短篇小說-摸彩

The Lottery

by Shirley Jackson

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and the bank, around ten o'clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 2th. but in this village, where there were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten o'clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for noon dinner.

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.

Soon the men began to gather. surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother's grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.

The lottery was conducted--as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program--by Mr. Summers. who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. "Little late today, folks." The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three- legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything's being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued. had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers' coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves's barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were the lists to make up--of heads of families. heads of households in each family. members of each household in each family. There was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory. tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans. with one hand resting carelessly on the black box. he seemed very proper and important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. "Clean forgot what day it was," she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly. "Thought my old man was out back stacking wood," Mrs. Hutchinson went on. "and then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running." She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, "You're in time, though. They're still talking away up there."

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said. in voices just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, "Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson," and "Bill, she made it after all." Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. "Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie." Mrs. Hutchinson said. grinning, "Wouldn't have me leave m'dishes in the sink, now, would you. Joe?," and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson's arrival.

"Well, now." Mr. Summers said soberly, "guess we better get started, get this over with, so's we can go back to work. Anybody ain't here?"

"Dunbar." several people said. "Dunbar. Dunbar."

Mr. Summers consulted his list. "Clyde Dunbar." he said. "That's right. He's broke his leg, hasn't he? Who's drawing for him?"

"Me. I guess," a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. "Wife draws for her husband." Mr. Summers said. "Don't you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?" Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.

"Horace's not but sixteen vet." Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. "Guess I gotta fill in for the old man this year." "Right." Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, "Watson boy drawing this year?" A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. "Here," he said. "I m drawing for my mother and me." He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said thin#s like "Good fellow, lack." and "Glad to see your mother's got a man to do it." "Well," Mr. Summers said, "guess that's everyone. Old Man Warner make it?" "Here," a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded. A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. "All ready?" he called. "Now, I'll read the names--heads of families first--and the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?" The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most of them were quiet. wetting their lips. not looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, "Adams." A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. "Hi. Steve." Mr. Summers said. and Mr. Adams said. "Hi. Joe." They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he stood a little apart from his family. not looking down at his hand. "Allen." Mr. Summers said. "Anderson.... Bentham." "Seems like there's no time at all between lotteries any more." Mrs. Delacroix said to Mrs. Graves in the back row. "Seems like we got through with the last one only last week." "Time sure goes fast.-- Mrs. Graves said. "Clark.... Delacroix" "There goes my old man." Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband went forward. "Dunbar," Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the women said. "Go on. Janey," and another said, "There she goes." "We're next." Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers in their large hand. turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper. "Harburt.... Hutchinson." "Get up there, Bill," Mrs. Hutchinson said. and the people near her laughed. "Jones." "They do say," Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, "that over in the north village they're talking of giving up the lottery." Old Man Warner snorted. "Pack of crazy fools," he said. "Listening to the young folks, nothing's good enough for them. Next thing you know, they'll be wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a saying about 'Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.' First thing you know, we'd all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There's always been a lottery," he added petulantly. "Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody." "Some places have already quit lotteries." Mrs. Adams said. "Nothing but trouble in that," Old Man Warner said stoutly. "Pack of young fools." "Martin." And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. "Overdyke.... Percy." "I wish they'd hurry," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. "I wish they'd hurry." "They're almost through," her son said. "You get ready to run tell Dad," Mrs. Dunbar said. Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a slip from the box. Then he called, "Warner." "Seventy-seventh year I been in the lottery," Old Man Warner said as he went through the crowd. "Seventy-seventh time." "Watson" The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, "Don't be nervous, Jack," and Mr. Summers said, "Take your time, son." "Zanini." After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his slip of paper in the air, said, "All right, fellows." For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. "Who is it?," "Who's got it?," "Is it the Dunbars?," "Is it the Watsons?" Then the voices began to say, "It's Hutchinson. It's Bill," "Bill Hutchinson's got it." "Go tell your father," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly. Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. "You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!" "Be a good sport, Tessie." Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, "All of us took the same chance." "Shut up, Tessie," Bill Hutchinson said. "Well, everyone," Mr. Summers said, "that was done pretty fast, and now we've got to be hurrying a little more to get done in time." He consulted his next list. "Bill," he said, "you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?" "There's Don and Eva," Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. "Make them take their chance!" "Daughters draw with their husbands' families, Tessie," Mr. Summers said gently. "You know that as well as anyone else." "It wasn't fair," Tessie said. "I guess not, Joe." Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. "My daughter draws with her husband's family; that's only fair. And I've got no other family except the kids." "Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it's you," Mr. Summers said in explanation, "and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that's you, too. Right?" "Right," Bill Hutchinson said. "How many kids, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked formally. "Three," Bill Hutchinson said. "There's Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me." "All right, then," Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you got their tickets back?" Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. "Put them in the box, then," Mr. Summers directed. "Take Bill's and put it in." "I think we ought to start over," Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. "I tell you it wasn't fair. You didn't give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that." Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box. and he dropped all the papers but those onto the ground. where the breeze caught them and lifted them off. "Listen, everybody," Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her. "Ready, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked. and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his wife and children. nodded. "Remember," Mr. Summers said. "take the slips and keep them folded until each person has taken one. Harry, you help little Dave." Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. "Take a paper out of the box, Davy." Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. "Take just one paper." Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you hold it for him." Mr. Graves took the child's hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly. "Nancy next," Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box "Bill, Jr.," Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. "Tessie," Mr. Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly. and then set her lips and went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her. "Bill," Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around, bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it. The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, "I hope it's not Nancy," and the sound of the whisper reached the edges of the crowd. "It's not the way it used to be." Old Man Warner said clearly. "People ain't the way they used to be." "All right," Mr. Summers said. "Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave's." Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as he held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr.. opened theirs at the same time. and both beamed and laughed. turning around to the crowd and holding their slips of paper above their heads. "Tessie," Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank. "It's Tessie," Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. "Show us her paper. Bill." Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a stir in the crowd. "All right, folks." Mr. Summers said. "Let's finish quickly." Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had come out of the box Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. "Come on," she said. "Hurry up." Mr. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said. gasping for breath. "I can't run at all. You'll have to go ahead and I'll catch up with you." The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson few pebbles. Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. "It isn't fair," she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, "Come on, come on, everyone." Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside him. "It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.   摸彩 by SHIRLEY JACKSON 雪萊·傑克森 六月27日的早晨晴朗無雲，有著盛夏時節新鮮的溫暖；花兒開得繁茂，草兒長得綠油油。十點鍾左右，村裏的人們開始在郵局和銀行間的廣場上聚集；有些城鎮因為人太多，摸彩不得不花上兩天，而且要在六月2日開始，但是在這個村子裏，隻有三百來人，摸彩的全程至多不會超過兩小時，所以可以在早晨十點鍾開始，並且仍能夠讓村民們準時回家吃上午飯。 首先集合來的當然是孩子們。最近學校在放暑假，自由感不安地降落在多數人身上；在他們瘋玩起來之前，他們往往會安靜地聚在一起一會兒。他們談論的仍是學校和老師，書本和懲戒。博比·馬丁已經在他的衣兜裏塞滿了石子，其他男孩子很快也學起他的樣子，挑選了最圓滑的石頭；博比和哈裏·瓊斯還有迪克·戴拉克羅萊——村裏人都把這個姓讀作“戴拉克羅利”——最後終於在廣場一角堆出了一個大石堆，他們守護著石堆，不讓其他男孩襲擊它。女孩們站在一邊，互相聊著，轉過頭看到哥哥姐姐們蜂擁而來或是偎依而行。 不久，男人們開始聚來了。他們看著自己的孩子，講著種地、雨水、拖拉機還有稅收的事。他們站在一起，離角落裏那堆石頭很遠，他們開的玩笑有些單調，他們隻是平靜地笑笑。女人們穿著褪了色的便裝和毛衫，繼她們的丈夫之後不久也來了。她們彼此招呼著，閑談上一兩句，然後加入到她們丈夫的行列裏。很快，這些站在丈夫身邊的女人們開始喊她們的孩子，孩子們來得很不情願，必須要叫四、五遍。博比·馬丁躲開了他媽媽抓過來的手，笑著，又跑回到石堆那裏。他爸爸厲聲喊了一下，博比趕快過來了，站到爸爸和哥哥中間。 T這次摸彩——就像廣場舞會、少年俱樂部、萬聖節前夕的節目——由夏莫斯先生主持。他有時間和精力來投身於市民的活動。他是個圓臉、快活的男人，他經營煤炭生意，人們很可憐他，因為他沒有孩子，妻子又是個那樣的潑婦。當他帶著黑木箱來到廣場時，村民們竊竊私語起來，他揮揮手，喊道，“今天有點晚了，鄉親們。”郵政局局長格雷烏斯先生跟著他，拿著個三條腿的凳子，那凳子給放在廣場中央，夏莫斯先生把黑箱放在上麵。村民們保持距離，在自己與凳子間留了一些餘地。當夏莫斯先生說：“你們這些人誰想來給我幫幫忙？”時，有兩個人猶豫了。馬丁先生和他的大兒子巴克斯特走上前來，牢牢地把住凳子上的箱子，同時夏莫斯先生攪動起裏麵的紙片。 真正用於摸彩的道具很久以前就丟了，現在放在凳子上的這個黑箱甚至是在華納老人——鎮中最老的人——出生前就已經投入使用了。夏莫斯先生常常對村民講要做一個新箱子了，但是沒人對此上心，甚至到用這黑箱代替都成為了傳統。據說現在這個箱子是用它之前的一個箱子的碎片做成的，而那一個則是當第一批人來到這裏定居時做的。每年，在摸彩之後，夏莫斯先生就會再度開始談論新箱子的事，而每年這個問題都是不了了之。黑箱一年年變得越來越破舊了：到現在它都已經不再是純黑的了，有一側碎裂得很厲害，現出了木頭本色，而在有些地方則不是褪色就是變色了。 馬丁先生和他的大兒子巴克斯特牢牢地把黑箱在凳子上把住，直到夏莫斯先生用手徹底地攪過紙片。因為許多儀式都已被忘記或是廢棄，夏莫斯先生成功地用紙片取代了沿用多代的木塊。使用木塊，夏莫斯先生爭辯說，在村子還小時是很好，但是現在人口超過了三百，還有可能繼續增長，這時就務必要用某種更易放入黑箱中的材料了。摸彩前一天晚上，夏莫斯先生和格雷烏斯先生製作了紙片，把它們放入箱子，然後拿到夏莫斯先生的煤炭公司倉庫去鎖起來，直到第二天早晨夏莫斯先生準備好了，再帶它去廣場。在一年中的其他日子裏，這個箱子被放到一邊，時而這裏，時而那裏；它曾在格雷烏斯先生的穀倉裏放過一年，而另一年它又落腳在了郵局。有時它被放到馬丁雜貨店的架子上，然後就一直放在那裏了。 在夏莫斯先生宣布摸彩開始之前，有許多大大小小的事要做。有各種名單要整理——家族族長的、每個家族中各個戶主的、還有每個家族中個戶成員的。有郵局局長作為摸彩官員給夏莫斯先生舉行的就職宣誓；同時，一些人記起，一直以來，由摸彩官員舉行的某種朗誦會就都是馬馬虎虎的。不成調的聖歌每年按時要唱一遍；一些人認為摸彩官員講話唱歌時就應該這樣站著，另一些則認為他應該在人群之中走動，但是在過去的好多好多年裏，這部分的儀式就已經被準許廢止了。過去還有一項敬禮儀式，就是摸彩官員要向每一個前來抽簽的人致辭，但是這也隨著時間而改變了，現在隻有官員自己覺得有必要跟每個前來的人說句話。夏莫斯先生對這一切都做得非常好；他穿著整潔的白襯衫和藍牛仔褲，一隻手自然地放在黑箱上。當他沒完沒了地跟格雷烏斯先生和馬丁一家講話時，他看來非常嚴肅有禮。 就在夏莫斯先生最終結束了講話，並轉過身來麵對集合的村民時，赫群森太太慌忙地從小路那兒來到了廣場，她的毛衣披在肩上，當來到人群後麵時它滑落到了地上。“把日子整個兒給忘了，”她對站在她旁邊的戴拉克羅萊太太說，她們倆都輕聲笑了。“我以為我丈夫是出去堆木材去了，”赫群森太太繼續說。“然後我往窗外一看，孩子們也都沒了，然後我想起來今天是二十七號，於是就一溜小跑來了。”她在圍裙上擦擦手，戴拉克羅萊太太說，“不過，你來得及時。他們還在那裏滔滔不決地講呢。” 赫群森太太伸長脖子望過去，發現她的丈夫和孩子們都站在前排。她輕拍了一下戴拉克羅萊太太的胳膊作為告別，然後開始穿過人群網前走。人們愉快地為她讓路：有兩三個人用在人群之中剛好聽得見的聲音說，“你，太太，來啦，赫群森，”“比爾，她終於來啦。”赫群森太太到了她丈夫身邊，夏莫斯先生一直在等著她，這會兒高興地說。“還以為我們接下去摸彩要不帶你了呢，泰西。”赫群森太太開口笑起來，她說，“我總不能把那麽些盤子扔在水池裏不管吧，喂，你說是吧，喬？”一陣輕笑在人群中傳開，人們在赫群森太太到來之後又都回了原位。 “好了，好了。”夏莫斯先生嚴肅地說，“我想我們最好開始吧，把這事做完，然後我們好回去工作。有誰沒來嗎？” 夏莫斯先生翻看了一下名單。“克萊德·鄧巴。”他說。“對了。他折斷了腿，是這樣吧？誰來為他抽簽？” “我想我來吧，”一個女人說。夏莫斯先生轉過身來看她。“妻子為丈夫抽簽。”夏莫斯先生說。“您沒有一個成年兒子來為您做這件事嗎，珍妮？”盡管夏莫斯先生和村中的所有人都非常清楚她的回答，但正式地問這樣的問題是摸彩中的例行公事。夏莫斯先生等待著，當鄧巴太太回答時，他表現出一種禮貌性的注意。 “賀瑞斯不行，他才十六歲。”鄧巴太太遺憾地說。“我想我今年得替一下我丈夫了。” “好的。”夏莫斯先生說。他在他拿著的名單上做了個記號。然後他說，“沃森小子今年要抽簽嗎？” 人群中一個高大的男孩舉起手來。“到，”他說。“我要為我母親和我自己抽簽。”他不安地眨著眼睛，當人群中響起幾個人的喊聲“好家夥，祝你好運。”“很高興看到你母親有了這樣一個男子漢來做這件事。”時，他低下了頭。 “好了，”夏莫斯先生說，“我想大家都到齊了。華納老人也來了嗎？” 夏莫斯先生清清嗓子，人群便靜了下來。他看看名單。“都準備好了嗎？”他喊道。“現在，我要點名了——首先是家族族長——然後男人們上來，到箱子裏抽一張紙片。在大家都輪到之前，先把紙片攥在手裏不要看。清楚了嗎？” 抽簽這事人們都已經做過好幾次了，大家隻要隨便聽聽說明就都懂了：大多數人很安靜，他們舔著嘴唇，並沒有東張西望。然後夏莫斯先生高舉起一隻手，說道，“亞當斯。”一個男人從人群中擠出來，走上前。“嗨，史蒂夫。”夏莫斯先生說，然後亞當斯先生也說，“嗨，喬。”他們彼此一本正經同時又很不安地咧嘴笑笑。然後亞當斯先生把手伸進黑箱裏，接著拿出一張對折的紙片。他緊緊抓住紙片的一角，同時轉過身匆忙地回到人群中去。在那裏他與家人稍微分開來站，他沒有低頭去看手。 “艾倫。”夏莫斯先生說。“安德森……本瑟姆。” “在這兩次摸彩之間好象根本沒有隔多長時間似的。”站在後排的戴拉克羅萊太太對格雷烏斯太太說。 “上次摸彩就好象還是上個星期的事兒呢。” “時間過得確實太快了。”——格雷烏斯太太說。 “克拉克……戴拉克羅萊” “輪到我丈夫了。”戴拉克羅萊太太說。當她丈夫走上前時，她屏住了呼吸。 “鄧巴，”夏莫斯先生說，鄧巴太太從容地走向箱子，同時一個女人說，“去呀，珍妮，”另一個女人又說，“那不，她去了。” “接下來輪到我們了。”格雷烏斯太太說。她注視著格雷烏斯先生從箱邊繞過來，鄭重地向夏莫斯先生致敬，然後從箱裏選出一張紙片。現在，人群中的所有男人，在他們的大手裏都握著一張對折的小紙片，他們正不安地翻轉著這些紙片。鄧巴太太和她的兩個兒子站在一起。鄧巴太太拿著紙片。 “哈勃特……赫群森。” “快點去呀，比爾，”赫群森太太說，她周圍的人都笑了。 “瓊斯。” “他們確實說，”亞當斯先生對站在他旁邊的華納老人說，“在北部村莊那裏他們正在討論放棄摸彩活動。” 華納老人哼了一聲。“一群瘋狂的白癡，”他說。“聽那些年輕人的，什麽都不好。接下來你知道，他們會想要回到洞穴裏生活，人們不再工作，就那麽生活一段時間。有句老話說‘六月裏摸彩，玉米熟得快。’首先你知道，我們都得吃燉繁縷和橡子。摸彩是永遠要有，”他生氣地加上說。“看著年輕的喬·夏莫斯站在那裏跟大家開玩笑可真夠糟的。” “一些地方已經停止摸彩了。”亞當斯太太說。 “那麽做隻會帶來麻煩，”華納老人堅決地說。“一群小白癡。” “馬丁。”博比·馬丁看著他爸爸走上前。“歐福代克……珀西。” “我希望他們能快點，”鄧巴太太對她的大兒子說。“我希望他們能快點。” “你準備好跑去告訴你爹，”鄧巴太太說。 夏莫斯先生叫到他自己的名字，然後一本正經地走上前，從箱子裏挑了張紙片。然後他喊到，“華納。” “這是我第七十七年摸彩了，”華納老人在穿過人群時說道。“第七十七次了。” “沃森”那個高個兒男孩笨拙地穿過人群。有人說道，“別緊張，傑克，”然後夏莫斯先生說，“從容些，孩子。” “詹尼尼。” 此後，是長久的停頓，了無聲息，直到夏莫斯先生把他的紙片舉到半空，說，“好了，大夥。”有一分鍾，人們一動不動，然後所有的紙片都打開了。突然，所有的婦女都立即開始講起來，如獲救了般 "是誰？”“誰拿到了它？”“是鄧巴家嗎？”“是沃森家嗎？”然後這些聲音開始說，“是赫群森。是比爾，”“比爾·赫群森拿到了它。” 人們開始用目光四下搜索赫群森家人。比爾·赫群森正靜靜地站著，低頭凝視著手中的紙片。突然。泰西·赫群森對夏莫斯先生大喊起來。“你沒有給他足夠的時間來挑他想要的紙片。我看見了。這不公平！” “別這麽輸不起，泰西。”戴拉克羅萊太太喊道，格雷烏斯太太也說，“我們大家都有過同樣的機會。” “閉嘴，泰西，”比爾·赫群森說。 “好了，各位，”夏莫斯先生說，“之前做得已經相當快了，但是現在我們必須要再抓緊些，以便按時完成。”他翻看了下一張名單。“比爾，”他說，“你為赫群森家族抽簽。赫群森家裏還有別的戶嗎？” “還有唐和伊娃，”赫群森太太大叫道。“讓他們也來碰碰運氣！” “女兒是隨丈夫家一起抽簽的，泰西，”夏莫斯先生彬彬有禮地說。“這點你應該和大家一樣清楚。” “這不公平，”泰西說。 “我不這樣想，喬。”比爾·赫群森遺憾地說。“我的女兒隨她的丈夫家一起抽簽；這很公平。除了孩子們我再沒有別的親屬了。” “那麽，為家族抽簽的是你，”夏莫斯先生解釋說，“而為家庭抽簽的也是你。對吧？” “對，”比爾·赫群森說。 “有幾個孩子，比爾？”夏莫斯先生正式地問道。 “三個，”比爾·赫群森說。 “分別是小比爾，南西和小戴夫。還有就是泰西和我了。” “那麽，好了，”夏莫斯先生說。“哈裏，你把他們的票都取回來了嗎？” 格雷烏斯先生點點頭，同時舉起了紙片。“那麽，把它們放進箱裏，”夏莫斯先生指揮著。“拿上比爾的，把它也放進去。” “我想我們應該重新開始一遍，”赫群森太太盡可能平靜地說。“我告訴你這不公平。你沒有給他足夠的時間選擇。大家都看到了。” 格雷烏斯先生選好了五張紙片，把它們放入箱內。然後他把此外的所有紙片都丟到地上。微風攫起了紙片，將它們吹走。 森太太正在對她周圍的人們說著。 “準備好了嗎，比爾？”夏莫斯先生問道。比爾·赫群森迅速地瞥了一眼他的妻子和孩子們，然後點點頭。 "“記住，”夏莫斯先生說。“拿上紙片，別把它們打開，直到每個人都拿到了。哈裏，你去幫一下小戴夫。”格雷烏斯先生拉起小男孩的一隻手，他自動跟著他走到箱子跟前。“從箱子裏拿出一張紙片，戴維。”夏莫斯先生說。戴維把手伸到箱子裏，笑起來。“隻拿一張喲。”夏莫斯先生說。“哈裏，你給他拿著。”格雷烏斯先生拉起孩子的手，從緊握的拳頭裏拿過折合的紙片，然後攥住它。而這時，小戴夫站在他身邊，疑惑地仰頭望著他。 “下一個，南西，”夏莫斯先生說。南西十二歲，她甩甩裙子走向前去，然後從箱子裏優雅地取出了一張紙片，與此同時，她學校裏的朋友們呼吸都變得沉重了。“小比爾，”夏莫斯先生說，紅臉膛、腳又大的比利過來了，當他抽出紙片時差點沒把箱子打翻。“泰西，”夏莫斯先生說。她猶豫了一會兒，用挑戰的眼光四下看了一圈，然後抿了抿嘴唇，走到箱子跟前。她攫取了一張紙片，攥住它，然後背過手去。 “比爾，”夏莫斯先生說，比爾·赫群森把手伸到箱子裏，摸了一圈兒，最後手裏拿了一張紙片出來。 人群很安靜。一個女孩悄聲說，“我希望不會是南西，”而這低語聲竟傳到了人群的最後。 “這和以前不一樣了。”華納老人直白地說。“人們的做法和以前不一樣了。” “好了，”夏莫斯先生說。“打開紙片吧。哈裏，你去打開小戴夫的。” 格雷烏斯先生打開紙片，當他舉起紙片時，大家都看到上麵是一片空白，人群普遍歎息了一聲。南西和小比爾同時打開了他們的紙片，然後兩人都笑了，他們轉向人群，把他們的紙片高高地舉過頭頂。 “泰西，”夏莫斯先生說。停頓了一會兒，然後夏莫斯先生看看比爾·赫群森，比爾打開他的紙片給大家看。是空白。 “是泰西，”夏莫斯先生說，他的聲音緩和下來。“讓我們看看她的紙片。比爾。” 比爾·赫群森走過去到他妻子那兒，從她手裏奪過紙片。紙片上有個黑點，那黑點正是夏莫斯先生昨天晚上在煤炭公司辦事處裏用重鉛筆畫的。比爾·赫群森舉起它，接著人群中起了一陣騷動。 “好了，鄉親們。”夏莫斯先生說。“讓我們快點結束吧。” 盡管村民們忘卻了儀式，丟失了原來的黑箱，但是他們仍記得用石頭。男孩們之前做的石堆已經準備好了；地上也有石頭，它們伴著從箱裏吹出來的紙屑。戴拉克羅萊挑了一塊這麽大的石頭，她要兩手才能拿得動，她轉身向鄧巴太太。“來啊，”她說。“趕快的。” 鄧巴太太兩手都拿著小石頭，她氣喘籲籲地說。“我跑不動。你們先去，我會趕上來的。” 孩子們都已經拿好了石頭。有個小孩還給了小戴維·赫群森幾塊。 泰西·赫群森現在在一塊空地的中央，當村民們步步逼近她時，她絕望地伸出雙手。“這不公平，”她說。一塊石頭打中了她的一邊腦袋。華納老人說，“上啊，上啊，大家夥。”史蒂夫·亞當斯在村民群眾的最前麵，格雷烏斯太太伴在他旁邊。 “這不公平，這不應該，”赫群森太太尖叫著，然後他們撲了上來。