sometimes they killed a boar or a wild dog. Despite the ecstasy of the boys, this is life.None of them missed New Zealand.When swarms of flies swarmed the corners of their eyes, noses, mouths, and ears, they followed the Australian practice and hung strings of corks from the ends of a loop of string around the brim of their hats.In order to prevent reptiles from getting into their bulging trouser legs.They use a strip of kangaroo leather called a "pants tie" to tie it under the knees.They couldn't help laughing at the silly-sounding name, but were awed by its necessity.Compared to here, New Zealand looks dull.This is life. ①This is a kind of rope or leather strap used by Australian laborers to tie their trousers around their knees. -- Annotation Confined to the home and the vicinity of the house, women find life far less agreeable, since they have no leisure, no excuse for riding, and no incentive to engage in various activities.Women's work is always harder: cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, and babysitting.They had to contend with the heat, the dust, the flies, the many steps and the muddy water; almost all year round there was a shortage of men to carry things, chop wood, pump water, and kill chickens and ducks.The heat was especially unbearable, and it was only the beginning of spring, but even so, the thermometer outside in the shade of the verandah was hitting 100 degrees every day; in the kitchen of the Anzen stove, the temperature reached 120 degrees. ① refers to the temperature in Fahrenheit. -- Annotation They wore inner and outer clothing tailored to suit the New Zealand climate, where it was almost always cool inside.Mary Carson came to see her younger siblings during one of her walking sessions as a form of exercise; she was utterly disapproving of the high-necked, floor-sweeping calico dress that Fee wore.She herself was wearing a fashionable beige silk dress, which was only half the length of her calf, with loose half sleeves, no waist, a very low neckline, and her neck was exposed. "Honestly, Fee, you're very old-fashioned," she said, glancing around the drawing room.It had freshly painted beige walls, Persian rugs on the floor, and long, extremely expensive furniture. "I have no time, so I have to," said Fee, always so terse when she was the hostess. "The men are out all the time and cooking much less. You'll have time. Cut your clothes shorter and don't wear petticoats and corsets, or you'll die of heat in summer. You know, summer temperatures It's 15 or 20 degrees higher." Her eyes rested on the portrait of a beautiful blond woman in a Queen Eugenia dress. "Who's that?" she asked, pointing. ①Queen Eugenia, 1826-1920, Queen of France, wife of Napoleon III. -- Annotation "My grandmother." "Oh, really? What about the furniture and rugs?" "It's mine, my grandmother gave it to me." "Oh, really? My dear Fee, you're down in the woods, aren't you?" Fee never lost her temper, so she wasn't angry now, but her thin lips were getting thinner. "I don't think so, Mary. I have a good husband; you should understand that." "But he has nothing. What was your last name before marriage?" "Armstrong." "Oh, really? Not Roderick Armstrong's?" "He's my eldest brother. He has the same name as my great-grandfather." Mary Carson got to her feet and flicked her sombrero at the flies, which did not discriminate against anyone. "Oh, you're better off than the Clearys, even I have to say so. Love Padyman enough to give it all up, don't you?" "I have a reason for what I do," Fee said flatly. "It's my business, Mary, not yours. I don't talk about my husband, not even with his own sister." The lines on either side of Mary Carson's nose had deepened, and her eyes had bulged a little. "Ouch, ooh!" She never came back, but her housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, came often, telling them over and over Mary Carson's advice on their dress. "Look," she said, "I've got a sewing-machine in the house that I never use. I'll get two or three handymen to bring it up, and if I do use it, I'll use it here." Her eyes turned to little Hal running about on the floor. "I like hearing children's voices, Mrs. Cleary." The mail came every six weeks from Killambo in a horse-drawn wagon, the only contact with the outside world: Drogheda had a Ford truck, a specially constructed Ford truck with a water tank on the chassis, A Model T Ford and a Rolls-Royce limousine, but no one seemed to have touched them except Mary Carson going to Gilly. 40 miles seems like a long way off. Bluey Williams was contracted to mail the district, and came to his district every six weeks.His flat-topped cart with ten-foot wheels, drawn by a majestic twelve horses, was loaded with all the items ordered by the back country ranch.As well as Royal Mail mail, he also delivered groceries, 44-gallon barrels of petrol, 62-gallon squares of kerosene, hay, sacks of corn, white cloth bags of sugar and flour, wooden boxes of tea, sacks of potatoes, farm machinery, mail-order toys and clothes from Anthony Hortie's shop in Sydney, and everything else that had to be brought in from outside Kiriju.He's going at a brisk pace of 20 miles a day.You are welcome wherever you stop.People asked him for the news and the weather in the distance, handed him money carefully wrapped in scrawled paper to buy things in Gilly; Royal Government country post"marked canvas bag. There were only two ranches on either side of the Kiri route, the nearer Drogheda, the farther away was Buguera, beyond which the mail could only be delivered once every six months.Bluey's wagon made a wide arc on the winding road, past all the pastures to the southwest, west, and northwest, then returned to Gilly and set off east again.The east side is shorter, because the 60 miles east of the town of Bloo are not part of the town of Bloo.Sometimes he brought in visitors or people looking for work by sitting beside him on an uncovered leather seat; Go out; and, on rare occasions, take the governess too.The ranchers had their own cars, but those who worked for the ranchers depended on Bluey for travel, shopping, and mail. After getting a few bolts of cloth from the mail order, Fee sat down at the sewing machine that had been given to her and began to sew baggy clothes out of muslin for herself and Meggie, light trousers and coats for the men, and light trousers and coats for the men. Er Xuan made a smock, and some curtains.After taking off the underwear and tight outerwear, it is undoubtedly much cooler. Meggie's life was lonely, and Stuart was the only boy left at home.Jack and Hughie had gone with their father to learn how to be stockmen, that is to say, to be "jeshulu"--that's what people called an inexperienced stockman.Stuart was not Jack and Hughie's company, he seemed to live in a world without anyone else; such a small boy, he would rather sit for hours and watch the activities of the ant colony than climb a tree; But Meggie likes to climb trees. She thinks the eucalyptus trees in Australia are very majestic, with countless varieties, and difficult to climb.That's not to say they had a lot of time to climb trees, or watch ants.Meggie and Stuart had a lot of work.They chop and carry logs, dig pits for rubbish, tend the vegetable gardens, and tend poultry and pigs.They also learned how to get rid of snakes and spiders, although they were always afraid of these things. In the past few years, the rainfall has not been too much, and the water in the creek is very shallow, but the water tank is half full.The grass was not bad, but not what it was when it was lush and rich. "It might be worse," said Mrs. Mary Carson viciously. However, before there was a real drought, they were hit by a flood.Halfway through January, the southern edge of the northwest monsoon hits the country.The gusts of wind are simply unreasonable, and they can blow as they like.Sometimes they bring only a soaking summer rain to the northern extremities of the continent; sometimes they blow far across the interior, sending a damp summer to mild and unfortunate Sydney.That January, storm clouds darkened the sky and were torn into rain-soaked pieces by the wind.It began to rain, and it was not an ordinary downpour, but a continuous, protracted storm. They've been alerted.Bluey Williams arrived with his roof-topped wagon, followed by a dozen spare horses, because he was going to make the trip before it rained so the pastures wouldn't get what they needed thing. "The monsoon is coming," he said, rolling a cigarette and pointing his whip at the piles of extra groceries he'd brought. "The water in Cooper, Baco and Diamantina is really a river, and the overflow town is really overflowing. The whole outback of Queensland is two feet deep, and those poor guys used to want to find a high hill. , she saves their sheep." Immediately, there was a suppressed panic here.Paddy and the boys worked like mad, driving the sheep out of the low-lying paddocks, and keeping the flock as far away from the creek and Barwin as possible.Here came Father Ralph, saddled up, and with the best pack of dogs, he set off with Frank down the Barwyn to two paddocks that had not been cleared, while Paddy and the two stockmen each led a man. The child walked in another direction. Father Ralph himself was an excellent shepherd.He was riding the thoroughbred sorrel mare Mary Carson gave him, wearing well-crafted, flawless yellow leather breeches, a pair of shiny silver tan boots, and a white as snow coat. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up over his muscular arms, and the neck was open to reveal a smooth, tan chest.Frank wore baggy old denim trousers with "tie ties" and gray flannel underwear; he felt like a poor relation.Is it not?He thought self-consciously, as he followed behind a man with a straight back on a good horse, across a field of boxwood and green pines far away from the creek.He himself rode an unruly mottled shepherd's horse, a violent beast, not only fond of its own way, but also extremely hostile to other horses.The dogs barked and leaped excitedly, bit and howled at each other, until Father Ralph gave his shepherd's whip an unceremonious lash and lashed them down.The man, it seemed, was omnipotent, he knew the whistle to tell the dogs to do their work, and he had a better whip than Frank, though he was still learning the exotic Australian art. The blue Queensland bulldog who led the pack was very affectionate and obedient to the priest, which meant that Frank was unquestionably secondary.It didn't bother Frankland at all, he was the only one of Paddy's sons who didn't like life on Drogheda.He wanted nothing more than to get out of New Zealand, but not here.He loathed the endless prowling of the paddocks, the fact that he slept most nights on the hard surface, and he hated ferocious dogs that couldn't be kept as pets: when they couldn't work, they would was shot and killed. Still, there was something new and adventurous about riding a horse into a sea of ​​gathering clouds.Even the trees, bending and crackling to the wind, seemed to dance wildly with a strange joy.Father Ralph scurried about like a maniac, chasing the dogs at the unsuspecting flock, scaring the furry fools into jumping and bleating until the The squat dogs galloped across the grass to herd them close together before chasing them away.The few men who managed a property as large as Drogheda had only by keeping the dogs, trained to herd sheep and cattle; surprisingly intelligent, they seldom needed instruction. As night fell, Father Ralph and the dogs, with the help of Frank, who was trying his best but ineffectively behind them, drove all the sheep out of one pen; It takes days of labor.He unsaddled his mare near a grove of trees by the gate of the second paddock, and said optimistically that they couldn't get the sheep out of the pen before it rained.The dogs lay flat on the grass, tongues out, and the great Queensland blue wagged its head and curled up at Father Ralph's feet.Frank scooped out a hunk of chewy-looking kangaroo meat from his saddlebag and tossed it to the dogs; "Damn beast," he said. "They're not like dogs, they're a pack of wolves." "Perhaps these dogs are closer to God's purpose for dogs, I think," said Father Ralph gently. "Alert, smart, aggressive and almost never tame. Personally, I'd rather have them than a breed that's meant to be kept in the house." He smiles. "The same goes for cats. Don't you see them wandering around the shed? They're as wild as leopards and don't let people get close to them. But they're so good at hunting that no one can be their master or keep them. they." He took a piece of cold mutton and a bag of bread and butter from his saddlebag, cut a large piece from the mutton, and handed the rest to Frank.He put his bread and butter on a log between them, and nibbled at the mutton with his white teeth.The water-skins quenched their thirst; then they rolled their cigarettes. Not far from them stood a solitary rue tree, and Father Ralph pointed to it with a cigarette. "Go and sleep over there," he said, untiing the blanket and picking up the saddle. Frank followed him to the tree, generally considered the most beautiful tree in this part of Australia.The leaves are dense and light green, and the shape of the tree is almost round.The leaves are so close to the ground that sheep can easily reach them, and the result is that the base of every rue tree is as straight as a trimmed hedge.If it rains they will be better sheltered under it than under any other tree, for the foliage of Australian trees is generally not as dense as that of wetland woods. "Frank, are you unhappy?" asked Father Ralph, lying down with a sigh, and rolling another cigarette. Frank turned a few feet away from him and looked at him suspiciously. "What is happiness?" "At present, your father and your brother are happy. But you, your mother and your sister are not. Don't you like Australia?" "I don't like this place. I want to go to Sydney. Maybe I'll have a chance of doing something there." "Sydney? That's a dirty place." Father Ralph smiled. "I don't care! I'm not as nailed down here as I was in New Zealand. I can't get rid of him." "he?" Frank, however, had slipped out of it by accident, so he would not say any more.He lay down.Looking at the leaves overhead. "How old are you, Frank?" "twenty one." "Oh, so big! Have you ever left your family?" "No." "Did you go dancing and have a girlfriend?" "No." Frank didn't want to talk to him about himself. "Then he won't stay with you for long." "He's chaining me to death." Father Ralph yawned and settled himself to sleep. "Good night," he said. In the morning the clouds were lower, but the rain did not fall all day, and they finished clearing the second pen.There is a low ridge running from northeast to southwest of Drogheda, and the livestock are all concentrated in pens along this area.Higher ground could be found here if the creek and the Barwin had risen through their channels. When it was getting dark, it began to rain.By this time Frank and the priest were hurrying to where they could ford in the river below the head shepherd's house. "It's no use worrying about breaking the horse now!" cried Father Ralph. "Stand on tight, lad, or you'll drown in the mud!" In an instant, they were all drenched, as was the hardened ground.The fine, compacted soil turned into a swamp of mud, silting up to the hocks of the horses and making them stagger.They managed to trot; the grass was fine, but when they came to the bare ground near the creek they had to dismount.Once the horses were relieved, there was no trouble, but Frank found it impossible to keep his balance.It's worse than being on an ice rink.On hands and knees they climbed slowly up to the top of the bank of the creek, and slid down the bank like slingshots.The cobbled pavement, which was usually flooded only a foot deep, was now churning with foam up to four feet; Frank heard the priest laughing.Urged on by shouts and the whipping of wet hats, the horses managed to climb the far bank unharmed; but Frank and Father Ralph could not, and every time they tried they slipped.Just as the priest suggested climbing up a willow tree, the unridden horse ran away and alarmed Paddy, who came with the rope and threw it to them. Lord Ralph smiled and shook his head, declining Paddy's gracious invitation. "I must go to the mansion," said he. Mary Carson heard his call before her servants heard him, for he detoured to the front door, thinking it would be easier to get to his room. "You can't go in like this," she said, standing in the corridor. "Then please, bring me a few towels, and bring me the box." She watched without embarrassment as he stripped off his shirt, boots, and breeches, leaning against the half-open French doors into her living room as he wiped the mud off with a towel. "You are the most handsome man I have ever seen, Ralph de Bricassarte," she said. "Why are so many priests beautiful? Because they are Irish? You Irish are a handsome people. Or else handsome men find the priesthood a refuge from the consequences of their looks." ?I bet the girls in Gilly would break their hearts for you." "I've learned long ago not to look at those lovesick girls." He laughed. "Any priest under the age of 50 was targeted by some of them. Priests under the age of 35 were often targeted by all of them. But only the Jesuit girl openly tried to seduce me." "You never answer my questions directly, do you?" She straightened up and put her palm on his chest without moving. "You're a luxury, a pleasure-loving man, Ralph, and you're on good terms. Is your whole body that dark?" He smiled, bowed his head, laughed again at her hair, and unbuttoned his cotton underpants with both hands; ① stood there like a statue, while that circled around him, watching calmly. ① Praxetelis, 370 BC? -330 years?Famous Athenian sculptor. -- Annotation He had been excited these two days, excited by the sudden realization that she might be more vulnerable than he had thought; but he knew her and thought it would do no harm to ask: "Do you want me to make love to you, Mary?" She looked at the sagging thing between his legs and laughed aloud. "I don't want to be hard on you! Do you want a woman, Ralph?" He tossed his head back contemptuously. "No!" "Where are the men?" "They're worse than women. No, I don't need to." "So need yourself?" "Last need." "Interesting." She pushed the French doors open and walked through into the living room. "My lord, Cardinal Ralph de Bricassart!" she said sarcastically.But, avoiding his penetrating eyes, she sank into the high-backed chair; she clenched her fists and complained of her odd fate. Father Ralph came out of the porch naked, with his arms raised above his head, his eyes closed; and he stood on the manicured lawn.He let the pouring rain wash over him warmly, slap him, arouse a strange feeling on his bare skin.It was so dark that he couldn't see his fingers, but his body was soft and he was unmoved by it. The water climbed up the bank of the creek, slipped over the stakes of Paddy's house, and flowed over the distant paddock of the house toward the house. "The water will go down tomorrow," said Mary Carson anxiously when Paddy rushed to report. As always, she was right; over the next week the water receded, eventually receding into its normal channel.The sun came out and the temperature in the shade quickly rose to 115 degrees.The grass seems to be connected with the sky, the grass is knee-deep, shining brightly, dazzling the eyes.The rain-washed trees were glistening, and flocks of parrots were flying back from where they had gone, chattering more than ever as the rain fell on their iridescent bodies hidden in the woods. Chirping. Father Ralph had gone back to help his neglected parishioners, calm in the knowledge that he would not be reprimanded; under his plain white shirt lay a check for £1,000 on his chest , His Excellency Bishop will be ecstatic. The sheep returned to their normal pastures, and the Clearys had to learn the outback napping habit.They wake up at 5 o'clock, arrange everything by noon, and then fall asleep sweating profusely until 5 o'clock in the afternoon.The woman at home is all the same as the man in the paddock. After five o'clock they worked on the odd jobs they couldn't do earlier, and ate at a table off the corridor as the sun went down.所有的床铺也搬到了外面，因为通夜都炎热难耐。几个星期以来，似乎不论是白天或黑夜，温度计的水银柱都没下过100度。吃牛肉已经是很久以前的事了，现在吃的只是小块的、在吃完前不至于腐烂的；绵羊肉。他们希望能换换口昧，不再吃那老一套的烤羊排、炖羊内、绵羊肉做的羊馅馅饼、咖哩羊肉、烤羊腿、水煮腌羊肉和蒸羊肉了。 但是，二月初，梅吉和斯图尔特的生活有了突变。他们被送到了基兰博的女修道院寄宿，因为再没有比这更近的学校了。帕迪说，等哈尔够了年龄，可以接受悉尼"黑色男修士"学校的函授教育，但在此期间，由于梅吉和斯图尔特一直习惯有老师教他们，于是玛丽·卡森就慷慨解囊，供他们在"圣士字架"女修道院寄宿和就学。再说，菲因为要忙着照看哈尔，也无法监督函授的课程了。杰克和休吉不能继承受教育，这在一开始就是不言而喻的。德罗海达需要他们在工地上出力，而这正中他们的下怀。 经过了德罗海达，尤其是在韦汉的圣心修道院里的日子，梅吉和斯图尔特发觉"圣十字架"修道院里的生活是陌生而又平静的。拉尔夫神父曾经用心良深地告诉过修女们，这两个孩子是由他保护的，他们的姑妈是新南威尔士最富有的女人。于是乎，梅吉的腼腆也就由此习而变成了一种美德，斯图尔待的孤僻以及他那一连几个钟头凝望悠悠长空的习惯则为他赢得了"圣洁"的美誉。 生活的确十分宁静，因为这里只有寥寥可数的几个寄宿生；这个地区有钱供得起了女上寄宿学校的人无一例外地都宁可把子女送到悉尼去。女修道院里散发着上光漆和花的香味，黑暗而高大的走廊里笼罩着宁温和极为神圣肃穆的气氛。声静响息，生活是在一层薄薄的黑纱背后进行的，没有人用藤条打他们，没有人冲他们大呼小叫，事事都有拉尔夫神父呢。 他常常来看他们，并且定期让他们留住在神父宅邸里。他决定用精美的苹果绿来油漆梅吉住的房间。他买来了新窗帘和床上用的新被褥。斯图尔特继续住在那间用米黄色和棕色重新漆过两遍的房间里：斯图尔特是不是快乐，拉尔夫神父似乎从来就没有操过心。他是为了避免得罪那些不得不邀请而请了又叫人后悔的人的。 拉尔夫神父既不知道自己为什么如此喜爱梅吉，也没有花很多时间去伤这个脑筋。喜爱出于怜悯，这是那天在灰飞尘扬的车站广场上，他看到她浇在后面的时候开始的；他敏锐地猜到是她女性的贞淑才使她区别于家人的。至于弗兰克为什么也索然离群，他根本就不感兴趣，也没有感到要怜悯弗兰克。弗兰克的身上有某种使人温情顿消的东西：一颗阴郁的心，一个缺少内心闪光的灵魂。可是梅吉呢？梅吉使他无法遏制地深为动心，他真不知道这是什么原因。她头发的颜色使他心旷神恰，她眼睛的色彩和样子像她的母亲，非常美丽，但却更加可爱，更加传神；至于她的性格，他认为那是完美无暇的女性的性格，温良内向而又极其坚强。梅吉不是一个叛逆者；相反，她将毕生顺从，不越女性命运雷池一步。 但是，所有这些并未改变事情的全貌。也许，如果他更深刻地剖析一下自己的话，他会明白，他对她的感受是时间、地点和人所产生的奇怪的结果。谁也不觉得她举足轻重，这就意味着，在她的生活中存在着能让他插足并极有把握她、赢得她的爱的空间。她是个孩子，因此，对他的生活道路和教士的声誉没有任何危险，她楚楚动人，而他则以美为乐；他最不愿意承认的是：她填补了他生活的空缺，这是他的上帝所无能为力的，因为她是一个有情有爱的血肉之躯。倘若他送给她礼物，她的家人会感到窘迫，他不能这样做，因此，他就尽量地多和她在一起，用重新装修她在神父宅邸里的房间来消磨时间和精力；这与其说是为了使她高兴，毋宁说是在搞个镶嵌来衬托他的瑰宝。为梅吉所做的一切都是货真价实的。 五月初的时候，剪羊工们来到了德罗海达。"玛丽·卡森对德罗海达的一切情况，事无巨细，都是了如指掌的。在剪羊工到来的几天以前，她把帕迪叫到了大宅。她坐在高背椅中连身子都没动，就准确地告诉他应当做什么了，连细微末节都交待得清清楚楚。帕迪习惯的是新西兰的剪毛活儿，有26个工位的巨大的剪毛场当初还真使他吃惊不浅呢；现在，在和他的姐姐谈过话以后一情况和数字便在他的脑子里翻腾开了。要在德罗海达剪毛的不但是德罗海达的羊，布格拉、迪班一迪班和比尔一比尔的羊也要在这里剪毛。这就意味着这里的每一个人，不论男女，都要苦干一场。集体剪毛是这里的习惯，使用德罗海达剪毛设施的各个牧场自然要派人来全力帮忙，可是，干那些零星活计的担子就必不可免地要落在德罗海达人的肩头上。 剪羊工们自己带做饭的人来，从牧场的商店里买食物，但是这一大批食品得有人去搞；摇摇欲坠的、带厨房的临时工棚和附设的简陋的浴室必须冲刷、清理，并且备好褥子和毯子。并不是所有的牧场对剪毛工都是像德罗海达那样慷慨大方的，但是，德罗海达是以它的好客和"棒得累死人的剪毛场"的声誉引以自豪的。由于这是玛丽·卡森参与的一项活动，因此她不吝惜金钱。它不仅是新南威尔士州最大的剪毛场之一，而且它也需要雇佣最能干的人，有杰基·豪那种能力的人，这些剪毛工在把行李包扔上包工头的那辆蓝福特卡车，消失在他们去另一个剪毛场的路上之前，得剪完30多万头绵羊的毛。 弗兰克两个星期不在家了。他和老羊工比尔巴雷尔·皮特带着一群狗、两匹牧羊马和由一匹不愿拉车的小马驾辕的一辆轻型单座两轮马车，载着他们最起码的必需品，到西边远处的围场去了：他们得把羊逐渐地赶到一起，进行挑选和分类。这是一个既缓慢又乏味的活计，与洪水前的那种猛轰猛赶不可同日而语。每个围场都有自己的畜栏，部分分级和打印记的工作在畜栏里就进行了，分好的羊群留在那里，直到被送进剪毛场为止。剪毛场的畜栏一次只能容纳一万头羊，所以，剪毛工们在那里的时候，活儿是不会轻松的，老是得紧张地忙着把没剪毛的羊群和剪过毛的羊群赶进赶出。 弗兰克走进厨房的时候，他母亲正站在洗池边干着她那没完没了的活儿，削着土豆皮。 "妈，我回来了！"他说道，声音里充满了快乐。 她转过身来的时候，显出了凸起的肚子；离家两个星期使他的眼光敏锐了。 "噢，天哪！"他喊道。 她那望着他的双眼失去了欢愉之色，脸羞得通红；她伸出双手捂住了她那鼓起的围裙，好像那双手能遮住衣服所遮不住的东西似的。 弗兰克颤抖了起来。"那个下流的老色鬼！" "弗兰克，我不许你说这种话。现在你是个男子汉了，你应当理解。这和你自己到达这个世上来没什么两样，应当受到同样的尊重。这没什么的。你侮辱你爸爸的时候，你也在侮辱我。" 他不该这么做，他早就不该碰你了！"弗兰克气咻咻地说道，揩去了正在哆嗦着的嘴角上的唾沫星儿。 "这没什么丢脸的，"她没精打彩地重复道，用她那明显疲倦的眼睛望着他，仿佛她突然决定将羞愧永远掩藏起来似的。"弗兰克，这没什么丢脸的，连认它出来的那种事儿也不丢脸。" 这次轮到他脸红了。他无法继续面对她的注视，于是，他转过身去走进了他和鲍勃、杰克、休吉同住的房间。这房间空荡荡的四壁和几张单人小床在嘲笑着他，它的拓燥无味和毫无特色的外观也在嘲笑他；这里缺少一个能使它生气勃勃的人，缺少一种能使它超凡入圣的目标。她的脸庞呢，她那被金发的光晕衬托着的美丽而疲倦的脸庞，正因为她和那个毛茸茸的老色鬼在这暑热炎炎的夏天里所干的好事而感到火辣辣。 他无法摆脱这件事，无法摆脱她，无法摆脱他心灵深处的种种思绪，无法摆脱他的年龄和男子的本能的饥渴。在大多数情况下，他总是设法把这些念头压下去，但是在她将她的色欲的实实本在的证据堂而皇之地展示在他眼前的时候，在她把她和那个老色鬼所干的好事当面对他说出的时候，他能怎么去想呢？怎么能允许这种事呢？怎么能容忍这种事呢？他但愿能把她看作如同圣母一样的神圣、纯洁、而又白壁无暇，看作一个能超脱于这种事情的人，尽管世上所有的姐妹们都犯这样的罪孽。看到她证实了他认为她做了不当的事的相法，简直叫人快发疯了；想象她绝对贞洁地和那个丑陋不堪的老家伙躺在一起，在一处睡觉，但夜里又决不相向而卧或挨在一起，这已经成了支持他神智正常的必需了。啊，上帝呀！ 一种咔嚓的声响使他朝下望去，他发觉他已经把床脚的黄铜杆扭成了S形。 "你为什么不是我爸呢？"他问着那铜杆。 "弗兰克，"母亲站在门口叫道。 他抬起头来，一双黑眼睛熠熠闪光，就像是被雨水打湿了的煤块。"我早晚会宰了他的，"他说道。 "你要是那样干的话，我也会去死的，"菲说着，走到床边坐了下来。 "不，我要让你自由！"他充满希望地、任性地反驳道。 "弗兰克，我永远不会自由的、我也不想自由，我倒想知道你这无名火是打哪儿来的，可我不知道，这既不是我的错，也不是你爸的错。我知道你不顺心，但你用得着拿我或拿你爸来出气吗？你为什么非要把事情搞得那么紧张呢？为什么？"她低头看了看自己的又手，又抬起头来看着他，"我不想说这些话，可是我想我并说不可：现存是你找个姑娘的时候了，弗兰克，结婚吧，自己成个家吧。德罗海达有房子，在这一点上我从来没为别的男孩子担忧过，他们好像和你的天性完全不一样。可是，你得有个妻子，弗兰克。你有了妻子，就不会有时间来想我了。" 他转过身去背对着她，不愿再转过身来。她在床上约摸坐了五分钟，希望他能说些什么。随后，她叹了口气，站起身来，走出了房间。