the friendly road-第2章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


；　both　in　the　little　villages　and　on　the　farms；　stand　wide　open　to　the　sunshine；　and　all　the　women　and　girls　are　busy　in　the　yards　and　gardens。　Such　a　fine；　active；　gossipy；　adventurous　world　as　it　is　at　this　moment　of　the　year！

It　is　the　time；　too；　when　all　sorts　of　travelling　people　are　afoot。　People　who　have　been　mewed　up　in　the　cities　for　the　winter　now　take　to　the　open　roadall　the　peddlers　and　agents　and　umbrella…menders；　all　the　nursery　salesmen　and　fertilizer　agents；　all　the　tramps　and　scientists　and　poetsall　abroad　in　the　wide　sunny　roads。　They；　too；　know　well　this　hospitable　moment　of　the　spring；　they；　too；　know　that　doors　and　hearts　are　open　and　that　even　into　dull　lives　creeps　a　bit　of　the　spirit　of　adventure。　Why；　a　farmer　will　buy　a　corn　planter；　feed　a　tramp；　or　listen　to　a　poet　twice　as　easily　at　this　time　of　year　as　at　any　other！

For　several　days　I　found　myself　so　fully　occupied　with　the　bustling　life　of　the　Road　that　I　scarcely　spoke　to　a　living　soul；　but　strode　straight　ahead。　The　spring　has　been　late　and　cold：　most　of　the　corn　and　some　of　the　potatoes　are　not　yet　in；　and　the　tobacco　lands　are　still　bare　and　brown。　Occasionally　I　stopped　to　watch　some　ploughman　in　the　fields：　I　saw　with　a　curious；　deep　satisfaction　how　the　moist　furrows；　freshly　turned；　glistened　in　the　warm　sunshine。　There　seemed　to　be　something　right　and　fit　about　it；　as　well　as　human　and　beautiful。　Or　at　evening　I　would　stop　to　watch　a　ploughman　driving　homeward　across　his　new　brown　fields；　raising　a　cloud　of　fine　dust　from　the　fast　drying　furrow　crests。　The　low　sun　shining　through　the　dust　and　glorifying　it；　the　weary…stepping　horses；　the　man　all　sombre…coloured　like　the　earth　itself　and　knit　into　the　scene　as　though　a　part　of　it；　made　a　picture　exquisitely　fine　to　see。

And　what　a　joy　I　had　also　of　the　lilacs　blooming　in　many　a　dooryard；　the　odour　often　trailing　after　me　for　a　long　distance　in　the　road；　and　of　the　pungent　scent　at　evening　in　the　cool　hollows　of　burning　brush　heaps　and　the　smell　of　barnyards　as　I　went　bynot　unpleasant；　not　offensiveand　above　all；　the　deep；　earthy；　moist　odour　of　new…ploughed　fields。

And　then；　at　evening；　to　hear　the　sound　of　voices　from　the　dooryards　as　I　pass　quite　unseen；　no　words；　but　just　pleasant；　quiet　intonations　of　human　voices；　borne　through　the　still　air；　or　the　low　sounds　of　cattle　in　the　barnyards；　quieting　down　for　the　night；　and　often；　if　near　a　village；　the　distant；　slumbrous　sound　of　a　church　bell；　or　even　the　rumble　of　a　trainhow　good　all　these　sounds　are！　They　have　all　come　to　me　again　this　week　with　renewed　freshness　and　impressiveness。　I　am　living　deep　again！

It　was　not；　indeed；　until　last　Wednesday　that　I　began　to　get　my　fill；　temporarily；　of　the　outward　satisfaction　of　the　Roadthe　primeval　takings　of　the　sensesthe　mere　joys　of　seeing；　hearing；　smelling；　touching。　But　on　that　day　I　began　to　wake　up；　I　began　to　have　a　desire　to　know　something　of　all　the　strange　and　interesting　people　who　are　working　in　their　fields；　or　standing　invitingly　in　their　doorways；　or　so　busily　afoot　in　the　country　roads。　Let　me　add；　also；　for　this　is　one　of　the　most　important　parts　of　my　present　experience；　that　this　new　desire　was　far　from　being　wholly　esoteric。　I　had　also　begun　to　have　cravings　which　would　not　in　the　least　be　satisfied　by　landscapes　or　dulled　by　the　sights　and　sounds　of　the　road。　A　whiff　here　and　there　from　a　doorway　at　mealtime　had　made　me　long　for　my　own　home；　for　the　sight　of　Harriet　calling　from　the　steps：

〃Dinner；　David。〃

But　I　had　covenanted　with　myself　long　before　starting　that　I　would　literally　〃live　light　in　spring。〃　It　was　the　one　and　primary　condition　I　made　with　myselfand　made　with　serious　purposeand　when　I　came　away　I　had　only　enough　money　in　my　pocket　and　sandwiches　in　my　pack　to　see　me　through　the　first　three　or　four　days。　Any　man　may　brutally　pay　his　way　anywhere；　but　it　is　quite　another　thing　to　be　accepted　by　your　humankind　not　as　a　paid　lodger　but　as　a　friend。　Always；　it　seems　to　me；　I　have　wanted　to　submit　myself；　and　indeed　submit　the　stranger；　to　that　test。　Moreover；　how　can　any　man　look　for　true　adventure　in　life　if　he　always　knows　to　a　certainty　where　his　next　meal　is　coming　from？　In　a　world　so　completely　dominated　by　goods；　by　things；　by　possessions；　and　smothered　by　security；　what　fine　adventure　is　left　to　a　man　of　spirit　save　the　adventure　of　poverty？

I　do　not　mean　by　this　the　adventure　of　involuntary　poverty；　for　I　maintain　that　involuntary　poverty；　like　involuntary　riches；　is　a　credit　to　no　man。　It　is　only　as　we　dominate　life　that　we　really　live。　What　I　mean　here；　if　I　may　so　express　it；　is　an　adventure　in　achieved　poverty。　In　the　lives　of　such　true　men　as　Francis　of　Assisi　and　Tolstoi；　that　which　draws　the　world　to　them　in　secret　sympathy　is　not　that　they　lived　lives　of　poverty；　but　rather；　having　riches　at　their　hands；　or　for　the　very　asking；　that　they　chose　poverty　as　the　better　way　of　life。

As　for　me；　I　do　not　in　the　least　pretend　to　have　accepted　the　final　logic　of　an　achieved　poverty。　I　have　merely　abolished　temporarily　from　my　life　a　few　hens　and　cows；　a　comfortable　old　farmhouse；　andcertain　other　emoluments　and　hereditamentsbut　remain　the　slave　of　sundry　cloth　upon　my　back　and　sundry　articles　in　my　gray　bagincluding　a　fat　pocket　volume　or　so；　and　a　tin　whistle。　Let　them　pass　now。　To…morrow　I　may　wish　to　attempt　life　with　still　less。　I　might　survive　without　my　battered　copy　of　〃Montaigne〃　or　even　submit　to　existence　without　that　sense　of　distant　companionship　symbolized　by　a　postage…stamp；　and　as　for　trousers

In　this　deceptive　world；　how　difficult　attainment　is　perfection！

No；　I　expect　I　shall　continue　for　a　long　time　to　owe　the　worm　his　silk；　the　beast　his　hide；　the　sheep　his　wool；　and　the　cat　his　perfume！　What　I　am　seeking　is　something　as　simple　and　as　quiet　as　the　trees　or　the　hills　just　to　look　out　around　me　at　the　pleasant　countryside；　to　enjoy　a　little　of　this　show；　to　meet　（and　to　help　a　little　if　I　may）　a　few　human　beings；　and　thus　to　get　nearly　into　the　sweet　kernel　of　human　life）。　My　friend；　you　may　or　may　not　think　this　a　worthy　object；　if　you　do　not；　stop　here；　go　no　further　with　me；　but　if　you　do；　why；　we'll　exchange　great　words　on　the　road；　we'll　look　up　at　the　sky　together；　we'll　see　and　hear　the　finest　things　in　this　world！　We'll　enjoy　the　sun！　We'll　live　light　in　spring！

Until　last　Tuesday；　then；　I　was　carried　easily　and　comfortably　onward　by　the　corn；　the　eggs；　and　the　honey　of　my　past　labours；　and　before　Wednesday　noon　I　began　to　experience　in　certain　vital　centres　recognizable　symptoms　of　a　variety　of　discomfort　anciently　familiar　to　man。　And　it　was　all　the　sharper　because　I　did　not　know　how　or　where　I　could　assuage　it。　In　all　my　life；　in　spite　of　various　ups　and　downs　in　a　fat　world；　I　don't　think　I　was　ever　before　genuinely　hungry。　Oh；　I've　been　hungry　in　a　reasonable；　civilized　way；　but　I　have　always　known　where　in　an　hour　or　so　I　could　get　all　I　wanted　to　eata　condition　accountable；　in　this　world；　I　am　convinced；　for　no　end　of　stupidity。　But　to　be　both　physically　and；　let　us　say；　psychologically　hungry；　and　not　to　know　where　or　how　to　get　anything　to　eat；　adds　something　to　the　zest　of　life。

By　noon　on　Wednesday；　then；　I　was　reduced　quite　to　a　point　of　necessity。　But　where　was　I　to　begin；　and　how？　I　know　from　long　experience　the　suspicion　with　which　the　ordinary　farmer　meets　the　Man　of　the　Road　the　man　who　appears　to　wish　to　enjoy　the　fruits　of　the　earth　without　working　for　them：　with　his　hands。　It　is　a　distrust　deep…seated　and　ages　old。　Nor　can　the　Man　of　the　Road　ever　quite　understand　the　Man　of　the　Fields。　And　here　was　I；　for　so　long　the　stationary　Man　of　the　Fields；　essaying　the　role　of　the　Man　of　the　Road。　I　experienced　a　sudden　sense　of　the　enlivenment　of　the　faculties：　I　must　now　depend　upon　wit　or　cunning　or　human　nature　to　win　my　way；　not　upon　mere　skill　of　the　hand　or　strength　in　the　bent　back。　Whereas　in　my　former　life；　when　I　was　assailed　by　a　Man　of　the　Road；　whether　tramp　or　peddler　or　poet；　I　had　only　to　stand　stock…still　within　my　fences　and　say　nothingthough　indeed　I　never　could　do　that；　being　far　too　much　interested　in　every　one　who　came　my　wayand　the　invader　was　soon　repelled。　There　is　nothing　so　resistant　as　the　dull　security　of　possession　the　stolidity　of　ownership！

Many　times　that　day　I　stopped　by　a　field　side　or　at　the　end　of　a　lane；　or　at　a　house…gate；　and　considered　the　possibilities　of　making　an　attack。　Oh；　I　measured　the　houses　and　barns　I　saw　with　a　new　eye！　The　kind　of　country　I　had　known　so　long　and　familiarly　became　a　new　and　foreign　land；　full　of　strange　possibilities。　I　spied　out　the　men　in　the　fields　and　did　not　fail；　also；　to　see　what　I　could　of　the　commissary　department　of　each　farmstead　as　I　passed。　I　walked　for　miles　looking　thus　for　a　favourable　openingand　with　a　sensation　of　embarrassment　at　once　disagreeable　and　pleasurable。　As　the　afternoon　began　to　deepen　I　saw　that　I　must　absolutely　do　something：　a　whole　day　tramping　in　the　open　air　without　a　bite　to　eat　is　an　irresistible　argument。

Presently　I　saw　from　the　road　a　farmer　and　his　son　planting　potatoes　in　a　sloping　field。　There　was　no　house　at　all　in　view。　At　the　bars　stood　a　light　wagon　half　filled　with　bags　of　seed　potatoes；　and　the　horse　which　had　drawn　it　stood　quietly；　not　far　off；　tied　to　the　fence。　The　man　and　the　boy；　each　with　a　basket　on　his　arm；　were　at　the　farther　end　of　the　field；　dropping　potatoes。　I　stood　quietly　watching　them。　They　stepped　quickly　and　kept　their　eyes　on　the　furrows：　good　workers。　I　liked　the　looks　of　them。　I　liked　also　the　straight；　clean　furrows；　I　liked　the　appearance　of　the　horse。

〃I　will　stop　here；〃　I　said　to　myself。

I　cannot　at　all　convey　the　sense　of　high　adventure　I　had　as　I　stood　there。　Though　I　had　not　the　slightest　idea　of　what　I　should　do　or　say；　yet　I　was　determined　upon　the　attack。

Neither　father　nor　son　saw　me　until　they　had　nearly　reached　the　end　of　the　field。

〃Step　lively；　Ben；〃　I　heard　the　man　say　with　some　impatience；　〃we've　got　to　finish　this　field　to…day。〃

〃I　AM　steppin'　lively；　dad；〃　responded　the　boy；　〃but　it's　awful　hot。　We　can't　possibly　finish　to…day。　It's　too　much。〃

〃We've　got　to　get　through　here　to…day；〃　the　man　replied　grimly；　〃we're　already　two　weeks　late。〃

I　know　just　how　the　man　felt；　for　I　knew　well　the　difficulty　a　farmer　has　in　getting　help　in　planting　time。　The　spring　waits　for　no　man。　My　heart　went　out　to　the　man　and　boy　struggling　there　in　the　heat　of　their　field。　For　this　is　the　real　warfare　of　the　common　life。

〃Why；〃　I　said　to　myself　with　a　curious　lift　of　the　heart；　〃they　have　need　of　a　fellow　just　like　me。〃

At　that　moment　the　boy　saw　me　and；　missing　a　step　in　the　rhythm　of　the　planting；　the　father　also　looked　up　and　saw　me。　But　neither　said　a　word　until　the　furrows　were　finished；　and　the　planters　came　to　refill　their　baskets。

〃Fine　afternoon；〃　I　said；　sparring　for　an　opening。

〃Fine；〃　responded　the　man　rather　shortly；　glancing　up　from　his　work。　I　recalled　the　scores　of　times　I　had　been　exactly　in　his　place；　and　had　glanced　up　to　see　the　stranger　in　the　road。

〃Got　another　basket　handy？〃　I　asked。

〃There　is　one　somewhere　around　here；〃　he　answered　not　too　cordially。　The　boy　said　nothing　at　all；　but　eyed　me　with