when god laughs and other stories(当上帝发笑时)-第8节
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thousand times； and each time to better advantage。
There was one other memory of the past； dim and faded； but stamped
into his soul everlasting by the savage feet of his father。 It was more like
a nightmare than a remembered vision of a concrete thingmore like the
race… memory of man that makes him fall in his sleep and that goes back
to his arboreal ancestry。
This particular memory never came to Johnny in broad daylight when
he was wide awake。 It came at night； in bed； at the moment that his
consciousness was sinking down and losing itself in sleep。 It always
aroused him to frightened wakefulness； and for the moment； in the first
sickening start； it seemed to him that he lay crosswise on the foot of the
bed。 In the bed were the vague forms of his father and mother。 He
never saw what his father looked like。 He had but one impression of his
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
father； and that was that he had savage and pitiless feet。
His earlier memories lingered with him； but he had no late memories。
All days were alike。 Yesterday or last year were the same as a thousand
years… …or a minute。 Nothing ever happened。 There were no events to
mark the march of time。 Time did not march。 It stood always still。 It
was only the whirling machines that moved； and they moved nowherein
spite of the fact that they moved faster。
When he was fourteen； he went to work on the starcher。 It was a
colossal event。 Something had at last happened that could be
remembered beyond a night's sleep or a week's pay…day。 It marked an era。
It was a machine Olympiad； a thing to date from。 〃When I went to work
on the starcher；〃 or； 〃after；〃 or 〃before I went to work on the starcher；〃
were sentences often on his lips。
He celebrated his sixteenth birthday by going into the loom room and
taking a loom。 Here was an incentive again； for it was piece…work。 And
he excelled； because the clay of him had been moulded by the mills into
the perfect machine。 At the end of three months he was running two
looms； and； later； three and four。
At the end of his second year at the looms he was turning out more
yards than any other weaver； and more than twice as much as some of the
less skilful ones。 And at home things began to prosper as he approached
the full stature of his earning power。 Not； however； that his increased
earnings were in excess of need。 The children were growing up。 They
ate more。 And they were going to school； and school…books cost money。
And somehow； the faster he worked； the faster climbed the prices of things。
Even the rent went up； though the house had fallen from bad to worse
disrepair。
He had grown taller； but with his increased height he seemed leaner
than ever。 Also； he was more nervous。 With the nervousness increased
his peevishness and irritability。 The children had learned by many bitter
lessons to fight shy of him。 His mother respected him for his earning
power； but somehow her respect was tinctured with fear。
There was no joyousness in life for him。 The procession of the days
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
he never saw。 The nights he slept away in twitching unconsciousness。
The rest of the time he worked； and his consciousness was machine
consciousness。 Outside this his mind was a blank。 He had no ideals；
and but one illusion； namely； that he drank excellent coffee。 He was a
work… beast。 He had no mental life whatever； yet deep down in the
crypts of his mind； unknown to him； were being weighed and sifted every
hour of his toil； every movement of his hands； every twitch of his muscles；
and preparations were making for a future course of action that would
amaze him and all his little world。
It was in the late spring that he came home from work one night aware
of unusual tiredness。 There was a keen expectancy in the air as he sat
down to the table； but he did not notice。 He went through the meal in
moody silence； mechanically eating what was before him。 The children
um'd and ah'd and made smacking noises with their mouths。 But he was
deaf to them。
〃D'ye know what you're eatin'？〃 his mother demanded at last；
desperately。
He looked vacantly at the dish before him； and vacantly at her。
〃Floatin' island；〃 she announced triumphantly。
〃Oh；〃 he said。
〃Floating island！〃 the children chorussed loudly。
〃Oh；〃 he said。 And after two or three mouthfuls； he added； 〃I guess I
ain't hungry to…night。〃
He dropped the spoon； shoved back his chair； and arose wearily from
the table。
〃An' I guess I'll go to bed。〃
His feet dragged more heavily than usual as he crossed the kitchen
floor。 Undressing was a Titan's task； a monstrous futility； and he wept
weakly as he crawled into bed； one shoe still on。 He was aware of a
rising； swelling something inside his head that made his brain thick and
fuzzy。 His lean fingers felt as big as his wrist； while in the ends of them
was a remoteness of sensation vague and fuzzy like his brain。 The small
of his back ached intolerably。 All his bones ached。 He ached
everywhere。 And in his head began the shrieking； pounding； crashing；
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
roaring of a million looms。 All space was filled with flying shuttles。
They darted in and out； intricately； amongst the stars。 He worked a
thousand looms himself； and ever they speeded up； faster and faster； and
his brain unwound； faster and faster； and became the thread that fed the
thousand flying shuttles。
He did not go to work next morning。 He was too busy weaving
colossally on the thousand looms that ran inside his head。 His mother
went to work； but first she sent for the doctor。 It was a severe attack of la
grippe； he said。 Jennie served as nurse and carried out his instructions。
It was a very severe attack； and it was a week before Johnny dressed
and tottered feebly across the floor。 Another week； the doctor said； and
he would be fit to return to work。 The foreman of the loom room visited
him on Sunday afternoon； the first day of his convalescence。 The best
weaver in the room； the foreman told his mother。 His job would be held
for him。 He could come back to work a week from Monday。
〃Why don't you thank 'im； Johnny？〃 his mother asked anxiously。
〃He's ben that sick he ain't himself yet；〃 she explained apologetically
to the visitor。
Johnny sat hunched up and gazing steadfastly at the floor。 He sat in
the same position long after the foreman had gone。 It was warm outdoors；
and he sat on the stoop in the afternoon。 Sometimes his lips moved。 He
seemed lost in endless calculations。
Next morning； after the day grew warm； he took his seat on the stoop。
He had pencil and paper this time with which to continue his calculations；
and he calculated painfully and amazingly。
〃What comes after millions？〃 he asked at noon； when Will came home
from school。 〃An' how d'ye work 'em？〃
That afternoon finished his task。 Each day； but without paper and
pencil； he returned to the stoop。 He was greatly absorbed in the one tree
that grew across the street。 He studied it for hours at a time； and was
unusually interested when the wind swayed its branches and fluttered its
leaves。 Throughout the week he seemed lost in a great communion with
himself。 On Sunday； sitting on the stoop； he laughed aloud； several times；
to the perturbation of his m
