They are heavy with eggs. So Margaret went to the kitchen and stoked up the fire and boiled the water. The houseboy ran off to the store to collect tin cans—any old bits of metal. And then: "There goes our crop for this season! What does cursing mean. This swarm may pass over, but once they've started, they'll be coming down from the north one after another. And then: "Get the kettle going. Behind the reddish veils in front, which were the advance guard of the swarm, the main swarm showed in dense black clouds, reaching almost to the sun itself.
Now she was a proper farmer's wife, in sensible shoes and a solid skirt. In the meantime, thought Margaret, her husband was out in the pelting storm of insects, banging the gong, feeding the fires with leaves, while the insects clung all over him. Margaret was wondering what she could do to help. Outside, the light on the earth was now a pale, thin yellow darkened with moving shadow; the clouds of moving insects alternately thickened and lightened, like driving rain. She never had an opinion of her own on matters like the weather, because even to know about a simple thing like the weather needs experience, which Margaret, born and brought up in Johannesburg, had not got. It was oppressive, too, with the heaviness of a storm. The farm was ringing with the clamor of the gong, and the laborers came pouring out of the compound, pointing at the hills and shouting excitedly. At the doorway, he stopped briefly, hastily pulling at the clinging insects and throwing them off, and then he plunged into the locust-free living room. Old Stephen yelled at the houseboy. She remembered it was not the first time in the past three years the men had announced their final and irremediable ruin. When can you start cursing. Their crop was maize. But they went on with the work of the farm just as usual, until one day, when they were coming up the road to the homestead for the midday break, old Stephen stopped, raised his finger, and pointed. Toward the mountains, it was like looking into driving rain; even as she watched, the sun was blotted out with a fresh onrush of the insects.
She kept the fires stoked and filled tins with liquid, and then it was four in the afternoon and the locusts had been pouring across overhead for a couple of hours. When the government warnings came, piles of wood and grass had been prepared in every cultivated field. Cursed crossword puzzle clue. If we can make enough smoke, make enough noise till the sun goes down, they'll settle somewhere else, perhaps. " At once, Richard shouted at the cookboy. Her heart ached for him; he looked so tired, the worry lines deep from nose to mouth. One does not look so much at the sky in the city. And off they ran again, the two white men with them, and in a few minutes Margaret could see the smoke of fires rising from all around the farmlands.
He looked at her disapprovingly. Now half the sky was darkened. By now, the locusts were falling like hail on the roof of the kitchen. She felt suitably humble, just as she had when Richard brought her to the farm after their marriage and Stephen first took a good look at her city self—hair waved and golden, nails red and pointed. The earth seemed to be moving, with locusts crawling everywhere; she could not see the lands at all, so thick was the swarm. Then, although for the last three hours he had been fighting locusts, squashing locusts, yelling at locusts, and sweeping them in great mounds into the fires to burn, he nevertheless took this one to the door and carefully threw it out to join its fellows, as if he would rather not harm a hair of its head. "All the crops finished. If we can stop the main body settling on our farm, that's everything. But it's only early afternoon. Insects, swarms of them—horrible! "We're finished, Margaret, finished! " The iron roof was reverberating, and the clamor of beaten iron from the lands was like thunder. A tree down the slope leaned over slowly and settled heavily to the ground. Overhead, the air was thick—locusts everywhere.
Margaret was watching the hills. In the meantime, he told her about how, twenty years back, he had been eaten out, made bankrupt by the locust armies. Margaret supplied them. "We haven't had locusts in seven years, " one said, and the other, "They go in cycles, locusts do. " Beautiful it was, with the sky on fair days like blue and brilliant halls of air, and the bright-green folds and hollows of country beneath, and the mountains lying sharp and bare twenty miles off, beyond the rivers. The sky made her eyes ache; she was not used to it. "You've got the strength of a steel spring in those legs of yours, " he told the locust good-humoredly. The men were throwing wet leaves onto the fires to make the smoke acrid and black. And she noticed that for all Richard's and Stephen's complaints, they did not go bankrupt. She held her breath with disgust and ran through the door into the house again. You ever seen a hopper swarm on the march?
The telephone was ringing—neighbors to say, Quick, quick, here come the locusts! The rains that year were good; they were coming nicely just as the crops needed them—or so Margaret gathered when the men said they were not too bad. Then came a sharp crack from the bush—a branch had snapped off. Their farm was three thousand acres on the ridges that rise up toward the Zambezi escarpment—high, dry, wind-swept country, cold and dusty in winter, but now, in the wet months, steamy with the heat that rose in wet, soft waves off miles of green foliage. This comforted Margaret; all at once, she felt irrationally cheered. The locusts were coming fast. Margaret looked out and saw the air dark with a crisscross of the insects, and she set her teeth and ran out into it; what the men could do, she could. The men were her husband, Richard, and old Stephen, Richard's father, who was a farmer from way back, and these two might argue for hours over whether the rains were ruinous or just ordinarily exasperating. Old Stephen said, "They've got the wind behind them.
"Those beggars can eat every leaf and blade off the farm in half an hour! The air was darkening—a strange darkness, for the sun was blazing. They all stood and gazed. From down on the lands came the beating and banging and clanging of a hundred petrol tins and bits of metal. So that evening, when Richard said, "The government is sending out warnings that locusts are expected, coming down from the breeding grounds up north, " her instinct was to look about her at the trees. More tea, more water were needed. He picked a stray locust off his shirt and split it down with his thumbnail; it was clotted inside with eggs. Everywhere, fifty miles over the countryside, the smoke was rising from a myriad of fires. Margaret answered the telephone calls and, between them, stood watching the locusts. Margaret heard him and she ran out to join them, looking at the hills.
But the gongs were still beating, the men still shouting, and Margaret asked, "Why do you go on with it, then? There were seven patches of bared, cultivated soil, where the new mealies were just showing, making a film of bright green over the rich dark red, and around each patch now drifted up thick clouds of smoke. Quick, get your fires started! But she was getting to learn the language. They are looking for a place to settle and lay. There it was even more like being in a heavy storm. But Richard and the old man had raised their eyes and were looking up over the nearest mountaintop. When she looked out, all the trees were queer and still, clotted with insects, their boughs weighted to the ground. Up came old Stephen again—crunching locusts underfoot with every step, locusts clinging all over him—cursing and swearing, banging with his old hat at the air. It was like the darkness of a veldt fire, when the air gets thick with smoke and the sunlight comes down distorted—a thick, hot orange. If they get a chance to lay their eggs, we are going to have everything eaten flat with hoppers later on. " Nothing left, " he said. Over the rocky levels of the mountain was a streak of rust-colored air. It was a half night, a perverted blackness.
Soon they had all come up to the house, and Richard and old Stephen were giving them orders: Hurry, hurry, hurry. Asked Margaret fearfully, and the old man said emphatically, "We're finished. It might go on for three or four years. "Get me a drink, lass, " Stephen then said, and she set a bottle of whiskey by him. But at this she took a quick look at Stephen, the old man who had farmed forty years in this country and been bankrupt twice before, and she knew nothing would make him go and become a clerk in the city.
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