附上原文，木民交流！英文比我译文美得多。
Wind Song
It was a day like the day before and the day after. The wind wrappeditself around the sod cabin in gusting moans as the pioneer family withincarried out their tasks pretending not to hear. They heard the wind, however.It had been their constant companion on the open plains since their journeyfrom Philadelphiatwo years before in the spring of 1865. Following the covered wagon train often, the wind had lifted the drab landscape into billows of dust falling oneveryone and everything until there seemed but one color and one sound.
Now Rachel sat on the bed hand-stitching a quilt whileher mother hunched over a sewing machine across the room rocking her feetbackwards and forwards on a foot treadle that turned the shaft that moved theneedle. The thumping counter pointed the wind outside. Laughter and gigglingerupted from Rachel's younger brother and sister playing jacks on the floor andit brought a smile to their sister's face, but when she glanced back at theirmother she stopped smiling.
Rachel felt that her parents worked too hard. Theyrarely had fun or relaxation like they had enjoyed in Philadelphia. Now her father was always inthe fields. Her mother prepared meals on a wood-stoked stove, did the laundryon a washboard, baked flatbread and sewed clothes to trade for goods in town.Rachel remembered her mother singing and telling stories at one time but thatwas before she had begun complaining about the wind and the dirt and the mud.Eventually she had stopped complaining, but she had stopped singing, too.
The door swung open and it was Rachel's father.Entering in a puff of dust, he coughed and wiped his forehead. "Mighty hotday out there."
"Well, I've got ale for you and flatbreadtoo," replied his wife. She rose from the sewing machine and began settingthe table as her husband eased himself into a chair.
"I know. I could smell it from outside. Smelledso good I came in early. What else have you all been up to while I was clearingrows with Molly and Bell?"
"Rachel's done with her quilt."
"Oh?" Rachel's father turned to look as hisolder daughter proudly showed off her masterpiece. It was a cheerful bloomingof color with stitches outlining the squares.
"That's a mighty fine piece of work." Henodded. "How 'bout us going into town this Saturday. You can show off yourquilt, your mother can take her flatbread, and I've got a bushel of onionsready."
The young children whooped excitedly and Michael, theboy, began dancing around the room, lifting his knees and clapping. There wasreason for jubilation. The 20-mile trip to town in the buckboard was aonce-a-month affair to which everyone in the family looked forward.
The town of Wausa, Nebraska was not unlike otherlittle towns that had sprung up to welcome the pioneers. It was a mix of oldand new buildings with wood plank sidewalks and a wide main street of dirt toaccommodate trains of oxen. In one of the newer buildings was the generalstore. Guarding the door was a wooden Indian and next to it hung a bird cage.The family stopped for a moment to look at the yellow bird inside.
When they stepped into the store it was a universe allits own. There was the scent of wood and soap and spice. The walls were linedwith racks of crates and mason jars, and along the aisles were bushel barrelsof potatoes and apples. In the back neatly propped against the wall were boltsof fabric. While her brother and sister explored the store and her parentsspoke with the grocer about their bread and onions, Rachel wandered backoutside to look at the bird. So bright a yellow it was a miniature piece of thesun in that dusty place. It hopped from perch to perch rarely standing stilland as it hopped it kept its eyes on Rachel. Suddenly a shadow passed over thegirl and startled, she looked up to see a Sioux Indian brave. Her heart beatfaster. Indians sometimes came to town to barter although it was discouraged bythe shopkeepers. Such a history of warfare existed between Indians and whitesettlers that no one felt safe. But this Indian was as fascinated by the birdas Rachel. He stared intently and then said something she couldn't understand.Seeing her puzzled face he repeated in English, "It listens to thewind."
Before Rachel could think about what he had said, theIndian turned and walked away. Her parents appeared a moment later, having seenhim through the window.
"Are you all right?" asked her father.
Rachel nodded. "He was just looking at the canary."
At that moment the little bird lifted its head,swelled its chest, and sang out a joyous trill. Rachel saw her mother's facelight up with delight.
Rachel traded her quilt for the canary and neverregretted it because the little bird entertained them endlessly. Sir Gallant,they called him because he did battle with the wind. The louder the wind themore loudly he sang, competition so fierce that sometimes everyone burst outlaughing. Sir Gallant lifted their spirits turning dust days back into sunshinedays.
Rachel thought about what the Indian had said. She'dheard the wind but unlike the canary she'd never listened to it. Now when shetried she could hear music in the moaning. Of course the music was faint andhidden in the background and she needed her imagination, but it was there ifshe truly listened. She began humming the sounds she heard. "That's apretty tune" her mother commented one day, "what song is that?"Rachel didn't reply, unsure how to explain, and her mother didn't press thequestion. Soon she, too, began humming.
Occasionally bachelor cowpokes stopped by the cabin tobuy flatbread or to have their clothes mended. They were always welcomed, notfor the money in their pocket but for their company. With no neighbors fortwenty miles, it was lonely on the plains. The family and guests traded news,shared a meal, and were serenaded by Sir Gallant who was often the center of conversation.
One afternoon the younger daughter Mary noticed thecanary sitting motionless on his perch. "Is Sir Gallant sick?" sheasked in alarm.
"No. It's just a dark day outside," hermother reassured her. "It'll be raining soon and he probably doesn't feellike singing."
The younger children accepted this explanation but notRachel. She knew that while Sir Gallant stopped singing from time to time, hehad always hopped about his cage. She went to the door and looked outside. Itwas deathly quiet, no wind or sounds of birds or prairie dogs. She saw theoutline of her father with the two oxen in the north field and at the same timeshe saw black thunderclouds stacked high into the sky. There was a heaviness tothe air and a prickly feeling.
The Indian's words echoed in her mind. "Itlistens to the wind."
Rachel thought about Sir Gallant's odd behavior andthe angry thunderclouds and how strange it felt. Straining to hear, she caughta faint rumbling and it was the sound of thunder.
Suddenly Rachel knew. She absolutely knew they were indanger. "Mom," she shouted. "It's a tornado!"
Immediately Mary and Michael began screaming as theirmother gathered them up and, along with Sir Gallant, rushed outside. The safestplace was the root cellar at the side of the house. Throwing open the cellardoors, the mother yelled to Rachel to warn her father.
Rachel took off running across the field shouting andwaving her arms, but not until she was halfway across did she get his attention.
"What's wrong?" he yelled.
It was another moment before she reached him."Tornado."
His eyes searched the horizon. "I don't seeanything, but I can bring in Molly and Bellanyway. I'll come back to the house."
"No! There's no time. Listen!" Rachel wasclose to hysterical and because she never lied or played tricks, he did as sheasked. Finally able to hear the rumbling he jumped to action. Releasing theyoke from the harnesses on the oxen he turned them free and then grabbedRachel's arm and they began to run. By the time they reached the sod cabin, thetornado was visible, rain drenched their bodies and a thunderous roaringpounded the air.
The tornado lasted only minutes although it felt likehours. When the family emerged from their shelter they were relieved to findtheir sod cabin intact. Fortunately the oxen, too, had escaped although thescarred earth proved the north field had been in the center of the tornado'spath. The loss of crops would make things more difficult, but they felt blessedto be alive. They also felt divine intervention had come in the form of alittle yellow bird.
The woman stood in the door of the atticand sighed. Gray and dusty in the half light, the room was filled with oldfurniture, boxes and a thousand forgotten memories. She had inherited itscontents from her grandmother and now faced the chore of deciding the fate ofeach piece. Attracted to an old sewing machine, so old that it had a foottreadle, she opened the top drawer. Amidst the buttons and needles and scissorswas a tiny bundle of lace neatly tied with ribbon. Curious she picked it up andunwrapped it. To her surprise she found she was unfolding the burial cloth of acanary, its body long ago dried up but carefully preserved. Holding it in herright hand she stared, perplexed, and quite unconsciously put her left handover her heart.
