短篇小说-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 雪莱·杰克森 六月27日的早晨晴朗无云，有着盛夏时节新鲜的温暖；花儿开得繁茂，草儿长得绿油油。十点钟左右，村里的人们开始在邮局和银行间的广场上聚集；有些城镇因为人太多，摸彩不得不花上两天，而且要在六月2日开始，但是在这个村子里，只有三百来人，摸彩的全程至多不会超过两小时，所以可以在早晨十点钟开始，并且仍能够让村民们准时回家吃上午饭。 首先集合来的当然是孩子们。最近学校在放暑假，自由感不安地降落在多数人身上；在他们疯玩起来之前，他们往往会安静地聚在一起一会儿。他们谈论的仍是学校和老师，书本和惩戒。博比·马丁已经在他的衣兜里塞满了石子，其他男孩子很快也学起他的样子，挑选了最圆滑的石头；博比和哈里·琼斯还有迪克·戴拉克罗莱——村里人都把这个姓读作“戴拉克罗利”——最后终于在广场一角堆出了一个大石堆，他们守护着石堆，不让其他男孩袭击它。女孩们站在一边，互相聊着，转过头看到哥哥姐姐们蜂拥而来或是偎依而行。 不久，男人们开始聚来了。他们看着自己的孩子，讲着种地、雨水、拖拉机还有税收的事。他们站在一起，离角落里那堆石头很远，他们开的玩笑有些单调，他们只是平静地笑笑。女人们穿着褪了色的便装和毛衫，继她们的丈夫之后不久也来了。她们彼此招呼着，闲谈上一两句，然后加入到她们丈夫的行列里。很快，这些站在丈夫身边的女人们开始喊她们的孩子，孩子们来得很不情愿，必须要叫四、五遍。博比·马丁躲开了他妈妈抓过来的手，笑着，又跑回到石堆那里。他爸爸厉声喊了一下，博比赶快过来了，站到爸爸和哥哥中间。 T这次摸彩——就像广场舞会、少年俱乐部、万圣节前夕的节目——由夏莫斯先生主持。他有时间和精力来投身于市民的活动。他是个圆脸、快活的男人，他经营煤炭生意，人们很可怜他，因为他没有孩子，妻子又是个那样的泼妇。当他带着黑木箱来到广场时，村民们窃窃私语起来，他挥挥手，喊道，“今天有点晚了，乡亲们。”邮政局局长格雷乌斯先生跟着他，拿着个三条腿的凳子，那凳子给放在广场中央，夏莫斯先生把黑箱放在上面。村民们保持距离，在自己与凳子间留了一些余地。当夏莫斯先生说：“你们这些人谁想来给我帮帮忙？”时，有两个人犹豫了。马丁先生和他的大儿子巴克斯特走上前来，牢牢地把住凳子上的箱子，同时夏莫斯先生搅动起里面的纸片。 真正用于摸彩的道具很久以前就丢了，现在放在凳子上的这个黑箱甚至是在华纳老人——镇中最老的人——出生前就已经投入使用了。夏莫斯先生常常对村民讲要做一个新箱子了，但是没人对此上心，甚至到用这黑箱代替都成为了传统。据说现在这个箱子是用它之前的一个箱子的碎片做成的，而那一个则是当第一批人来到这里定居时做的。每年，在摸彩之后，夏莫斯先生就会再度开始谈论新箱子的事，而每年这个问题都是不了了之。黑箱一年年变得越来越破旧了：到现在它都已经不再是纯黑的了，有一侧碎裂得很厉害，现出了木头本色，而在有些地方则不是褪色就是变色了。 马丁先生和他的大儿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彻底地搅过纸片。因为许多仪式都已被忘记或是废弃，夏莫斯先生成功地用纸片取代了沿用多代的木块。使用木块，夏莫斯先生争辩说，在村子还小时是很好，但是现在人口超过了三百，还有可能继续增长，这时就务必要用某种更易放入黑箱中的材料了。摸彩前一天晚上，夏莫斯先生和格雷乌斯先生制作了纸片，把它们放入箱子，然后拿到夏莫斯先生的煤炭公司仓库去锁起来，直到第二天早晨夏莫斯先生准备好了，再带它去广场。在一年中的其他日子里，这个箱子被放到一边，时而这里，时而那里；它曾在格雷乌斯先生的谷仓里放过一年，而另一年它又落脚在了邮局。有时它被放到马丁杂货店的架子上，然后就一直放在那里了。 在夏莫斯先生宣布摸彩开始之前，有许多大大小小的事要做。有各种名单要整理——家族族长的、每个家族中各个户主的、还有每个家族中个户成员的。有邮局局长作为摸彩官员给夏莫斯先生举行的就职宣誓；同时，一些人记起，一直以来，由摸彩官员举行的某种朗诵会就都是马马虎虎的。不成调的圣歌每年按时要唱一遍；一些人认为摸彩官员讲话唱歌时就应该这样站着，另一些则认为他应该在人群之中走动，但是在过去的好多好多年里，这部分的仪式就已经被准许废止了。过去还有一项敬礼仪式，就是摸彩官员要向每一个前来抽签的人致辞，但是这也随着时间而改变了，现在只有官员自己觉得有必要跟每个前来的人说句话。夏莫斯先生对这一切都做得非常好；他穿着整洁的白衬衫和蓝牛仔裤，一只手自然地放在黑箱上。当他没完没了地跟格雷乌斯先生和马丁一家讲话时，他看来非常严肃有礼。 就在夏莫斯先生最终结束了讲话，并转过身来面对集合的村民时，赫群森太太慌忙地从小路那儿来到了广场，她的毛衣披在肩上，当来到人群后面时它滑落到了地上。“把日子整个儿给忘了，”她对站在她旁边的戴拉克罗莱太太说，她们俩都轻声笑了。“我以为我丈夫是出去堆木材去了，”赫群森太太继续说。“然后我往窗外一看，孩子们也都没了，然后我想起来今天是二十七号，于是就一溜小跑来了。”她在围裙上擦擦手，戴拉克罗莱太太说，“不过，你来得及时。他们还在那里滔滔不决地讲呢。” 赫群森太太伸长脖子望过去，发现她的丈夫和孩子们都站在前排。她轻拍了一下戴拉克罗莱太太的胳膊作为告别，然后开始穿过人群网前走。人们愉快地为她让路：有两三个人用在人群之中刚好听得见的声音说，“你，太太，来啦，赫群森，”“比尔，她终于来啦。”赫群森太太到了她丈夫身边，夏莫斯先生一直在等着她，这会儿高兴地说。“还以为我们接下去摸彩要不带你了呢，泰西。”赫群森太太开口笑起来，她说，“我总不能把那么些盘子扔在水池里不管吧，喂，你说是吧，乔？”一阵轻笑在人群中传开，人们在赫群森太太到来之后又都回了原位。 “好了，好了。”夏莫斯先生严肃地说，“我想我们最好开始吧，把这事做完，然后我们好回去工作。有谁没来吗？” 夏莫斯先生翻看了一下名单。“克莱德·邓巴。”他说。“对了。他折断了腿，是这样吧？谁来为他抽签？” “我想我来吧，”一个女人说。夏莫斯先生转过身来看她。“妻子为丈夫抽签。”夏莫斯先生说。“您没有一个成年儿子来为您做这件事吗，珍妮？”尽管夏莫斯先生和村中的所有人都非常清楚她的回答，但正式地问这样的问题是摸彩中的例行公事。夏莫斯先生等待着，当邓巴太太回答时，他表现出一种礼貌性的注意。 “贺瑞斯不行，他才十六岁。”邓巴太太遗憾地说。“我想我今年得替一下我丈夫了。” “好的。”夏莫斯先生说。他在他拿着的名单上做了个记号。然后他说，“沃森小子今年要抽签吗？” 人群中一个高大的男孩举起手来。“到，”他说。“我要为我母亲和我自己抽签。”他不安地眨着眼睛，当人群中响起几个人的喊声“好家伙，祝你好运。”“很高兴看到你母亲有了这样一个男子汉来做这件事。”时，他低下了头。 “好了，”夏莫斯先生说，“我想大家都到齐了。华纳老人也来了吗？” 夏莫斯先生清清嗓子，人群便静了下来。他看看名单。“都准备好了吗？”他喊道。“现在，我要点名了——首先是家族族长——然后男人们上来，到箱子里抽一张纸片。在大家都轮到之前，先把纸片攥在手里不要看。清楚了吗？” 抽签这事人们都已经做过好几次了，大家只要随便听听说明就都懂了：大多数人很安静，他们舔着嘴唇，并没有东张西望。然后夏莫斯先生高举起一只手，说道，“亚当斯。”一个男人从人群中挤出来，走上前。“嗨，史蒂夫。”夏莫斯先生说，然后亚当斯先生也说，“嗨，乔。”他们彼此一本正经同时又很不安地咧嘴笑笑。然后亚当斯先生把手伸进黑箱里，接着拿出一张对折的纸片。他紧紧抓住纸片的一角，同时转过身匆忙地回到人群中去。在那里他与家人稍微分开来站，他没有低头去看手。 “艾伦。”夏莫斯先生说。“安德森……本瑟姆。” “在这两次摸彩之间好象根本没有隔多长时间似的。”站在后排的戴拉克罗莱太太对格雷乌斯太太说。 “上次摸彩就好象还是上个星期的事儿呢。” “时间过得确实太快了。”——格雷乌斯太太说。 “克拉克……戴拉克罗莱” “轮到我丈夫了。”戴拉克罗莱太太说。当她丈夫走上前时，她屏住了呼吸。 “邓巴，”夏莫斯先生说，邓巴太太从容地走向箱子，同时一个女人说，“去呀，珍妮，”另一个女人又说，“那不，她去了。” “接下来轮到我们了。”格雷乌斯太太说。她注视着格雷乌斯先生从箱边绕过来，郑重地向夏莫斯先生致敬，然后从箱里选出一张纸片。现在，人群中的所有男人，在他们的大手里都握着一张对折的小纸片，他们正不安地翻转着这些纸片。邓巴太太和她的两个儿子站在一起。邓巴太太拿着纸片。 “哈勃特……赫群森。” “快点去呀，比尔，”赫群森太太说，她周围的人都笑了。 “琼斯。” “他们确实说，”亚当斯先生对站在他旁边的华纳老人说，“在北部村庄那里他们正在讨论放弃摸彩活动。” 华纳老人哼了一声。“一群疯狂的白痴，”他说。“听那些年轻人的，什么都不好。接下来你知道，他们会想要回到洞穴里生活，人们不再工作，就那么生活一段时间。有句老话说‘六月里摸彩，玉米熟得快。’首先你知道，我们都得吃炖繁缕和橡子。摸彩是永远要有，”他生气地加上说。“看着年轻的乔·夏莫斯站在那里跟大家开玩笑可真够糟的。” “一些地方已经停止摸彩了。”亚当斯太太说。 “那么做只会带来麻烦，”华纳老人坚决地说。“一群小白痴。” “马丁。”博比·马丁看着他爸爸走上前。“欧福代克……珀西。” “我希望他们能快点，”邓巴太太对她的大儿子说。“我希望他们能快点。” “你准备好跑去告诉你爹，”邓巴太太说。 夏莫斯先生叫到他自己的名字，然后一本正经地走上前，从箱子里挑了张纸片。然后他喊到，“华纳。” “这是我第七十七年摸彩了，”华纳老人在穿过人群时说道。“第七十七次了。” “沃森”那个高个儿男孩笨拙地穿过人群。有人说道，“别紧张，杰克，”然后夏莫斯先生说，“从容些，孩子。” “詹尼尼。” 此后，是长久的停顿，了无声息，直到夏莫斯先生把他的纸片举到半空，说，“好了，大伙。”有一分钟，人们一动不动，然后所有的纸片都打开了。突然，所有的妇女都立即开始讲起来，如获救了般 "是谁？”“谁拿到了它？”“是邓巴家吗？”“是沃森家吗？”然后这些声音开始说，“是赫群森。是比尔，”“比尔·赫群森拿到了它。” 人们开始用目光四下搜索赫群森家人。比尔·赫群森正静静地站着，低头凝视着手中的纸片。突然。泰西·赫群森对夏莫斯先生大喊起来。“你没有给他足够的时间来挑他想要的纸片。我看见了。这不公平！” “别这么输不起，泰西。”戴拉克罗莱太太喊道，格雷乌斯太太也说，“我们大家都有过同样的机会。” “闭嘴，泰西，”比尔·赫群森说。 “好了，各位，”夏莫斯先生说，“之前做得已经相当快了，但是现在我们必须要再抓紧些，以便按时完成。”他翻看了下一张名单。“比尔，”他说，“你为赫群森家族抽签。赫群森家里还有别的户吗？” “还有唐和伊娃，”赫群森太太大叫道。“让他们也来碰碰运气！” “女儿是随丈夫家一起抽签的，泰西，”夏莫斯先生彬彬有礼地说。“这点你应该和大家一样清楚。” “这不公平，”泰西说。 “我不这样想，乔。”比尔·赫群森遗憾地说。“我的女儿随她的丈夫家一起抽签；这很公平。除了孩子们我再没有别的亲属了。” “那么，为家族抽签的是你，”夏莫斯先生解释说，“而为家庭抽签的也是你。对吧？” “对，”比尔·赫群森说。 “有几个孩子，比尔？”夏莫斯先生正式地问道。 “三个，”比尔·赫群森说。 “分别是小比尔，南西和小戴夫。还有就是泰西和我了。” “那么，好了，”夏莫斯先生说。“哈里，你把他们的票都取回来了吗？” 格雷乌斯先生点点头，同时举起了纸片。“那么，把它们放进箱里，”夏莫斯先生指挥着。“拿上比尔的，把它也放进去。” “我想我们应该重新开始一遍，”赫群森太太尽可能平静地说。“我告诉你这不公平。你没有给他足够的时间选择。大家都看到了。” 格雷乌斯先生选好了五张纸片，把它们放入箱内。然后他把此外的所有纸片都丢到地上。微风攫起了纸片，将它们吹走。 森太太正在对她周围的人们说着。 “准备好了吗，比尔？”夏莫斯先生问道。比尔·赫群森迅速地瞥了一眼他的妻子和孩子们，然后点点头。 "“记住，”夏莫斯先生说。“拿上纸片，别把它们打开，直到每个人都拿到了。哈里，你去帮一下小戴夫。”格雷乌斯先生拉起小男孩的一只手，他自动跟着他走到箱子跟前。“从箱子里拿出一张纸片，戴维。”夏莫斯先生说。戴维把手伸到箱子里，笑起来。“只拿一张哟。”夏莫斯先生说。“哈里，你给他拿着。”格雷乌斯先生拉起孩子的手，从紧握的拳头里拿过折合的纸片，然后攥住它。而这时，小戴夫站在他身边，疑惑地仰头望着他。 “下一个，南西，”夏莫斯先生说。南西十二岁，她甩甩裙子走向前去，然后从箱子里优雅地取出了一张纸片，与此同时，她学校里的朋友们呼吸都变得沉重了。“小比尔，”夏莫斯先生说，红脸膛、脚又大的比利过来了，当他抽出纸片时差点没把箱子打翻。“泰西，”夏莫斯先生说。她犹豫了一会儿，用挑战的眼光四下看了一圈，然后抿了抿嘴唇，走到箱子跟前。她攫取了一张纸片，攥住它，然后背过手去。 “比尔，”夏莫斯先生说，比尔·赫群森把手伸到箱子里，摸了一圈儿，最后手里拿了一张纸片出来。 人群很安静。一个女孩悄声说，“我希望不会是南西，”而这低语声竟传到了人群的最后。 “这和以前不一样了。”华纳老人直白地说。“人们的做法和以前不一样了。” “好了，”夏莫斯先生说。“打开纸片吧。哈里，你去打开小戴夫的。” 格雷乌斯先生打开纸片，当他举起纸片时，大家都看到上面是一片空白，人群普遍叹息了一声。南西和小比尔同时打开了他们的纸片，然后两人都笑了，他们转向人群，把他们的纸片高高地举过头顶。 “泰西，”夏莫斯先生说。停顿了一会儿，然后夏莫斯先生看看比尔·赫群森，比尔打开他的纸片给大家看。是空白。 “是泰西，”夏莫斯先生说，他的声音缓和下来。“让我们看看她的纸片。比尔。” 比尔·赫群森走过去到他妻子那儿，从她手里夺过纸片。纸片上有个黑点，那黑点正是夏莫斯先生昨天晚上在煤炭公司办事处里用重铅笔画的。比尔·赫群森举起它，接着人群中起了一阵骚动。 “好了，乡亲们。”夏莫斯先生说。“让我们快点结束吧。” 尽管村民们忘却了仪式，丢失了原来的黑箱，但是他们仍记得用石头。男孩们之前做的石堆已经准备好了；地上也有石头，它们伴着从箱里吹出来的纸屑。戴拉克罗莱挑了一块这么大的石头，她要两手才能拿得动，她转身向邓巴太太。“来啊，”她说。“赶快的。” 邓巴太太两手都拿着小石头，她气喘吁吁地说。“我跑不动。你们先去，我会赶上来的。” 孩子们都已经拿好了石头。有个小孩还给了小戴维·赫群森几块。 泰西·赫群森现在在一块空地的中央，当村民们步步逼近她时，她绝望地伸出双手。“这不公平，”她说。一块石头打中了她的一边脑袋。华纳老人说，“上啊，上啊，大家伙。”史蒂夫·亚当斯在村民群众的最前面，格雷乌斯太太伴在他旁边。 “这不公平，这不应该，”赫群森太太尖叫着，然后他们扑了上来。