Chapter 2 Chapter II Experimental Farm

Mr. Bensington originally proposed that as soon as he could really concoct such a thing, he would experiment with tadpoles. In such things, people always use tadpoles first, which is what tadpoles are for.It was also agreed that the experiments would be conducted by him, not by Redwood.Because Redwood's lab was in use, full of the apparatus and bulls needed to study diurnal variations in bull-butting frequency, the research was producing an unnaturally complex curve when the Putting in a few jars of tadpoles while a specific research project is in progress is a nuisance. However, when Mr. Bensington told his intentions to Sister Jane, she categorically forbade any appreciable number of tadpoles or other experimental creatures to be brought into the house.She had no objection to Mr. Bensington's non-explosive pediatric experiments in a house which, as far as she was concerned, were of no value; A small dust-proof cupboard as a refuge from the storm she had to sweep up once a week.She knew some people were addicted to alcohol, and it seemed to her that Bensington's desire to make his way in the academic world was the only way to be exposed to the grosser vice.However, no matter what kind of living things, as long as there are too many of them, she can't stand it, because these things are always "twist" when they are alive, and they will inevitably "smelly" when they die.she says.These things must be harmful to health, and Bensington is notoriously delicate - it would be nonsense to say that he is not delicate.When Bensington explained to her the significance of this possible discovery, she said, well, well, but if she agreed to let him make the house smelly and dirty (as it must), she was sure the chief One complainer has to be Bensington.So Mr. Bensington, ignoring his full corns, paced up and down the room, talking to her rather resolutely and angrily, but to no avail.Bensington said that nothing should stand in the way of "the development of science," which, she said, was not the same thing as raising a lot of tadpoles at home; She said that she was, and has been, very glad that she was not German, and she said that she was, and has always been, glad that she was not a German, given the absolutely certain fact that a well-equipped laboratory of 20,000 cubic feet would immediately be at his disposal; Bensington said , such a thing would make him famous, and she said that in a house like theirs, if there were a lot of tadpoles in a house like theirs, the most likely thing was that he would get sick; the owner of the house, and she replied that she would rather be the headmaster of a high school than serve a lot of tadpoles; Don said she should respect his ideas, and she said they shouldn't, and she didn't want to, if they smelled bad.So Bensington, completely helpless, said--in spite of Huxley's classic judgment on this point--a bad word.Not too bad, but bad enough anyway.

This really annoyed her all of a sudden, and he had to apologize to her, and his plan to use tadpoles to test "God Food" at home disappeared in the sound of apology. Therefore, Bensington had to find another way to conduct breeding experiments , so that that substance, once successfully extracted and modulated, can be used to demonstrate his discovery.For several days, he considered that he might be able to leave the tadpoles at a reliable person's house. Later, he came across a few words in the newspaper by chance, which made him think about setting up an experimental breeding farm.

By the way, chick.When you think of an experimental farm, you immediately think of a poultry farm.He was suddenly attracted by a vision of a chick growing rapidly.He envisioned a cage full of all sorts.The picture of the feeding shed, the extra-large pets that are bigger than the big ones, and the sheds, one as big as the other.Chicks are easily accessible for easy feeding management and are much drier for easy capture and measurement.Now he felt that, for his purpose, the tadpole was an unruly beast compared to the chicken.Di didn't understand how he thought of the tadpole in the first place and not the chicken.Otherwise, regardless of other things, the trouble with sister Zhen would not have happened.He told Redwood about this plan, and Redwood agreed.Redwood said he was convinced that experimenting physiologists made a big mistake by putting so much effort into some insignificant critter.It's just like doing a chemical experiment when there are not enough materials, and you will make a lot of mistakes in reading and operation that shouldn't be there.At present, it is extremely important for scientific people to assert their rights and demand greatness in material data, which is why he is currently conducting a series of experiments at Bond Street College, using bullocks, although these bullocks are in Occasional unruly behavior in the corridors caused some problems for students and professors from other disciplines.However, the curves he obtained are very interesting, and once published, they will fully prove that his choice is correct.As far as he is concerned, if it is not because the country has too little science funding, then as long as he can avoid it, he will never experiment with things smaller than whales.At present, at least in this country, it is probably only a utopia to establish a public natural breeding farm of sufficient scale to realize his wish.If it's in Germany - huh?

Redwood had steers to tend to on a daily basis, so the task of selecting and setting up the experimental pad fell largely to Bensington.The full cost, it goes without saying, was paid by Bensington—until a grant could be obtained.So, Bensington sometimes worked in the laboratory of his residence, and sometimes went to some streets and alleys leading south to the outside of London to look for sites.His scrupulous spectacles, his bald crown, and his battered cloth boots had given hope to the owners of many disapproving estates.He also placed advertisements in several dailies and newspapers for the employment of a reliable man and woman (married), punctual, industrious, and familiar with poultry, to take full charge of a three-acre experimental farm.

He found a place which seemed to suit his needs at Hickriborough, near Usha in Kent.It was a strange secluded place, set in a little valley surrounded by an old pine forest, which was terribly dark at night.A raised sand dune blocked the sunlight here, and a dry well and a dilapidated hut made the residence look short and ugly.The walls of the hut were desolate, and several windows were broken. At midnight, a dark shadow was cast by the carport.This place is a mile and a half away from the people's houses on the edge of the village, and the various indistinct sounds from here can hardly alleviate the loneliness here.

In Bensington's view, this place is very suitable for the needs of scientific research.He walked around all the rooms, waved his arms, and gestured to the positions of various cages, and found that the kitchen could be equipped with a series of incubators and become an incubator with only a few changes.He wanted the house right away.On the way back to London, he stopped at Ludenton and settled with a couple who had answered the advertisement and met his requirements.That night, he succeeded in isolating a sufficient dose of Hercules' Fear No. 1, making what he did that day have practical significance.

The eligible couple—who were destined to serve under Mr. Bensington as the world's first God's Food dispensers—was not only terribly old, but also filthy dirty.This latter point Mr. Bensington does not notice, for nothing destroys the general faculties of observation so much as a career in experimental science.Their names were Skinner, Mr. Skinner, Mrs. Skinner.Mr. Bensington met them in a hut.The windows were tightly sealed, there was a stained mantel-mirror, and there were some sickly weeds. Mrs Skinner was a tiny old woman, hatless, with dirty white hair brushed tightly back, a face formerly occupied mainly by the nose, now toothless, and with a sunken chin. All the organs were shrunk, so only the big nose remained on the face.She was dressed in mouse-gray (if her clothes could be any color at all) slit in one place with red flannel.She let Mr. Bensington in, and talked to him discreetly, looking him over the nose, while Mr. Skinner, she said, was changing his clothes.She still had a tooth, which prevented him from speaking, and she clasped her long, wrinkled hands together nervously, and told Mr. Bensington that she had kept poultry for many years and knew all about brooders; In the past, the two of them opened a breeding farm by themselves, but they couldn't continue because of the lack of students.

"The students pay," said Mrs. Skinner. After a while, Mr. Skinner appeared.He was a large-faced man, with a slurred lisp, and a slanted eye which made him always look over your head, and which Mr. Bensington sympathized with, with his sandals torn. A lot of buttons are missing.With one hand he was holding his coat and shirt, and with the index finger of the other hand he traced patterns on the black and gold drab cloth, his idle eye staring sadly and detachedly at, what shall I say, at Holding the sword of Damocles above Mr. Bensington's head. "You don't set up a farm to make money. Yes, sir. Same thing, sir. Experiment! That's what it says."

He said they could go to the feedlot right away, and he had nothing to do in Ludenton but a little tailoring. "It's not the kind of place I thought I'd get my money from, and I don't make a lot of money," he said. "So, if you think we're right." 【①Dharma sword: Bodhidharma was invited to a banquet by the king, and found that a sharp sword was hanging on his head by a strand of hair, and it might fall off at any time. 】 Within a week Mr and Mrs Skinner were on duty at the feedlot.The carpenter from Hickriboro, a day laborer, was working on cages and chicken coops, while talking systematically to them about Mr. Bensington.

"I haven't seen him much," said Mr. Skinner, "but all I can see is that he's a real fool." "I think he's a little crazy," said the carpenter from Hickribro. "He's obsessed with chickens," said Mr. Skinner. "Oh, for God's sake, you don't think anyone else can keep chickens but him." "He looks like a hen in his own way," said the carpenter from Hickribro. "Look at the way he wears glasses." Mr. Szurner leaned closer to the carpenter from Hickriboro, and as he spoke, his sad eye looked at the distant village, and the other gleamed evilly. "Measure every day—every chicken, he said. Make them fit. What—er? Every baby chicken, every day!"

Mr. Skinner put his hand over his mouth and laughed contagiously, shoulders high - as long as the other eye didn't join in the laugh.After laughing, he was afraid that the carpenter hadn't listened to him, so he whispered vigorously, "Measure!" "He's worse than our old employer, or I'd die!" said the carpenter from Hickribro. Experimental work is the most tedious work in the world (not counting the reports published in the Proceedings of the Royal Society), Mr. Bensington felt; It took such a long time.In October he got these ten experimental farms. Five months passed before there was any sign of success. Heracles No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3 have tried all of them, but they all failed; The Na couple got entangled.The only way to get Skinner to do what he was told to do was to say he should be fired.Thus he wiped his unshaven chin with one outstretched hand—it was a miracle that he never shaved, but he was never bearded—and looked at Mr. Bensington with one eye, and with the other. Looking over Bensington's head with one eye, he said, "Oh, of course, sir—if you really want to!" Finally, the dawn of success appeared.It was reported by a slim letter from Mr. Skinner. "The new chicks," wrote Mr. Skinner, "are nothing like chicks. They are growing uncontrollably--not at all like the batch you hatched before you gave instructions. That batch was Nice, solid chicks, if only the cats hadn't got them; but this one goes up like thistles. I've never seen one like that. They eat so hard they don't As much as a man's boot, there's no way to get the exact number you're asking for. They're real big guys, and they eat a lot. We'll have to ask for some more feed soon, and you don't know what the chicks are How to eat them. They are bigger than bantams. At this rate, these overgrown chickens should be put on display. Pridis chickens are better than it. Last night, I thought the cat was going to eat them, and I was scared One jump; I looked out the window and saw the cat slipping in from under the barbed wire, I can swear by it. When I got to the chicken coop, the chicks were awake and hungry and pecking everywhere, but the cat was nowhere to be seen .I fed some more grain and bolted the gate firmly. We'd like to know if it's still being fed as you pointed out. The ones you prepared are almost gone. Because of the pudding incident, I'm willing to go again I deserved it myself. We both wish you the best, please continue to take good care of us. respect you Alfred Newton Skinner" The hint at the end of the letter referred to a panna cotta, somehow mixed with some Hercules II, which caused the Skinners so much pain that they nearly died. Mr. Bensington, however, could read between the lines, and from this uncontrollable growth he realized that he had attained the long-sought goal.Early the next morning, he got off the train at Usha station, carrying a bag.There were three airtight tin cans in the bag, all of which contained "god food". Enough to feed all the chickens in Kent. It was a sunny morning in late May, and Mr. Bensington, whose corns were much better, decided to walk past Hickriboro to his feedlot.The journey was two and a half miles, through the village of Plowland, and along the main land among the green woods of the Hickriboro Game Reserve.It was the height of spring, and the trees were a bright green, the hedgerows were full of thornweed and carnations, the woods were full of blue hyacinths and purple orchids; -thrushes, starlings, robins, and songbirds of all kinds, and many others--in a warm corner of the single field, some ferns were creeping up; Jumping, galloping past. All brought back to Mr. Bensington those long-forgotten pleasures of early life; and before him, his discoveries, the prospects bright and gratifying, he felt himself indeed to be the happiest time of his life.He saw that under the shade of the pine trees, beside the sandy land on the river bank, in the chicken shed under the sun, the chicks that had eaten the feed he prepared were already big and stupid, even older than many that had been mated.Formed hens are even larger and, still growing, are still covered with their original yellow down (only a little hazel showing on the back).At this moment, he knew that the happiest day of his life had indeed come. At Mr. Skinner's best urging, he approached the coop, but, after a peck or two at the ruff of his shoe, he withdrew.Watching the group of monsters through the barbed wire.He leaned close to the barbed wire, watching their every move, as if he had never seen a chick in his life. "I can't imagine what they're going to be when they grow up," Skinner said. "As big as a horse," said Mr. Bensington. "Basically," Skinner said. "One wing is enough to feed several people!" said Mr. Bensington. "The bones must be taken out like pork." "It's not going to last forever," Mr Skinner said. "No?" asked Mr. Bensington. "No," said Mr. Skinner. "I know that kind of thing. It grows very fast at first, and then it slows down, thank God! No." After a pause, Mr. Skinner said modestly, "It's all about management." Mr. Bensington turned sharply to look at him. "We had about that size at the old place," Mr Skinner said.That good eye rolled up reverently, a little carried away, "My wife and I." Mr. Bensington made his usual general inspection of the premises, but soon returned to the new coop.You know, the actual situation is really much more than he dared to expect.The path of science is so difficult.Slowly, from having a clear possibility to real success, it almost takes years of complicated painstaking anxiety, but now——after less than a year of experimentation, "God Food" has succeeded!It seemed good--too good, that lingering hope of getting in!What was once a commonplace of scientific conception is no longer relevant to him!At least at the time, that's how he felt.He turned back to staring at his chicks, looking and looking. "Let me see," he thought, as they had been hatched for ten days.Compared with the average chick, I think - six times bigger.seven times" "It's about time we asked for a raise," Mr. Skinner said to his wife. "He looked at the chickens we had in the shed, and he was as happy as he was--as happy as he was." He leaned over her confidentially. "I thought it depended on his chicken food," he covered his mouth with his hand, and couldn't help the burst of laughter in his throat Mr. Bensington was indeed a happy man that day.He didn't want to find fault with other management details.The bright day naturally revealed the Skinners' growing lethargy more clearly than he had ever seen before.He just said a few words very gently.The walls of many chicken coops were broken, but Mr. Skinner explained, "I don't know if it was a fox, or a dog, or something," and he seemed content.He pointed out that the incubators had not been cleaned. "No, sir," said Mrs. Skinner, with an embarrassed nasal smile, folding her arms. "Since we've been here, we've barely had time to clean" Mr. Bensington went upstairs to see Skinner and said he had put some mouse holes in the traps - very large ones, of course - and found the room where the "God Food" and the chaff were made was a disgrace. .The Skinners were the kind of people who took out old dishes and old tin cans.The pickle jars and wasabi boxes both came in handy, and there were piles of them all over the place.In one corner Skinner's pile of apples was rotting.From a nail where the ceiling sloped, hung several rabbit skins with which Skinner said he wanted to test his genius as a cobbler. (“There’s nothing I don’t know, fur or anything else,” Skinner said.) Mr. Bensington, of course, sniffed dissatisfiedly at the sight of this messy mess, but there was no unnecessary fuss, even when a wasp was found in a clay pot half filled with Hercules' Dread IV. When Li ate and ate, he only said kindly that these things had better be sealed and put away, not exposed like this, so as to avoid moisture. Then he changed the subject and said--he had been thinking about it for a while--"I think, Skinner--you know, I'm going to kill one of those chicks--for a taxidermy. Today We'll kill it this afternoon, and I'll take it back to London." He pretended to look into another clay pot, then took off his glasses to wipe them. "I want," he said, "I'd love to leave a keepsake—a souvenir—of the litter, of this day." "By the way," he said, "you didn't feed those chicks, did you?" "Oh! no, sir," said Skinner. "I'll swear, sir, we're too good at handling chickens of all kinds to do that." "Are you sure you didn't throw your leftovers over there--I think I see some rabbit bones scattered around the corner of the chicken coop--" However, when they got there, they found that there were some big cat bones, which had been pecked clean and dried up. "That's not a chick," said Mr. Bensington's sister Jane. "Well, I think I'll recognize a chick when I see one," said Mr. Bensington's sister Jane, quite angrily. "If you say it's a chicken, it's a lady, it's one; besides, you can clearly tell that it's not a chicken." "It's more like a bustard than a chicken." "I thought," said Redwood, resignedly allowing Mr. Bensington to draw himself into the debate. "I must admit, considering all the evidence—" "Oh! if you just think," said Mrs. Bensington's sister Jane, "and don't look like a man with common sense—" "Well, really, though. Miss Bensington—" "Oh! Go on!" Sister Zhen said. "You men are all alike." "Considering all the evidence, this thing certainly fits the definition of a chicken—no doubt it's unusual and ridiculously large, but it's still—especially because it hatched from the egg of an ordinary hen. Yes Yes, I think, Miss Bensington, I must confess—if you want to call him anything, you'll have to call him a chick." "Did you say it was a chicken?" Sister Zhen asked. "I thought it was a chick," Redwood said. "Nonsense!" said Mrs. Bensington's sister Jane. "Oh!" She pointed to Redwood's head. Door. "It was a great comfort to me to see it, too, Bensington," said Redwood, when the slamming door died away, "despite its size." Without being urged by Mr. Bensington, he sat down in a low arm-chair by the fire, and said things which even a non-scientific person would find indiscreet. "You'll think I'm too roopy, Bensington, I know," said he, "but I do put a little—not a lot—just a little—of that sort of thing in the baby's bottle, About a week ago!" "But what if—!" cried Mr. Bensington. "I know," Redwood said, glancing at the huge chicken on the plate on the table. "It turned out to be all right, thank God." He reached into his pocket for a cigarette.Then he gave some scattered and incoherent details. "Poor little chap is losing weight and dying. Winkles, a lousy piece of shit. Ex-student of mine; no use. Mrs. Redwood - trust Winkles absolutely. You are You know, that chap is terribly tall--bossy. Doesn't listen to me, of course. Taught Winkles. Almost keeps me out of the nursery. Had to figure something out. Babysitter at breakfast , Yu stole in and got the bottle." "But he will grow," said Mr. Bensington. "He's growing. Twenty-six ounces last week. You should have heard what Winkles said. It's all nursing, he said." "My God! That's exactly what Skinner said!" Redwood looked at the chick again. "The trouble is how it's going to last," he said, "and they're going to leave me alone in the nursery because I tried to take a growth curve from Georgina Phyllis—how would I serve him?" Where's the second dose—" "Is it still necessary?" "He cried for two days—can't get used to normal food anymore anyway. Eats more now." "Tell Winkles." "Hang Winkles!" said Redwood. "You can impress Winkles and give him some powder to feed the child—" "I'm afraid I'll have to," said Redwood, resting his chin on his fist and keeping his eyes on the fire. Bensington stood for a moment, stroking the down on the huge chick's breast. "They grow into enormous chickens," he said. "It will," said Redwood, still looking at the fire. "As big as a horse," said Bensington. "And bigger," Redwood said, "you can't go wrong," Bensington leaves the specimen. "Redwood," he said, "these chickens will make a splash." Redwood nodded toward the fire. "Ah!" said Bensington, approaching suddenly, the lenses of his spectacles flashed, "so will your little son!" "That's exactly what I was thinking," Redwood said.He leaned back in his chair, sighed, threw his unfinished cigarette into the fire, and thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets. "That's exactly what I was thinking. The Horror of Hercules would be a weird thing to handle. How fast that chick is growing—!" "A child grows at that rate," said Mr. Bensington slowly, gazing at the chicken. "I say!" said Bensington, "he's going to grow very big." "I'm going to reduce his dose," Redwood said. "Otherwise, Winkles would have done the same." "This experiment went a little too far." "It's really too much." "But, you know, I'll be honest that sooner or later one of the kids will have to try." "Oh, we've got to try some kid—of course." "Exactly," said Bensington, coming and standing on the hearth-rug, taking off his spectacles to polish them. "Before I saw these chickens, Redwood, I think, I didn't realize -- not at all -- what we might have built. Now I'm starting to kind of understand the possible consequences. And even then, you know, Mr. Bensington was far from thinking what kind of mine this little fuse was going to set off. It happened in early June.A bad cold prevented Bensington from going to the experimental breeding farm for several weeks, and Redwood flew out on business.When the father came back, he looked more anxious than before he left. A total of seven weeks were spent in steady and continuous growth. Then the wasps emerged. The first hornets were killed in late June, a week before the hens escaped from Hickriboro.It was reported in the good papers, but I do not know whether Mr. Bensington heard the news, much less connected it with the whole loose methods of the Experimental Farm.There is little doubt now that while Mr. Skinner was feeding Mr. Bensington's chickens the fear of Hercules No. 4, some wasps were equally assiduously - perhaps more diligently. —carried a large quantity of this paste to the side of the nearby pine forest for their young bees that were just born in early summer.It cannot be disputed that these early broods derived as much benefit from this substance as Mr. Bensington's chicks.Wasps are inherently more mature than poultry, and, in fact, of all living creatures which, through the generous carelessness of Mr. and Mrs. Skinners, have shared in the vast benefits Mr. Bensington has so generously bestowed on his hens, wasps were the first The world is in the limelight. On the birthplace of Lieutenant Colonel Rupert Schick near Medelston, a keeper named Godfrey encountered the first recorded monster and narrowly killed it.Godfrey was walking through knee-deep ferns through a clearing in the beech forest that dots the Schick High School grounds, with a gun slung over his shoulder—a double barrel, luckily. Take a shot—and then he saw the monster.Godfrey said it was coming from the backlight so he couldn't see it, and it made a "car-like" hum as it came.Godfrey admits he was taken aback.The thing was obviously as big as an owl, maybe a little bigger, and to Godfrey's experienced eyes, the way it flew, especially the flapping of its wings, was like a cloud of fog, vague and strange. Very, not like birds.I guess it was due to the instinct of self-defense, coupled with long-term habits, that made him, as he said, "raise your hand to shoot." It is probable that the strangeness of that experience affected his marksmanship, anyway, most of the iron sand he shot missed, and the thing just fell and made an angry buzzing sound, which immediately revealed that it was a wasp. Then it flew up again, all the stripes on its body shining in the light.Godfrey said it was flying towards him.Anyhow, down to twenty yards, he fired a second round, then dropped the gun, took a step or two, and ducked down for cover. Godfrey was sure the thing flew within a yard of him, hit the ground, flew up again, and fell about thirty yards away, writhing and writhing, the stinger protruding backwards, struggling to the death.He fired both barrels of bullets into it before he dared to venture forward. He measured the thing, and found that the spread wings were twenty-seven and a half inches wide, and the needles three inches long.The belly had been blown away, but Godfrey reckoned it was eighteen inches from the top of the head to the stinger—an estimate that was almost accurate.Its compound eyes are the size of penny coins. This is where those bumblebees made their first real appearance.The next day, a man was cycling downhill between Sevenoaks and Tonbridge, with his feet dangling, and almost crushing a second giant bee as it lumbered across the road.The passing of the man alarmed it, and it flew up with a sound like a sawmill.Startled, the man sprinted to the side of the road on his bicycle, and when he looked back, he saw the wasp flying towards Westerham from above the woods. After riding wobbly for a while, he stopped the bike—shaking so much that he fell to the ground when he got off—and sat on the side of the road to collect himself.He had intended to go to Ashford, but he only reached Tonbridge that day. Since then, strange to say, there has been no record of any sighting of the bumblebee for three consecutive days.Referring to the weather records, I found that the days were overcast with heavy rain in some areas, so it was very cold, which may be the reason for the interruption.Then, on the fourth day, the blue sky was bright and sunny, and a swarm of wasps the world had never seen before rushed out. It is impossible to guess how many giant bees came out that day.There are at least fifty kinds of anecdotes about them.A man in distress, a grocer, found a giant bee in a sugar-bowl, and recklessly took his shovel, and struck it down just as it was about to fly.He knocked it down for a while, and when the ground went to chop it in two, the thing stung him through his boot.Of the two, he died first. The most dramatic of the fifty wonders was, of course, the giant bee's midday visit to the British Museum.It descended suddenly from the clear blue sky, landed on one of the countless pigeons kept in the courtyard of the building, and flew to the cornice to devour its victim at leisure.Then, it crawled slowly on the roof of the museum for a while, got into the dome of the reading room through the skylight, and flew around a few times buzzing inside—the readers ran away in fright—at last it found a window, and suddenly Disappeared, people never see it again. Most of the rest of the reports are about their flybys or raids.A group of picnickers are dispersed at Eddington Knoll, all sweet tooth.The jam was swept away.A dog was killed and torn to pieces in front of its mistress near Whitstable. That night, there were cries of hawkers and newspapers in every street.The posters are all headlined by the "Giant Hornet of Kent".Agitated editors and assistant editors were running up and down the winding stairs, shouting about the Wasp, and Professor Redwood came out of Bond Street College at five o'clock, —had just quarreled with his committee over the price of the steer, and was still flushed—he bought an evening paper, opened it, was horrified, and immediately forgot the steer and the committee. Net, called a small carriage, and went straight to Bensington's apartment. Redwood felt that Bensington's apartment was entirely occupied by Mr. Skinner and his voice to the exclusion of all other sensible objects, if you could really call him or his voice sensible. ①The words of the object. [① The author has a pun here. Sensible—the word is interpreted as "perceivable", and it is also interpreted as "common sense" and "wise".] The voice cried out in all sorts of very painful tones. "We can't stay any longer, sir. We came here... hoping for the better, but it turned out to be worse, sir, and not only the bumblebees. Sir—and the big earwig, sir—there's such a big Sir." (He points to the whole palm, plus about three inches of fat, dirty wrist.) "They almost freaked out Mrs Skinner, sir. And those stinging nettles by the side of the chicken coop ，先生，它们也在长呀，先生，还有金丝雀蔓草，先生，我们种在阴沟旁边的，先生——夜里，它们那些卷须从窗口伸进来，差点儿没绕住斯金纳大大的腿，先生。全是因为您的那种食儿呀，先生。下管我们在哪儿撒了一点儿，先生，就一丁点儿，所有的东西就疯长起来，先生。我从来没想到有什么东西能这么长法。不可能再呆一个月了，先生。那样，我们的命就保不注了，先生。就算黄蜂不叮我们，也得给那些藤藤蔓蔓绞死，先生。您想象不到，先生——除非您去瞧瞧，先生——” 他那只高傲的眼睛向雷德伍德头顶上面的檐板转去。“我们哪能知道那些耗子是不是没吃这种东西呀，先生。这是我最留神的，先生。我倒还没看见什么大耗子，先生，可谁知道呢，先生。就力我们看见的那只大蠼螋，我们担惊受怕了好几天，——有龙虾那么大呢——两只，先生——还有金丝雀蔓草，那种吓人的长法，我一听说黄蜂的事——一听说，先生，我就明白了。我一刻也没耽误，光钉上一个早就掉了的扣子，当下就来这儿了。这会子，先生，我还是急得要疯了似的，先生。谁知道斯金纳大大会出什么事呀，先生！那些卷须像蛇一样，到处部长满了，先生——我敢发誓。您得小心，先生，赶紧躲开它们！——还有蠼螋，越长越大，还有黄蜂——要是出了什么事，先生，——她可连个律师都没有哇，先生！” “可是鸡呢，”本辛顿先生问，“鸡怎么样了？” “我们一直喂到了昨天，我敢发誓，”斯金纳先生说。“可今天早起我们没敢喂，先生。那些黄蜂的声音——实在有点儿吓人，先生。它们正在外飞——多极啦。像母鸡一样大。我跟她说，我说，你只给我钉上一两个扣子就行了，我说，因为我不能这个样子去伦敦，我说，我要去找本辛顿先生，我说，跟他讲讲这些事。你就在这屋里等，一直到我回来，我说，把窗户能关多紧就关多紧，我说。” “如果你不是这么邋遢——”雷德伍德开口。 “啊！别说这个，先生，”斯金纳说，”现在别说，先生。我为斯金纳太太急成这个样子了，先生，别说这个了吧！啊？别说了，先生！我下想跟您争。我发誓，先生，我不想。我一直在想着那些耗子。——谁知道我来这儿的时候，它们会不会去折腾斯金纳太太呢？” “你也没有把这些美妙的生长曲线分别记录下来！”雷德伍德说。 “实在把我弄得够呛啦，先生，”斯金纳先生说。”您要是知道我们都受了些什么罪就好啦——我和我太太！整整受上一个月。我们简直不知该怎么办了，先生。母鸡怎么样疯长，还有蠼螋，金丝雀蔓草。我不知道是不是告诉您了，先生——那金丝雀蔓草” “你全告诉我们了，”雷德伍德说。“现在的问题是，本辛顿，我们该做些什么呢？” “我们该做些什么呢？”斯金纳先生问。 “你得回到斯金纳太太那儿去，”雷德伍德说。“你不能留她一个人在那儿呆一夜呀。” “一个人我可不去，先生。就是有一打金斯纳太太，我也不去。本辛顿先生得——” “胡说。”雷德伍德道。“那些黄蜂到夜里就没问题了。蠼螋也不会跟你捣乱——” “可是耗子呢？” “什么耗子也不会有，”雷德伍德说。 斯金纳先生最大的忧虑可能是过虑。斯金纳太太并没有。在那里过完这一天。大约十一点左右，整个上午都在静悄悄地活动着。金丝雀蔓草开始爬上了窗口，几乎把它全遮黑了。而窗口愈黑，斯主纳太太就愈清楚明白地察觉到她的境况快要保不住了。而已觉得斯金纳走后她似乎在这里过了好几年了。穿过那些抽动着的卷须的空隙，她从黑暗的窗口向外探望了一阵，然后走过去小心翼翼地打开卧室门，侧耳倾听着。 一切似乎都很宁静，于是她把裙子高高撩起，一跳就逃进了卧室。她先往床底下瞧了瞧，把门锁上，然后就以一个老女人那种有条不紊的麻利劲儿收拾起行装来。床没有铺，房间里到处是头天晚上斯金纳为了关窗户而砍下的蔓草，不过斯金纳太太没有留意到这些。她用一条很像样的床单打包。她把自己衣柜里的东西全包了进去，又装了一件斯金纳在比较体面的场合穿的平绒短上衣，还装了一罐没有开过的泡菜。至此为止，她的打包无可非议。可是，她又装进去了两个放四号赫拉克里士之恐惧的密封罐子，那是本辛顿先生上次带来的。（斯金纳太太是个诚实的好女人——不过她是个唠叨的老奶奶，看见把这么好的助长物浪费在一群可恶的小鸡身上，心里火烧火燎的。） 打好包，又戴上那顶无边女帽，解下围裙，用一根新鞋带把伞绑上，在门边窗口听了好一阵，然后打开门。出来进入一个危险的世界中。她把伞夹在腋下，两只粗糙的果敢的手紧紧抓住包袱。这顶无边女帽是她做礼拜时戴的最好的一顶，在那艳丽的饰带和珠子中挺出的两朵罂粟花，好像也浸透了她身上那种颤巍巍的勇气。 她的鼻子根部周围的组织，由于她的决心而皱缩了起来。She has had enough!一个人呆在这儿！斯金纳要是乐意，可以自己回这儿来。 她走前门，并不是因为她想去希克里勃罗（她的目的地是启星·艾勃莱，她的已经出嫁的女儿住的地方），而是因为后门长满了金丝雀蔓草，过不去了。自从她在那草根附近打翻了食罐，它们就一直疯长成了这种样子。她听了一会儿，走出来，然后十分小心地把前门关好。 在屋子拐角处，她停了下来，四处张望着。在松树林那边的山坡上，一个大沙包标志着巨蜂的巢穴，她把它认认真真地研究了一番。黄蜂在早晨出出进进的时刻已过，这时连一只黄蜂也见不到，只有一种声音，比在松树之间工作的蒸汽木锯可能发出的声音稍稍大一点，其余的一切都静悄悄的。蠼螋呢，她一只也没看见。洋白菜地里倒真有个什么在动，或许，很可能是只猫，躲在那里捉鸟。她把这又看了一阵子。转过拐角，她走了几步，看见了那些养着巨鸡的鸡棚，她又停了下来。 “啊！”看着那些小鸡，她慢慢地摇了摇头。当时，这些鸡都有食火鸡那么高，当然身体要粗大得多——整个要大些。一共五只，全是母鸡，因为两只公鸡已经自相残杀死掉了。 看见它们那无精打采的样子，斯金纳太太有点犹豫了。 “小可怜虫！”她说着放下包袱。“它们没有水喝。二十四小时没有吃东西了！胃口又那么大！”她将一根瘦骨嶙峋的手指放在唇边自言自语地说道。 随后，这位肮脏的老太太做了一件我看来是相当英勇的善事。 她把包袱，雨伞放在砖路当中，到井边打了整整三桶水，倒进鸡的空食槽里，然后，趁它们全挤在那儿喝水的工夫，她轻手轻脚地打开了鸡棚的门拴。做完了这一切，她变得极其敏捷，拿起她的东西，翻过花园尽头的矮树篱，穿过茂密的牧场（好躲开黄蜂窝），朝启星·艾勃莱的方向，艰难地爬上了弯曲的山路。 她气喘吁吁地向山上爬去，走一会儿，歇一歇，放下包袱，松一口气，回头看看下面松林边上的小房子。 到了最后，她快爬到山顶的时候，看见远处有三两只黄蜂，沉甸甸地向西边飞降下去，这大大地促使她加快步伐赶路。不久，她就越过了旷野，来到一道高堤下面的小路上（到了这里，她才觉得安全了些）。于是，穿过希克里勃罗峡谷，向高地走去。 在高地下边，有棵大树遮住了太阳，她在这里的一个栅栏踏级上歇了一会儿。 之后，她重又十分坚决地继续向前走。 我希望你们想象一下她的样子。手里拿个白包袱，像只直立的黑蚂蚁，顶着夏季午后的炎炎烈日，沿着横过丘陵坡地的羊肠小道，匆匆地走着，不屈不挠、不知疲倦地东嗅西嗅，继续不断地奋斗着，帽子上的罂粟花一个劲儿地颤动，丘陵地带的尘土弄得她的软底鞋愈来愈白。叭——嗒，叭——嗒，她的脚步声在白昼寂静的炎热中回响.那把伞老是想从夹着它的胳膊时底下滑出去。鼻子下面皱起的嘴噘着，表现出誓死的决心，她一次又一次地把伞弄上来，不时地猛然向上揪一下那被紧紧抓着的白包袱，好像在拿它出气。有的时候她还嘟嘟嚷嚷，想着和斯金纳争吵时要说的话。 远处，在老远的地方，一个教堂的尖塔和一片丛林不知下觉从朦胧的蓝天中显现出来，越来越清楚地标示出那个安宁的、避开了尘世喧嚣的角落启星·艾勃莱，而这个世外桃源却很少或者完全没有想到在这个白包袱里，隐藏着奋力奔向它命定的赫拉克里士之恐惧。 就我所知，那几只小母鸡是在下午三点钟左右来到希克里勃罗的。它们的到来，行动一定很迅速，不过没有人在大街上看到它们就是了。小斯克默斯代尔的拼命大叫，似乎是通报出事了的第一个信号。邮局的德根小姐那时正像往常一样呆在窗口，看见了抓住那不幸的孩子的母鸡叼着牺牲品在街上猛跑，后面还有另外两只在紧追不舍。你们想想被解放出来的体格强健的现代母鸡那种摇摇摆摆的大步子！你们想想饥饿的母鸡的那种强烈的固执劲头！我听说这类鸡里有普利茅斯种，即使没有赫拉克里士之恐惧，也是个精瘦健行的品种。 可能德根小姐并没有感到十分惊讶。因为尽管本辛顿先生一再说要保密，但是从斯金纳先生那儿散出的关于巨鸡的流言已经在村里传了好几个礼拜。“天哪！”她叫道，“我早就想到会这样的。” 她似乎十分镇静地采取了一系列行动。一把抓起正准备发往乌夏的那个封好的邮袋，她立刻冲出门去。差不多同时，斯克默斯代尔先生本人也在村子那头出现，手攥一把喷壶的嘴子，脸色煞白。接着，当然啦，不一会儿，村里所有的人都跑到了门外或是窗口。 德根小姐手持希克里勃罗全天邮件横过街道的情景，使得叼着斯克默斯代尔少爷的那只母鸡停了下来。它站住，刹那间作出决策，转身朝敞着大门的富彻尔家的院子跑去。在这千钧一发之际，第二只母鸡灵巧地跑上来，准确地一啄，便把孩子叼到口，然后跳墙到了牧师家的花园。 “咯咯，咯，咯，咯，咯，咯！”最后一只母鸡不偏不倚，正好被斯克默斯代尔先生扔的喷壶打中，它尖叫着，疯狂地扑着翅膀从格鲁太太家的房顶上飞过，飞到医生的地里。另外的那些大肚子巨禽则正穿过牧师的草坪，追着叼孩子的母鸡。 “老天爷！”副牧师喊道，也许（像有人说的）喊的是更男子气概的话，他一边挥舞着槌球棒，一边嚷，一边跑，去拦截那只母鸡。 ”站住，你这坏蛋！”副牧师喊，好像巨鸡是生活中最平常的东西似的。接着，副牧师发现自己不大有可能拦住它，便使尽全身气力把槌球棒扔将出去，这棒子沿着一条慈悲的曲线，落在离斯克默斯代尔少爷的脑袋一英尺左右的地方，打穿了暖房的玻璃顶。Crash!新暖房！牧师老婆漂亮的新暖房！ 这可把那母鸡吓了一大跳。不论是谁，都会吓一大跳的。它把嘴里的牺牲品甩到一棵葡萄牙月桂树上（孩子马上被拉了出来，已经魂不附体，但是除了他那不怎么讲究的衣服外，一点伤也没有），然后，扑打着翅膀飞上了富彻尔家的马房顶，落脚在一块不结实的瓦上，因此可以说是突然从天而降，落进了瘫子邦普斯先生宁静沉思的生活中——现在已经证明，确实无疑，在邦普斯先生一生中的这个场合，他的的确确没有求助于任何外力，便穿过屋子，走过整个花园。出去还拴住了门，之后，便立刻恢复了基督徒听天由命的精神和对他妻子的无能为力的依赖。 另外儿只母鸡被其他打槌球的人截住了去路，便穿过牧师的菜园，来到医生的地里。那第五只终于也来到了这个集合地点，一面由于威瑟斯庞先生家的黄瓜架没有经住它行走而丧气地咯咯叫着。 它们像母鸡那种样子站了一会，在地上抓搔着，若有所思地咯咯叫着。接着，其中一只大啄起医生的蜜蜂窝。随后，它们羽毛张开，笨拙地。一步一伸地穿过田地，向乌夏方向走去，于是希克里勃罗的街上便看不见它们了。在乌夏附近，它们在一块瑞典芜菁地里搞到了相当多的食物，兴冲冲地啄了一会，直到它们的威名在这里传开。 这些其大无比的家禽令人凉愕地闯来，在人们心中激起的最主要、最直接的反应，便是一种吆喝、奔跑、扔东西轰赶它们的不寻常的情绪。在希克里勃罗，不久，几乎所有的男人，还有些女士，都挥动东西来驱打这些巨鸡。人们把它们赴到乌夏，那里正举行村民游乐会，因而乌夏便把它们当作了这一天快乐的最高潮。它们在芬顿·比契斯附近开始遭到射击，不过，这最初的射击只是用了一支鸟铳。当然，鸟儿大到了它们这种程度，自能毫不在意地接收无数的这类小小子弹。它们在塞文欧克斯附近分开了，有一只窜到汤布里奇左近，先是在一艘下午班邮船的前边，然后又与它平行，极为激动地，连飞带叫地飞跑，弄得船上所有的人大为惊讶。 到五点半光景，有两只被一个马戏团老板在脖布里奇韦尔斯十分巧妙地捉住了。这位老板用一个装单蜂骆驼的铁笼——因为里面失去了配偶的骆驼死掉而出空了——拿蛋糕面色做饵，把它们诱了进去。 当天傍晚，当不幸的斯金纳在乌夏下了东南郊列车时，天色已经有点黑了。火车晚了点，但还不算太晚——斯金纳先生把这话告诉了站长。或者他从站长眼里看到了点什么。他只略略犹豫了一下，便自信地把手抬到嘴边，问今天出了“事儿”没有。 “什么'事儿'？”站长是个说话严厉，语气挺重的人。 “就是这儿黄蜂什么的。” “我们没有工夫考虑什么黄蜂，”站长平和地说。“你那些混帐母鸡就弄得我们忙不过来了，”他把母鸡的消息告诉斯金纳先生，就好像有人可能会打破敌对政客的窗户一样。 “您没听说斯金纳太太什么事吗？”斯金纳先生顶住这连珠炮般打来的情况报导和评论，问道。 “不要怕！”站长回答——好像就连他的知识也有个限度。 “我得打听个明白。”斯金纳先生摆脱开站长，他正在就母鸡被过度饲养的责任问题发表概括性的结论。穿过乌夏时，一个烧石灰的人从汉基的矿坑里叫住了他，问他是不是在找他的母鸡。 “你没听说斯金纳太太的消息吗？”他问。 那个烧石灰的——他的原话我们不必深究——表示了他对母鸡的超乎一切的兴趣。 天已经黑了——黑得至少像英国六月份明净的夜晚一样——这时，斯金纳——或者至少是他的头——伸进了“快活的牲口贩子”酒店，说：“喂！你们没听说起我那些个母鸡的事儿吗？” “什么，听说过！”富彻尔先生说，“你问的那东西，有一只把我的马棚顶蹬破，掉了下来，还有一只把牧师太太的暖洞子——我得求她原谅——温室弄了个窟窿。” 斯金纳走进酒店。“我得要点儿安神的东西，”他说，“热杜松子酒掺水对我就挺好。”大家就七嘴八舌，跟他讲起那些母鸡来。 “老天爷！”斯金纳说。 “你们没听到什么斯金纳太太的消息吗？”停了一下，他问。 “那个呀，没听说！”威瑟斯庞先生回答说。“我们没想到她。我们一点也没想到你们俩。” “你今天在家吗？”富彻尔隔着个大桶问。 “只要那些混帐鸟儿里有一只啄上她一口，”威瑟斯庞先生只说了这么一句，便把整个恐怖情形留给别人去自己想象。 在场的人一时都觉得如果跟斯金纳一起去看看斯金纳太太出事了没有，会是对这多事的一天的一个饶有兴味的结尾。在这事故连连的时候，谁也不知道一个人会碰上什么。但是，斯金纳站在柜台边上，喝着他那掺水的热杜松子酒，一只眼在柜台后面的东西上滚来滚去，另一只凝然仰望上苍，又转到了别的念头上。 “我想，今天那些个大黄蜂没在什么地方捣乱吧？”他煞费苦心地装出一副毫不在意的神气问。 “只顾忙着对付你的母鸡了。”富彻尔说。 “我想，它们总算全都回窝了。”斯金纳说。 “什么东西——母鸡吗？” “我想的是黄蜂。”斯金纳说。 接着，他以一种连三岁娃娃都会被激起疑心的谨慎神情，一板一眼地问， “我想，还没有人听说过什么别的大家伙吧？大猫大狗什么的？我捉摸着，既是出了大黄蜂和大母鸡——” 他煞有介事地装出闲扯淡的样子笑着。 可是，那些希克里勃罗人的脸上，却现出了若有所思的神气。富彻尔第一个把他们共同的想法形诸语言。 “要是与母鸡的大小相比，那猫——”富彻尔说。 “嗬！”威瑟斯庞说，“照母鸡的大小，那么一只猫。” “得成只大老虎。”富彻尔说。 “比老虎还要大呢，”威瑟庞普说。 最后，当斯金纳沿着隆起的田野上的孤零零的小径，从希克里勃罗走向松树荫蔽的模糊去处时，走着的只有他一个人。前面，暗影之中，巨大的金丝雀蔓草在悄悄地绞扭着实验饲养场。 可以看见他走上地平线，衬着北方温暖清澈的无边夜空——至此，人们的兴趣还在跟随着他——接着又向下，进入暗夜，进入一片黑影之中，而且，好像他再也不会出现了。他逝去了——进入了神秘之中。于是没有人知道他在经过了那道隆起的高地之后发生了什么事。 稍过了一会儿，富彻尔家两兄弟和威瑟斯庞受好奇心的驱使，来到了小山上，极力向他走的地方望去，他已经完全被黑夜所吞没了。 三个男人紧挨着站在一起，一带黑的林木遮住了实验饲养场，那边一点声息也没有。 “没有出事。”弟弟富彻尔打破了沉默。 “一点亮光也看不见。”威瑟斯庞说道。“从这儿是看不见的。” “有雾，”哥哥富彻尔说道。 他们又寻思了一阵。 “要是有什么不好，他会转回来的。”弟弟富彻尔说，他的话是如此明显而带结论性质。 哥哥宫彻尔说，“算啦。” 于是他们三人，我得说，是心事重重地回家睡觉去了。 一个牧羊人夜里经过哈克斯特牧场，听见黑夜之中有一个叫声，他以为是狐狸；可是第二天早晨他发现一只羊羔被弄死了，被拖到去希克里勃罗的半路上，吃掉了一部分。 最最令人费解的是，连一点无疑地是属于斯金纳的遗物也没有发现！许多星期过后，在试验饲养场烧过的焦土上，发现了一块可能是也可能不是人类的肩胛骨；在废墟的另一处，一根啃得精光的长骨头，也同样可疑。在去艾勃莱的栅栏踏级附近找到了一只玻璃眼，许多人发现，斯金纳个人的魅力多靠他的这样一个所有物。它总是那样超然地凝望着人世，又带有种深重的悲哀，这对于脸上其余部分的俗气是个补救。 在废墟上辛苦地搜索，发现了两枚衬衫扣子的金属环和烧成了炭的表面，三枚完整的腿上的扣子，其中一个金属扣用于不那么明显的接缝处，昭示着人类的节俭。这些遗物，被当局的人们看作是斯金纳被毁的结论性证物加以接受，可是就我的整个信念而言，考虑到他个人特定的癖性，我倒宁可多见到几块骨头，少几粒扣子。 玻璃眼当然极有说服力，可是，如果它真是斯金纳的——甚至斯金纳太太也不能肯定他那不动的眼睛是不是玻璃的——那就准是什么东西将它从一种水灵灵的棕色变成了一种稳重自信的蓝色。肩胛骨是件极为可疑的证物，我倒宁愿将它与一些普通家畜的被啃光的肩胛骨并排放一放，然后再说它是不是人的。 还有，比方说，斯金纳的靴子到哪儿去了？就算老鼠的胃口古怪反常，它们还只吃掉半只羊，怎么能设想它们会把斯金纳吃个精先——连头发、骨胳、牙齿和皮靴都吃光呢？ 我曾问过我所能找到的一切熟知斯金纳的人，他们全都异口同声地回答说，他们不能想象有任何东西会吃他。他是这样一种人，正如住在绿丹顿的乌·乌·雅各布斯先生的一所小屋的某位退休水手对我所说——这位退休水手带着在此地并非罕见的谨慎但却意味深长的派头说，他“总归会冲上岸来的”，说他被吞吃掉的这些可能性纯是“扯淡”。他认为斯金纳在筏子上就像在任何别处一样安全。退休水手还说，他决不愿意讲斯金纳的坏话；但事实终归是事实，退休水手说，他宁可冒闭门不出的危险，也不愿意叫斯金纳替自己做衣服。这个评论肯定不会将斯金纳说成是个开胃的东西。 对于读者，我要完全诚实地说，我决不相信他曾回到了试验饲养场。我确信他曾长久地迟疑着，在希克里勃罗的教会附属地上徘徊，最后，当叫声传来时，便毫不犹豫地决然走出他的迷惘处境，隐名埋姓去了。 而在那隐名埋姓之地，在我们所不知道的这个或是别的世界上，他无可争议地、顽固地一直呆到了今天。