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Antonia, by Willa Sibert Cather
Book I: The Shimerdas
CAME ON with that breathless, brilliant heat which makes the plains of
Kansas and Nebraska the best corn country in the world. It seemed as if we
could hear the corn growing in the night; under the stars one caught a
faint crackling in the dewy, heavy-odoured cornfields where the feathered
stalks stood so juicy and green. If all the great plain from the Missouri
to the Rocky Mountains had been under glass, and the heat regulated by a
thermometer, it could not have been better for the yellow tassels that
were ripening and fertilizing the silk day by day.
The cornfields were far apart in those times, with miles of wild
grazing land between. It took a clear, meditative eye like my
grandfather's to foresee that they would enlarge and multiply until they
would be, not the Shimerdas' cornfields, or Mr. Bushy's, but the world's
cornfields; that their yield would be one of the great economic facts,
like the wheat crop of Russia, which underlie all the activities of men,
in peace or war.
burning sun of those few weeks, with occasional rains at night, secured
the corn. After the milky
ears were once formed, we had little to fear from dry weather.
The men were working so hard in the wheatfields that they did not
notice the heat--though I was kept busy carrying water for them--and
grandmother and Antonia had so much to do in the kitchen that they could
not have told whether one day was hotter than another. Each morning, while
the dew was still on the grass, Antonia went with me up to the garden to
get early vegetables for dinner. Grandmother made her wear a sunbonnet,
but as soon as we reached the garden she threw it on the grass and let her
hair fly in the breeze. I remember how, as we bent over the pea-vines,
beads of perspiration used to gather on her upper lip like a little
better I like to work out-of-doors than in a house!' she used to sing
joyfully. `I not care that
your grandmother say it makes me like a man.
I like to be like a man.' She would toss her head and ask me to
feel the muscles swell in her brown arm.
were glad to have her in the house. She was so gay and responsive that one did not mind her
heavy, running step, or her clattery way with pans. Grandmother was in high
spirits during the weeks that Antonia worked for us.
the nights were close and hot during that harvest season. The harvesters
slept in the hayloft because it was cooler there than in the house.
I used to lie in my bed by the open window, watching the heat
lightning play softly along the horizon, or looking up at the gaunt frame of
the windmill against the blue night sky.
One night there was a beautiful electric storm, though not enough
rain fell to damage the cut grain. The men went down to the barn immediately
after supper, and when the dishes were washed, Antonia and I climbed up on
the slanting roof of the chicken-house to watch the clouds. The thunder was
loud and metallic, like the rattle of sheet iron, and the lightning broke in
great zigzags across the heavens, making everything stand out and come close
to us for a moment. Half the sky was chequered with black thunderheads, but
all the west was luminous and clear: in
the lightning flashes it looked like deep blue water, with the sheen of
moonlight on it; and the mottled part of the sky was like marble pavement,
like the quay of some splendid seacoast city, doomed to destruction. Great
warm splashes of rain fell on our upturned faces. One black cloud, no bigger
than a little boat, drifted out into the clear space unattended, and kept
moving westward. All about us we could hear the felty beat of the raindrops
on the soft dust of the farmyard. Grandmother came to the door and said it was late, and we
would get wet out there.
a minute we come,' Antonia called back to her. `I like your grandmother, and
all things here,' she sighed. `I wish my papa live to see this summer.
I wish no winter ever come again.'
will be summer a long while yet,' I reassured her. `Why aren't you always
nice like this, Tony?'
just like this; like yourself. Why do you all the time try to be like Ambrosch?'
put her arms under her head and lay back, looking up at the sky. `If I live
here, like you, that is different. Things will be easy for you. But they will be hard for us.'
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