【荆棘鸟】第六章 09

naphtha flashes in chains streaked¹ across the clouds, in and out the billows in a fantastic hide- and-seek. Blasted trees alone in the grass reeked² and smoked, and they understood at last why these lonely paddock sentinels were dead. An eerie³, unearthly glow seeped⁴ into the air, air which was no longer invisible but on fire from within, fluorescing pink and lilac and sulphur yellow, and smelling of some hauntingly sweet, elusive⁵ perfume quite beyond recognition. The trees shimmered⁶, the red Cleary hair was haloed in tongues of fire, the hairs of their arms stood out stiffly. And all afternoon it went on, only slowly fading into the east to release them from its awesome⁷ spell at sunset, and they were excited, on edge, unappeased. Not a drop of rain had fallen. But it was like dying and coming back to life again, to have survived the atmospheric⁸ tantrum unscathed; it was all they could talk about for a week.

 

"We'll get a lot more," said Mary Carson, bored. They did get a lot more. The second dry winter came in colder than they had thought it could get without snow; frost settled inches thick on the ground at night, and the dogs huddled⁹ shivering in their kennels¹⁰, keeping warm by gorging¹¹ on kangaroo meat and mounds¹² of fat from the homestead's slaughtered¹³ cattle. At least the weather meant beef and pork to eat instead of the eternal mutton. In the house they built great roaring fires, and the men were forced to come home when they could, for at night in the paddocks they froze. But the shearers when they arrived were in a mood for rejoicing; they could get through faster and sweat less. At each man's stand in the great shed was a circle of flooring much lighter¹⁴ in color than the rest, the spot where fifty years of shearers had stood dripping their bleaching¹⁵ sweat into the wood of the board.

There was still grass from the flood long ago, but it was thinning ominously¹⁶. Day after day the skies were overcast¹⁷ and the light dull, but it never rained. The wind howled sadly across the paddocks, spinning drifting brown sheets of dust before it like rain, tormenting¹⁸ the mind with images of water. So much like rain it looked, that raggedly¹⁹ blowing dust. The children developed chilblains on their fingers, tried not to smile with cracked lips, had to peel their socks away from bleeding heels and shins. It was quite impossible to keep warm in the face of that bitter high wind, especially when the houses had been designed to catch every stray puff²⁰ of air, not keep it out.