Kitabı oku: «Скотный двор / Animal Farm», sayfa 13

Every Monday Mr. Whymper visited the farm. He was a sly-looking little man with side whiskers, a solicitor, sharp enough to realize earlier than anyone else that Animal Farm would need a broker. The animals watched him and avoided him as much as possible. Nevertheless, the sight of Napoleon, on all fours, delivering orders to Whymper, who stood on two legs, roused their pride. Their relations with the human race were now not quite the same as before. The human beings hated Animal Farm more than ever. Every human was sure that the windmill would be a failure. They met in the public-houses and proved to one another by means of diagrams that the windmill would never work. And yet, against their will, they developed a certain respect for the efficiency with which the animals were managing their own affairs. One symptom of this was that they began to call Animal Farm by its proper name. They ceased to pretend that it was called the Manor Farm. Jones went to live in another part of the county. Except through Whymper, there was no contact between Animal Farm and the outside world. But there were constant rumours that Napoleon entered into a definite business agreement either with Mr. Pilkington of Foxwood or with Mr. Frederick of Pinchfield – but never with both simultaneously.

It was about this time that the pigs suddenly moved into the farmhouse. Again the animals remembered a resolution against this in the early days. Again Squealer was able to convince them that this was not the case. It was absolutely necessary, he said, that the pigs, who were the brains of the farm, could have a quiet place to work in. It was also more suited to the dignity of the Leader (he spoke of Napoleon under the title of «Leader») to live in a house than in a mere sty. Nevertheless, some of the animals were disturbed when they heard that the pigs not only took their meals in the kitchen and used the drawing-room as a recreation room, but also slept in the beds. Boxer said «Napoleon is always right!», but Clover went to the end of the barn and tried to read the Seven Commandments. But she was unable to read more than individual letters, and she fetched Muriel.

«Muriel,» she said, «read me the Fourth Commandment. Does it not say something about never sleeping in a bed?»

With some difficulty Muriel spelt it out.

«It says, ‘No animal shall sleep in a bed with sheets,»‘ she announced finally.

Curiously enough, Clover did not remember that the Fourth Commandment mentioned sheets. And Squealer, who was passing at this moment, attended by two or three dogs, was able to explain everything.

«You know then, comrades,» he said, «that we pigs now sleep in the beds of the farmhouse? And why not? You did not suppose, surely, that there was ever a ruling against beds? A bed merely means a place to sleep in. A pile of straw in a stall is a bed. The rule was against sheets, which are a human invention. We have removed the sheets from the farmhouse beds, and sleep between blankets. And very comfortable beds they are too! But not more comfortable than we need, I can tell you, comrades, with all the brainwork we do nowadays. You won’t rob us of our repose, will you, comrades? Surely none of you wishes to see Jones back?»

The animals reassured him on this point immediately. Some days afterwards, it was announced that from now on the pigs would get up an hour later in the mornings than the other animals.

By the autumn the animals were tired but happy. They had a hard year, and after the sale of part of the hay and corn, the stores of food for the winter were not very plentiful, but the windmill compensated for everything. It was almost half built now. After the harvest there was clear dry weather, and the animals toiled harder than ever with blocks of stone. Boxer even came out at nights and worked for an hour or two by the light of the harvest moon. In their free time the animals walked round and round the half-finished mill, admiring the strength and perpendicularity of its walls. Only old Benjamin refused to be enthusiastic about the windmill, though, as usual, he was uttering nothing beyond the cryptic remark that donkeys live a long time.

November came, with raging south-west winds. Building stopped because it was now too wet to mix the cement. Finally there came a night when the gale was very violent. A cry of despair broke from every animal’s throat. A terrible sight met their eyes. The windmill was in ruins.

They dashed down to the spot. Napoleon raced ahead of them all. Yes, there it lay, the fruit of all their struggles. Unable at first to speak, they stood gazing mournfully at their windmill. Napoleon paced to and fro in silence. His tail twitched sharply from side to side, a sign in him of intense mental activity. Suddenly he halted.

«Comrades,» he said quietly, «do you know who is responsible for this? Do you know the enemy who has come in the night and overthrown our windmill? Snowball!» he suddenly roared in a voice of thunder. «Snowball has done this thing! In sheer malignity, this traitor has crept here under cover of night and destroyed our work of nearly a year. Comrades, here and now I pronounce the death sentence upon Snowball. ‘Animal Hero, Second Class,’ and half a bushel of apples to any animal who brings him to justice. A full bushel to anyone who captures him alive!»